Killer Take All

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “Yeah, and you done took a lot of it too, so much of the free rangeland that some of us is beginnin’ to worry ’bout whether we’re goin’ to have enough graze for our herds.” Perkins gave sort of a dismissive wave with his hand. “We can understand that you got a right to that land and we’re willin’ to trade some of it off for gettin’ a railroad. But this that you’re talkin’ about now ain’t free rangeland. It’s like I said, this here strip you’re talkin’ about belongs to me, ’n I don’t have no plans on sellin’ it.”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t matter whether you want to sell it or not. We will take it by eminent domain.”

  “I don’t know what this eminent domain thing is that you’re talkin’ about, but I’ll tell you again so’s that you understand. I don’t have no intention of sellin’ my land, ’n I ain’t a-goin’ to sell it.”

  “And I’ll tell you again, Mr. Perkins, it doesn’t matter whether you want to sell it or not. I have the law on my side, and that means if I want to buy it there is nothing you can do to stop me. And, Mr. Perkins, I want to buy it.”

  “Look here, are you tellin’ me that the law says that even iffen I don’t want to sell my land to you, I have to do it?”

  “That is exactly what I’m telling you, Mr. Perkins.”

  Perkins felt his stomach rise to his throat, and he felt so light-headed that he believed he was about to pass out. He walked over to his horse then put his hand out to the saddle to support himself. As he did that, his hand came very close to the rifle he had in his saddle sheath.

  All four riders pulled their pistols then and pointed them at him.

  “Step away from that rifle, Perkins!”

  “I . . .” Perkins said. He seemed to feel his body rising up through his head, and the next thing he knew Kistner was on the ground beside him, bathing his face with a wet handkerchief.

  “What . . . what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Kistner answered. “One minute you was standin’ there talkin’ to Mr. Poindexter ’n the next thing I knowed you just up ’n fell down.”

  “Where are they?” Perkins said. “Where is Poindexter ’n the others?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Kistner said. “When you fell down like you done, I come over to see about you. Poindexter ’n the others just rode off like it didn’t make no never mind to ’em whether you was alive or dead.”

  Perkins sat up and looked around. “All this,” he said in a strained voice. “They’re a-takin’ all this.”

  “You think you can ride all right, Mr. Perkins? ’Cause if you think you can ride all right, I’ll get you back home ’n you can go in the house ’n maybe Mrs. Perkins can look out for you some,” Kistner said anxiously.

  “Yes, son, I’m sure I can ride if I can get mounted.”

  “I’ll help.”

  * * *

  From the Chugwater Defender:

  IS THE C&FL RAILROAD A FRAUD?

  There was universal approval and celebration when it was announced that the Poindexter Railroad and Maritime Corporation would be building a railroad from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie. A railroad would mean much for Chugwater and the citizens of the Chugwater valley, and so great was our appreciation of the coming of a railroad that the bacchanalia seemed appropriate.

  But this newspaper would like to point out to all our readers that so far not one rail of track has been laid, not so much as one hundred feet of roadbed has been cleared. In fact the Chinese construction crew that the C&FL brought for the task was left abandoned outside of town, languishing without pay, even without food until Duff MacCallister offered them shelter, food, and employment at Sky Meadow Ranch.

  So far not so much as one mile of right-of-way has been surveyed. And it is this, the lack of survey of the route, which has raised a question as to the actual intent and purpose of the railroad.

  The relationship between the C&FL and citizens of Chugwater began on a high note, with the reception and gala where we met Jacob Poindexter. There, we listened to his promise of a golden future of mutual growth for the railroad and those whom it would serve. He is the son of the founder of the company, so one would think that we could not be better represented. So, what have Mr. Poindexter and the others been doing? They have been acquiring land.

  “Oh,” you might say. “What is so unusual about that? Will they not require land before the building can begin?”

  What is so unusual about it, my friends, is the type and locations of the land they have acquired, all without benefit of a route survey.

