“Tully,” Beauchamp acknowledged. “I don’t need a drink right now. I just want a little information.” He didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “I understand a couple of my men got into a little disagreement in here a few days ago, and I just wanted to check with you to see if there was any damage done to your saloon that maybe I should take care of.”
That’ll be the day, Jake thought. He was sure he already knew what Beauchamp really wanted to know. He had talked to Toby Bryan, the blacksmith, and they were sure there was going to be trouble with another McAllister in town.
“Well, now,” he replied, “that’s mighty generous of you to offer, but there was no damage to anything. There was a pretty bad-lookin’ bump on the side of Sid Hadley’s face, but no harm done to the saloon.”
“Well, I don’t want my men causing any trouble in town,” Beauchamp continued. “Just a little barroom fight between my men and some of the miners around town, I reckon.”
Now you’re getting down to it, Jake thought, so I’ll tell you what you really want to know. “No, sir, your boys—really was only Hadley—got into it with a couple of strangers, just come to town. The feller that laid Sid out cold said his name was McAllister, and said he was Boone McAllister’s brother. I don’t know who his friend is.”
Beauchamp didn’t reply for a second or two, his face expressionless, and his eyes locked unblinking on Jake’s. “There was just the two of them? Nobody else with them?”
“That I can’t say,” Jake replied, although he knew. “It was only the two of ’em that came in here.”
Beauchamp paused again to think about it. “Well, like I said, I just wanted to make sure my boys didn’t do any damage in here.” He turned abruptly and made for the door.
“Good day to ya,” Jake called after him, a sly smile on his face. There’ll be hell to pay for somebody, he thought.
It was not a secret that there was bad blood between Beauchamp and McAllister, and it would be only a matter of time before somebody ended up getting shot. Jake, like other honest businessmen in town, had no notion of the war going on between Beauchamp and McAllister.
• • •
Sheriff Jim Crowder quickly put his coffee cup on the shelf behind his desk when he glanced out the window and saw Boss Beauchamp striding across the street toward his office. Hurriedly getting to his feet, he moved to open the door.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said.
“It’s afternoon,” Beauchamp replied curtly. “What do you know about McAllister’s brother coming through town?”
“Yes, sir,” Crowder said, “I heard he was in town the other day.”
“Why didn’t you let me know?” Beauchamp demanded. “How many men did he have with him?”
“I didn’t have any idea you’d wanna know. It was just him and another feller, an Injun, a woman, and a young girl. That’s what Toby Bryan told me. I didn’t even see ’em. He said they drove a small herd of horses with ’em—left ’em to graze behind Toby’s forge while they went in the saloon. You know I’da sent somebody to tell you if I’d thought you wanted to know.”
Beauchamp’s mind was spinning, at first with disgust for the report Sid Hadley had given him of a dozen or more gun hands, but then it struck him that the opportunity to drive McAllister out for good might not be slipping away after all.
“Three men—one of them an Indian—and two females, eh?” Hadley had him thinking he was going to hire on more gun hands to combat the crew McAllister had brought in.
“That’s what Toby said,” Crowder replied.
Three men were not enough to concern Beauchamp since he still had an advantage in numbers, and his men were all hardened gunmen. But what if these new arrivals were only the first to show up? What if McAllister was planning to bring in more men, preparing for an all-out war? He rapidly came to the conclusion that, if he was going to drive McAllister off that mountain, it needed to be done before McAllister had a chance to further strengthen his hand. Beauchamp’s mind began working on a plan to get rid of his nemesis for good and all.
“You know,” he told Crowder, “something’s going to have to be done about McAllister stealing cattle off my range. I’ve stood it for as long as I intend to, and I might have to do something about it. I’ve gone out of my way to try to be neighborly with him, but he just doesn’t want any part of it. So the next time I catch him rustling my cattle, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”
“You want me to ride out there and talk to McAllister about this?” Crowder asked.
