“Please buy as much land for me as you can, and let me worry about the adjacent land owners.”
Perkins did some math on a sheet of paper, then whistled. “Colonel Garneau, this is going to require quite a sizeable outlay. With just the land I know is available, we are talking about at least eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
“If you wish, you may go with me to the bank and inquire as to available funds,” Garneau said.
Perkins stood, then retrieved his hat from the hat rack. “The bank is just around the corner.” He exited the bank and Garneau followed.
“Colonel Garneau!” the bank president said when Garneau and Perkins stepped into the bank a few moments later. “What can I do for you?”
“You can inform Monsieur Perkins that I have sufficient funds to buy land,” Garneau said.
“Mr. Perkins,” the bank president said, “it would not be ethical for me to disclose just how much money Colonel Garneau has on deposit with us. Suffice it to say that he is good for any amount of land you can find for him to purchase.”
Perkins smiled at the Frenchman. “Colonel Garneau, I can see that you and I are going to have quite a profitable relationship.”
CHAPTER FOUR
DIED
Early on the morning of August 25th,
GEORGE MUNGER, owner
of the successful ranch, Long Trek.
Death is a solemn event, but one which all must meet sooner or later. Sometimes the pain and sadness occasioned by its touching the hearts of the bereaved is of more than an ordinary character. It is so in this case. George Munger’s six thousand acre ranch, Long Trek, is the envy of all in Eagle County who have taken up that profession.
Munger arrived in Colorado nine years previous, and in that time not only began a successful ranch, but fathered two children, a boy, Seth, and a daughter, Meg. His widow, Ann, was the apple of his eye. He had spoken to others of his hope to raise Seth to be of great help on the ranch and to prepare him for eventual ownership, but that is not to be.
Barely two weeks have gone by since George Munger took ill, and though he initially passed it off as something of no consequence, the illness quickly took control, and he died. His last wish was that his widow sell the ranch and move back to Ohio where she has family, believing that a woman alone and raising two children would have a better life there than she would find here.
Mrs. Munger acquiesced to her husband’s last wishes by placing the ranch on the market. As it was adjacent to land recently bought by Colonel the Marquis Lucien Garneau, the Frenchman made her a generous offer and she accepted. Out of respect for its previous owner, Colonel Garneau will keep the name Long Trek, and states that whatever property he may henceforth acquire will be assimilated into and retain the name Long Trek.
Mrs. Munger can take comfort in the knowledge that while the body may be committed to the tomb, there is a bond that reaches beyond the grave and it will ever hold her in affectionate embrace.
Lucien Garneau bought Long Trek, complete with house and outbuildings. Over the ensuing four months, he bought several more acres contiguous to Long Trek, so by spring he had 15,000 acres, making Long Trek the second largest ranch in the valley. Every ranch he had bought had been one the owners were willing to sell. But his 15,000 acres were locked in by at least eight other ranchers, all who had property that abutted his, none who wanted to sell.
“I don’t believe you’re goin’ to get anyone else to sell out to you, Colonel.” Otis Nance had been foreman of Long Trek when it was owned by Munger, and he had stayed with the ranch when Garneau bought it.
“They will sell,” Garneau said. “I will have the biggest and the best ranch in the entire valley.”
“Well, I tell you, Colonel, you might talk enough of ’em into sellin’ out to you to wind up bein’ the biggest ranch in the area, though that ain’t likely. And it’s even less likely that you’ll be the best.”
“And why not, if I may ask?” Garneau replied, obviously miffed by the comment.
“First of all, ’cause you cain’t grow no more ’lessen you can get some of the folks around you to sell their land to you, which I can tell you right now, there ain’t no more of ’em goin’ to do it. And then even if you can wind up with more land, well, sir, I’ve worked some over at Sugarloaf and it’s about the best run place I’ve ever seen. And it ain’t just Smoke Jensen, it’s his wife, ’n the men that work there. Jensen, he don’t let all his people go in the wintertime like most of the other ranchers, and so the ones that’s workin’ there, stays just real loyal to him.”
“Then perhaps you should go back to work for him,” Garneau said angrily.
“There ain’t no need for you to go gettin’ all riled up now. I was just tellin’ you the truth ’cause I thought you might want to know,” Nance said.
“Leave my ranch, now, Monsieur Nance,” Garneau ordered.
“Wait a minute. Are you firin’ me?”
“I am.”
“Then in that case, you owe me half a month’s wages,” Nance said, realizing that he wasn’t going to be able to talk Garneau into keeping him on.
Two days later, Nance was in the Four Flusher Saloon in Wheeler, Colorado, drinking beer and still complaining about being fired. “I got fired for tellin’ the truth. A fella ought not to ever get fired for doin’ nothin’ more than tellin’ the truth. The problem is the colonel has more money than he’s got sense. He’s tryin’ to buy up the whole county, only there ain’t no more people goin’ to sell to him.”
The bar girl Nance was talking to was paying attention to him only as long as she could entice him into buying more drinks. But a solitary drinker at the next table over was listening, and he turned to Nance. “Who is this man you are talking about?”