  Here are a few examples. They have confiscated rich and well-watered grazing land from the Goodwin Ranch and the Davis Ranch, as well as from the Pitchfork, Mountain Shadow, and Trail Back ranches. They have also recently made their first grab of land by use of eminent domain. I do not use the term grab loosely, for they have taken, by such maneuver, that part of the JP Ranch that abuts Bear Creek. This creek not only provides the JP with water it needs, it also furnishes water to Mountain Shadow, which is the ranch adjacent to the JP. Mountain Shadow is able to benefit from the creek because Jonas Perkins, being a good neighbor, has always seen to it that the creek is free of any debris that would obstruct its free flow.

  Ah, but it doesn’t stop there. Land has also been acquired from the Snowy Mountain Range and the Laramie Mountains, both areas known to be rich in mineral deposits.

  Discerning readers will notice, right away, that the locations of these tracts of land are in no way contiguous, but are in fact separated from each other by no small distance. In the case of the Snowy and Laramie Mountain Ranges, the two parcels of land are separated by almost 100 miles.

  In order for a railroad to qualify for free land under the provisions of the Land Grant Act of 1864, the railroad must pass over the land thus acquired. The distance from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie by the most direct and obvious route is 110 miles. If the C&FL Railroad actually utilizes the land it has so recently acquired, the same law that enabled them to acquire the land will also dictate that the tracks must be laid across or immediately adjacent to the granted land.

  Such an irregular route would add 437 miles to the trip from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie.

  It therefore should be obvious that the C&FL has something in mind other than building a railroad for the citizens of Chugwater Valley. To that end, I suggest that the name of the C&FL be changed from the Cheyenne and Fort Laramie Railroad to the Cheaters and Fraud Lies.

  There should be an investigation launched, and soon.

  “Did you read this?” Jalen Nichols asked, showing the newspaper article to Streeter.

  “Yeah,” Streeter said. “I seen it. The boss seen it too.”

  “What does he think about it?”

  “He thinks we should ask Blanton not to write anymore articles like that.”

  “That’s it? We should just ask him not to do anymore and he’ll stop?”

  Streeter smiled. “It all depends on how we ask him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The effect of the article in the Defender was immediate, and it divided the residents into two opposing groups. Those who lived in Chugwater, as well as the towns of Walbach and Uva, still believed that the benefits of having a railroad outweighed any questionable activities in which the C&FL might be engaged. After all, the acquisition of land did not affect them.

  “So what if the railroad does take a roundabout route from Cheyenne to Fort Laramie? Wouldn’t that just mean more of our area is served?” Martin Gilmore asked.

  “You have been hired as their lawyer,” David Lewis said. “Of course you are going to defend them.”

  As the discussion continued, the rural residents—the ranchers, famers, and miners—saw the negative aspects of the oncoming railroad. Many of them had already seen the available free range disappear and having grown their herds to take advantage of this additional grazing area, they were now faced with the possibility of having to divest themselves of many head of cattle. Because it would be a distressed sale, they
would lose a significant amount of money.

  The relationship between the merchants and citizens of the town and the ranchers and farmers, which had always been very good, became strained to the point that frequent arguments erupted. Ranchers and businessmen, cowboys and employees of the city businessmen, men and women who had been very good friends, were barely speaking now.

  Local businessmen Archie Jones and Bert Emerson were sitting together in the Wild Hog Saloon, discussing the situation.

  “The ranchers and farmers and such are going to keep on messing around until the people who are building this railroad are liable to just give up and quit,” Jones said. “And if they do that, that’ll leave us without a railroad.”

  “Well, Archie, I want a railroad to come here same as you do. If we were to get a railroad, there’s no doubt in my mind but this town would double in size within the next five years. That means my business would just about double, same as yours and ever’body else’s. But, you have got to look at it from the ranchers’ ’n farmers’ point of view, too.”

  “You mean because they’re having to give up some of their land? Hell, Bert, half of what they’ve been using doesn’t belong to them anyway. It belongs to the government, and that means it belongs to us. If you ask me, they’re just being selfish about it.”

  “Some of the townspeople are supporting the ranchers,” Bert said. “Fred Matthews is, so are Bob Guthrie and Biff Johnson. I mean, when you think about it, the ranchers and cowboys have always supported all the businesses in town.”