“I don’t know if it would do any good,” Beauchamp replied. “A man like that doesn’t have much respect for the law. It might be best to just let me handle it. Maybe McAllister and I can have a little talk and settle our differences.”
“Yes, sir,” Crowder said, relieved to have an out. “You’re probably right about that. He oughta have enough sense to know he can’t go up against your boys.”
“We don’t have any room for troublemakers like Boone McAllister in our town, and I’m willing to stand up against his kind, for the good of Silver City. I’ll see what I can do to settle this thing peacefully, but I’ll fight if I’m forced to.”
“Yes, sir,” Crowder replied. “No man could fault you for that. Maybe I should ride out to his place with you, though.”
“It’s your job to keep the peace here in town. Best let me handle the rustling problem.”
“Right,” Crowder said with relief. “You know best. I’ll keep an eye on his crew if they show up in town again.”
Beauchamp left the sheriff’s office satisfied that he was free to get rid of Boone McAllister, the thorn in the side of his plans, for good and all. He felt secure in the thought that Jim Crowder would testify that he was within his rights to protect his cattle from being rustled. There was no one else to prove his accusations false.
He almost laughed when he thought about the opposition he was preparing to face, if he was quick to act: two white men, one Indian, and two females, maybe three if McAllister’s Shoshoni woman was to be counted. There was no longer a question of frightening the obstinate squatter to pack up and leave. Now it was war, and he intended to wipe them all off the face of the earth.
No reason to wait another day, he thought. Then he cautioned himself not to act too soon. It wouldn’t hurt his cause to let the sheriff think he was trying to settle the problem peacefully.
Two days, he decided. You’ve got two days, McAllister.
• • •
Unaware that all hell was about to come down upon them, the brothers McAllister made their plans to protect themselves. They had decided there was no way they could definitely say that the dead man lying at the foot of the north meadow was on Beauchamp’s payroll, or that he had acted on Beauchamp’s orders. Consequently, they decided that they could expect a continuation of the harassing raids on the cattle and the mine.
Joel was in favor of carrying the battle to Beauchamp, but Boone argued that he wanted to build a solid future in Silver City. And while it was legal in the eyes of the law to defend one’s property, the army and the U.S. Marshals Service might come down hard on both sides of a range war. Finally he persuaded Joel that it was best to continue to maintain a defensive position and hope to demonstrate to Beauchamp that the McAllisters were here to stay.
“If he keeps losing a man or two every time he sends one of his little raiding parties over here, he’s gonna have to give up eventually.”
“What if he gets tired of sending two or three men to pick away at us?” Joel asked. “What if he decides to storm over here one night with all his men, hopin’ to rub us all out at once?”
“I don’t think even Beauchamp has that much brass,” Boone said. “Hell, he’s tryin’ to take control of the whole town. How would it look to everybody if he murdered us all?”
“Maybe you’re righ
t,” Joel said. “You were always smarter than me. At least, you always thought you were.” He chuckled at his attempt at humor. “I’m thinkin’ I might ride into town, tomorrow or the next day, and see if the sheriff knows what’s goin’ on out here.”
“Suit yourself, but remember I told you Beauchamp is the one who put that dumb bastard in the sheriff’s office in the first place.”
• • •
Lena Three Toe led Mike Strong into the parlor where Boss Beauchamp was waiting.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Beauchamp?” Strong asked.
Beauchamp nodded toward a chair. “Sit down, Mike. I want to have a little talk.”
“Yes, sir,” he responded, and dutifully seated himself on a straight-back chair opposite his boss. He was not totally at ease with the situation, because Boss never invited any of the men to sit down with him, so he wondered what trouble he had gotten himself into.
“I think it’s time I found out if you and your men are worth the money I pay you. Up till now you’ll have to admit that you haven’t had to do a helluva lot to earn it.”
“No, sir,” Strong replied, thinking that he was about to get a cut in pay.