“He’s a Frenchman, by the name of Garneau. Lucien Garneau. Calls himself a marquis, and he likes for folks to call him Colonel. I think a marquis is supposed to be like a lord or something.”
“And he’s a rich man? This Garneau?”
“Oh yeah, he’s rich all right.”
Deekus Templeton smiled. It was good information to know.
“The thing is, he’s wantin’ to make his ranch the biggest and the best in the valley, but I told him, he ain’t never goin’ to get the better of Smoke Jensen.”
“Who?”
“Smoke Jensen. You’ve heard of him, ain’t you? Hell, I thought ever’one had heard of Smoke Jensen.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him.”
Smoke, Templeton knew, was the one who had prevented his train robbery, but he thought it best to suggest that he had only marginally heard of him.
“Well, Smoke Jensen is the one who owns Sugarloaf. I told Garneau that there weren’t no way he would ever make his ranch bigger. Hell, he can’t, ’cause he can’t grow no more. Puddle and all them other little farmers and ranchers has got their land right up next to his, and if they don’t sell to him, then there ain’t nowhere else he can go.”
“Has he tried to buy them out?” Templeton asked.
“Oh, yeah. He’s tried a bunch of times. And he got Turner an’ Daniels to sell out to him. But there ain’t nobody else goin’ to sell to him.”
“Darlin’, do you want to sit here all day and talk to him? Or do you want to buy me another drink and talk to me for a while?” the girl asked.
“Ha! That’s an easy question to answer,” Nance said. “Get yourself another drink, then come back and sit with me.”
Templeton left the saloon then. He had been thinking about how to get even with Smoke Jensen ever since he had interrupted the train robbery. It just might be the way he could do that. Not only would he be able to get even with Jensen, he could make some money as he was doing it. And if this Garneau man was rich, there just might be a way to make a lot of money.
Long Trek Ranch
Templeton passed through the gate that arched over the road leading up to the main house. The name of the ranch, LONG TREK, was burned into the wood, and to either side of the name was a fle
ur-de-lis, though Templeton had no idea what it was, or what it meant.
As he rode past the bunkhouse he saw three men out front, sitting in chairs that were tipped back against the front wall. None of the three made any effort to greet him. Tying his horse off at the hitching rail in front of the main house, he stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by a short, red-faced man wearing a jacket and tie.
“Mr. Garneau?” Templeton asked.
“I am Garrison Reeves, sir. I am Colonel the Marquis Garneau’s valet,” the man replied in a very English accent.
“His what?” Valet was not a word with which Templeton was familiar.
“Do you wish to speak with Colonel Garneau?”
“Yes.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Templeton. Deekus Templeton.”
“You may wait in the parlor.”
Templeton was shown into the parlor and as he waited, he saw, in a felt-lined case, two pistols, though they were unlike any pistol he was familiar with. He picked one of them up for a closer examination. It didn’t have a cylinder, and when he pushed a button on the side, the barrel dropped down. It was a single shot, breech-loading pistol.
“That is a perfectly matched pair of dueling pistols by Gastinne Renette, and they are very valuable.”
Turning, Templeton saw a tall, dark-haired man with eyes so light blue they were almost colorless.
“Who would duel with something like this?” Templeton asked. “Hell, the barrel is so long you’d have a hard time gettin’ it out of your holster.”
“When a gentleman duels, the pistol is already in his hand. There is no need to withdraw it from a holster.”
“The hell you say.” Templeton shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a gunfight like that.”
“It isn’t a gunfight, Monsieur. It is an affaire d’honneur. Mr. Reeves told me you wish to speak to me.”
“You are Mr. Garneau?”
“I am Colonel Garneau.”
“Yes, sir. Well, Colonel, I’d like to come to work for you.”
“I have too many employees now. I have no need for more cowboys.”
“Yes, well here’s the thing, Colonel. I’m not exactly what you would call a cowboy,” Templeton said.
“Then if you aren’t a cowboy, why do you ask for employment? What are you, a cook?”
Templeton chuckled. “No, I’m not a cook either. I’m what you might call someone who makes things happen.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean . . . you are someone who makes things happen?”
“I’ve heard you want your ranch to grow larger, but you are blocked in by some small ranchers who won’t sell out to you.”
“They are cretins,” Garneau said.
“Well, Mr. Garneau, I believe I can convince those folks to sell to you. And not only that, I can get ’em to sell to you at a price that’s less than what their land is worth.”
“That is most interesting,” Garneau said, paying a bit more attention to what Templeton had to say. “You can convince all eight to sell?”
“We won’t have to convince all eight of ’em. All we have to do is convince two or three to sell, and the others will fall into place. I can do that.”
“And how, exactly, are you going to do that?”
“By hunting down cattle thieves,” Templeton said.
“I don’t understand. How does hunting down cattle thieves have anything to do with my intention to grow my ranch?”
“Well, if cattle are disappearing from your ranch, don’t you have a right to go after the people who are stealing them?”
“I suppose so,” Garneau replied, still not sure where Templeton was going with this.
“It has been my experience these small ranchers can only survive by stealing cattle from the larger ranchers.”
“And you think the smaller ranchers are stealing cattle from me?”
“We can make sure they are,” Templeton replied with a smile.