“Well,” Beauchamp went on, “I’m going to give you and every one of your boys a chance to earn a bonus of a hundred dollars if you successfully do the job I’ve got in mind.”
Strong’s expression of concern was immediately replaced with one of enthusiasm. “We’re ready to do whatever job you’ve got in mind,” he assured his boss.
He had no concerns regarding the nature of the job, assuming it had to do with killing someone. For that was the primary reason he and every one of his men were on the payroll. They were all wanted men in different states or territories, and not a man hesitated when it came to murder.
Beauchamp then told Strong what he had in mind to do. It did not surprise him that his foreman was immediately receptive to it. Beauchamp had given his plan a lot of thought since his visit with the sheriff. His initial plan to simply massacre everyone on the McAllister spread, under the guise of a range war over cattle, had caused some concerns to arise. The report of a range war might possibly cause the army to send a troop in to investigate. He wanted to prevent that at all costs. Then Strong made a comment that gave him another idea.
“Too bad ol’ McAllister don’t have an Injun raid like that one that killed that family over on War Eagle Mountain last year,” he said with a smug grin on his face.
“By God,” Beauchamp exclaimed, “that might be the very thing to happen—an Indian massacre to wipe out the whole damn bunch of them.” He paused to recall the incident on War Eagle Mountain and think about it for a moment. “All for nothing, too. There wasn’t enough gold on that claim to bother with.”
“That’d sure ’nough be bad luck for poor ol’ Boone McAllister, wouldn’t it?” Strong commented with a chuckle, warming to the idea. “Hell, we’ve even got an Injun—ol’ Slow Sam. Leastways, he’s half Injun.” The man he referred to was wanted in Oklahoma Territory for the murder of a family of five. His name was Sam Slow Pony, but the men called him Slow Sam. “We could even dress up like Injuns,” Strong said, completely carried away by the novel idea of the murderous raid.
“There won’t be any need to, if you do the job right,” Beauchamp said. “There won’t be any witnesses to tell anyone who did it. You get the men together and get them ready to ride.” He hesitated a moment, wondering if McAllister had any more men coming. “Tomorrow night,” he decided. “That should give you any time you need to make your plans.” Strong got up to leave. “And, Mike, I’m holding you responsible to get the job done. There can’t be one person left alive on that mountain.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Strong assured him. “We’ll have the army out lookin’ for the Injun war party that done in them poor folks.”
Chapter 9
There was a definite threat of snow in the clouds that hovered over the stark wooden structures of Silver City, giving the dull gray buildings an even more forlorn appearance as the gray Indian pony loped along the one road through town. To Joel McAllister, the town looked less hospitable than it did when he had seen it before. He reminded himself that the people of Silver City had no knowledge of the murderous war waging between Ronald Beauchamp and the McAllisters. He didn’t expect much cooperation from the sheriff, but as he had told Boone, he thought it was in their best interest to let the law know their side of the story. This was just in case it became necessary for the law to become involved in the dispute.
Riley had bemoaned the fact that he was missing an opportunity to visit the saloon again, but he understood the necessity of staying behind to help guard the ranch. Joel assured him that he planned a short visit, so there wasn’t going to be any time wasted on drinking whiskey. This in spite of the contention Riley made that time spent drinking whiskey was never wasted time.
Toby Bryan looked up from his work and gave Joel a nod as he rode past the blacksmith’s shop, reminding him that he had to bring the horses in to be shod. Joel returned Toby’s nod with the touch of his finger to his hat brim.
Across from the Silver Dollar, a small building proclaimed itself to be the sheriff’s office. Joel wheeled the gray in by the hitching rail and dismounted. As on most occasions, Jim Crowder was seated at his desk, drinking coffee. He glanced up when Joel walked in the door, thinking he was probably one of the many prospectors with a claim somewhere who had come to complain about a claim jumper or some other bothersome problem. On second thought, on seeing that Joel was dressed in buckskins, he had the notion that he was one of the men Beauchamp had warned him about.