Garneau nodded. Finally, he understood. “I see. And you can take care of that problem for me?”
“That depends on how particular you are about how I go about it.”
“How particular I am? I don’t understand, Monsieur Templeton.”
“I mean, what if something was to happen to one of the people who have been stealing your cattle. Something bad enough to make him want to sell?”
“Am I to assume you can make that happen?”
“I can and I will, if that’s what it takes to get someone to listen to reason,” Templeton said.
“I see.”
“How would you feel about that, Colonel Garneau?”
“I am more interested in results, Templeton, than I am in how those results are obtained.”
Templeton smiled. “Then I am your man.”
“What sort of compensation will you require?”
“Ten thousand dollars, plus expenses,” Templeton said.
“Ten thousand dollars?” Garneau replied with a gasp. “You think most highly of yourself, Monsieur.”
“Plus expenses,” Templeton said again.
“And just what would these expenses be?”
“I’d say about two thousand dollars,” Templeton said. “I would need that money up front. You don’t have to pay the ten thousand dollars until you have acquired all the land you need.”
“Very well, Monsieur Templeton. Return tomorrow, and I will have the expense money for you. How soon will you get started on your . . . project?”
“First things first, Colonel. I have to take care of someone who might be a problem.”
“Who would that be?”
“Now, Colonel, you really don’t want to know that,” Templeton said. “The less you know about what I’m doing, the better off you will be. This way, none of it will come back on you.”
“Yes,” Garneau said with a nod of his head. “Yes, I believe you may be correct.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow for the expense money.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A MEETING
of the
EAGLE COUNTY CATTLEMEN’S ASSOCIATION
~ Monday Next ~
County Courthouse
Red Cliff, Colorado
The signs had been posted in all the towns of Eagle County: Mount Jackson, Dillon, Frisco, Wheeler, Eagle Park, Mitchell Wells, Swan, Preston, and Big Rock, so it was well attended by the larger landholders of the county.
Smoke got a cup of coffee from the table in the back of the room, then took his seat as Wes Gregory, president of the Cattlemen’s Association called the meeting to order. “Gentlemen, the purpose of this special-called meeting is twofold. First, it is to introduce you to our newest member, Colonel the Marquis Lucien Garneau. Colonel Garneau, as some of you may know, bought Long Trek from George Munger’s widow and has subsequently added to it, so it is accurate to say he is now one of the larger landholders in our county. The second reason I have called this meeting is because Colonel Garneau has encountered a problem all of us have faced from time to time, and if what is happening at Long Trek is any indication, we may all be facing it again, soon.”
“What problem would that be, Joel?” Adam Dickerson asked.
“Cattle rustling.”
“Cattle rustling? Why, I ain’t had no problem with that, other than some transient killing a steer now and then for meat.”
“Perhaps I had better let Colonel Garneau talk,” Gregory said.
“Merci, Monsieur Gregory,” Garneau said, then he smiled at the audience. “And I promise you, saying thank you to Mr. Gregory will be the last French I use. I will speak only in English, because I want to make certain everyone understands the severity of the problem.
“I have been here but a short time. I bought the ranch from the widow of George Munger, along with all the livestock. I have added to the size of the original ranch by purchasing property adjacent to the ranch. I can expand no farther, because the holdings of small ranchers an
d farmers have me blocked.
“That would not be a problem except for this.” Garneau held up a finger to emphasize his point. “I am losing cattle at an alarming rate, and I am convinced the culprits are those same small ranchers and farmers who have me locked in.”
“Garneau, I think you may be mistaken there,” Smoke said. “I know all the ranchers and farmers you are talking about—they have been my neighbors for some time. Speer, Woodward, Turner, Babcock, Logan, Clayton, Daniels, Keefer, Drexler, Butrum, and Puddle. Why, you couldn’t ask for a finer neighbor that Humboldt Puddle. Anytime anyone runs into trouble, Mr. Puddle is the first one to offer help.”
“Perhaps, Monsieur Jensen, it is because you are a long-time, established resident that they leave you alone. Perhaps it is only because I am new here, and I am a foreigner, that I have been singled out.”
“Have you gone to the sheriff about it?” Dickerson asked.
“The sheriff is as Monsieur Jensen, I’m afraid. He thinks his neighbors can do no wrong,” Garneau said. “But I don’t need the sheriff. I am in the process of putting together my own régulateurs.”
“Regulators? You mean, vigilantes?” Dickerson asked.
“Yes, to guard my cattle and to stop the thievery.”
“Look here, Garneau, are you expecting us to join you in hiring a bunch of vigilantes?”
“No, no, that isn’t at all necessary,” Garneau said. “I just want to make you aware of the problem . . . and how I plan to solve it.”
Big Rock
When Smoke stepped into Longmont’s Saloon three days later, he saw Tim Murchison, the owner of the leather goods store, and Dan Norton, the lawyer, sitting at a table with Louis Longmont, and he walked over to join them.
“Hmm,” Louis said. “What are you doing here at this hour? Another school board meeting?”
“Do you think the only time I can come in at night is when Sally is at a school board meeting?”
“Yes.”
Strike of the Mountain Man Page 3