“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Joel said. “My name’s Joel McAllister. I thought I’d best come in and tell you about some cattle rustlin’ goin’ on at my brother’s place.”
“Oh, now,” Crowder replied, already with a hint of skepticism, “is that a fact? McAllister cattle?”
It seemed an odd question, but Joel answered, “Yeah, McAllister cattle, and it ain’t the first time it’s happened. This time, though, we were able to catch them in the act. There were three rustlers. We drove them off, except one, and he’s still lyin’ out behind a pile of rocks where we left him for the buzzards. I’m pretty sure one of the two that got away was hit once, maybe twice, but he stayed in the saddle. We thought you just might wanna know about it, since a man got killed.”
Crowder reacted at once. “You shot a man? Who was it?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Joel replied. “He didn’t have anything on him to identify him, but I suspect if you took him over to Blackjack Mountain, some of Beauchamp’s men could tell you who he was. You might even find the other one that got shot.” He paused to watch Crowder’s obviously confused reaction. “Matter of fact, if you’re inclined to do that, you might still beat the buzzards to the body, and you could take him over to Beauchamp’s.”
“Well, I ain’t inclined to do that,” Crowder retorted. Then he remembered Boss Beauchamp’s complaint that his cattle were being stolen and he suspected McAllister was the culprit. “These fellers you shot, were they on Mr. Beauchamp’s property?”
Joel was rapidly coming to appreciate Boone’s assessment of the bungling sheriff. “No. Like I just said, they were rustlin’ our cattle. We don’t keep our cattle on Beauchamp’s property.”
“Is that a fact?” Crowder replied. “How come I’m gettin’ reports that somebody’s been rustlin’ Beauchamp’s cattle?”
“I don’t know,” Joel answered. “Who reported it?”
“Different folks,” Crowder came back. “Never you mind. The fact of the matter is we didn’t start havin’ no trouble like that around here until your brother staked a claim on that mountain.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joel asked.
“It means that maybe you and your brother might be the ones I’d better be watchin’, instead of you
comin’ in here tellin’ me somebody’s stealin’ your cows. That feller you killed, how the hell do I know you didn’t just murder some drifter that came on your land by mistake?”
Joel’s patience was already wearing thin, and he could already see that Boone had been right when he said it was a waste of time reporting to the sheriff. “’Cause I wouldn’t be stupid enough to come in and tell you I murdered a man. Maybe you oughta come out and take a look at him. If he’s one of Beauchamp’s men, there’s a good chance you might recognize him. While you’re at it, why don’t you check the doctor’s office, if you’ve got a doctor in this town? Might be he’s treated a man for gunshot wounds.”
Crowder was only getting more and more confounded. He knew what Beauchamp had told him, and he didn’t want to hear anything that would make him doubt it. He had made no mention of losing a man, and Crowder was pretty sure Doc Murphy hadn’t treated any gunshot patients recently. Doc would have told him if that had been the case. McAllister was a troublemaker. That much he had been convinced of, and the sheriff owed Beauchamp too much to question his word. Now he wasn’t sure if he should take some kind of action while one of the troublemakers was standing in his office.
“I’m thinkin’ it might be a good idea to lock you up till I find out the straight of things,” he finally said.
Joel’s expression turned stone cold. “That would be a mistake to even try,” he said evenly. “Of all the things possible to happen here today, that ain’t one of ’em. I reckon I found out you wouldn’t do anything about the cattle rustlin’. That was my mistake, but it’s the only one I’m plannin’ to make, so I’m fixin’ to walk outta here now and leave you to go back to drinkin’ your coffee.”
Crowder started to get up from his chair but thought better of it when the move caused Joel to swing his carbine up to grasp it with both hands, cocking it as he did.
“You’re ridin’ on rocky ground, mister,” Crowder warned. “I’m gonna be keepin’ my eye on you and all the rest of that bunch on that mountain.”
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