  “Hell yeah, Johnson would,” Archie replied. “All the ranchers and nearly all the cowboys go to Fiddler’s Green when they come to town. But as far as I’m concerned, Biff Johnson is being as selfish as the ranchers and farmers are being. And have you been reading what Charley Blanton has been writing in his newspaper? Hell, he’s come right out and called the railroad people nothin’ but a bunch of crooks.”

  “Well, you have to admit, Archie, that what Blanton has written about some of the things the railroad has been doing is pretty bad. I mean, look at it from Perkins’s point of view. They have completely cut his ranch off from water, and he didn’t have any say-so about it at all.”

  “It couldn’t be that big of a surprise, though,” Archie said. “If you recall, when they first came we were told that they could make you sell your land if they needed it for the track.”

  “What if they said they wanted to run their track through your meat market? You would have no choice but to sell,” Bert said, continuing his argument.

  “Well, yes, but they wouldn’t take it without paying me for it. Same as they’re doin’ with Perkins.”

  “They would pay you, yes. But you wouldn’t be able to set the price. They would pay you what they decided your market is worth.”

  “That’s nothing I’ve got to worry about, anyway. The track won’t be comin’ through Bert’s Meat Market. It does make you think a bit, though. I wonder what the ranchers are going to do.”

  “I hear that they will be holding a meeting tomorrow night. I guess we’ll find out what they plan then.”

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Streeter, Dixon, and Nichols came into town riding down Clay Avenue. There were streetlamps at the corners of Third, Fourth, and Fifth Streets, but their illumination covered little more than the intersections. The three men appeared and disappeared in the little golden bubbles of light as if they were apparitions, now visible, now invisible.

  Not one window in the entire town showed light. Even the saloons were dark. There was no sound except the quiet thud of hoofs falling on the dirt road.

  “There it is,” Streeter said, speaking quietly. He pointed to the small dark building on the corner of Fifth Street. Enough light came from the streetlamp to read the sign that was painted on the front window.

  CHUGWATER DEFENDER

  Serving the Chugwater Valley

  CHARLES BLANTON, Publisher

  “Well, sir, you ain’t goin’ to be servin’ the Chugwater Valley much longer,” Nichols said, and he chuckled as he began pouring kerosene on the side of the building.

  Dixon stood out front, looking up and down the street.

  “Is it all clear?” Streeter asked.

  “Yeah, it’s all clear.”

  Streeter snapped his thumbnail against the head of a match, causing it to light. He held it against the lowest board on the side of the building then was rewarded by seeing a little line of blue flame flare up from the bottom edge. He watched for just a second until he knew it had caught, then he walked back out to mount his horse, which was being held by Dixon.

  “All right, boys. Let’s go.”

  When they reached Bluff’s Road at the extreme north end of town, they turned to look back. They could see a bright, wavering orange flame lighting up the darkness.

  “Well, I don’t reckon that runt will be printin’ no more stories about us,” Streeter said with a satisfied chuckle.

  * * *

  Just across the street from the newspaper office and about half a block down, twelve-year-old Judy Sinclair was awakened by something, surprised and a little frightened to see the walls of her bedroom bathed in a flickering orange glow. When she looked out her window she saw a building enveloped in flames.

  “Mama! Papa! Fire!” she shouted.

  Abe Sinclair, Judy’s father, was not only a stagecoach driver, he was also a volunteer fireman, and he came running quickly into his daughter’s room. “Where? Where is the fire?”

  Judy pointed. “It’s the newspaper, Papa!”

  Abe Sinclair’s first reaction was one of relief that it wasn’t their house that was on fire. His second thought was also of relief when he realized it was a business building and not a private home that was burning. That meant that there was little likelihood anyone would be in immediate danger.

  * * *

  Several other citizens had been awakened by the fire just as Judy had, but by the time Abe Sinclair and the other volunteer firemen could be rallied, there was nothing they could do to save the newspaper office. They had no recourse but to throw water on the Chugwater Seed and Feed Store building, which was the newspaper office’s closest neighbor. Fortunately the office was on the corner, so the Chugwater Seed and Feed Store was the only building at risk, and, by the prodigious effort of the townspeople, it was saved.

  Although many had witnessed the fire and the effort to keep it from spreading, just as many townspeople were totally unaware of the fire until the next morning. As the sun lifted above the eastern horizon, the smell of smoke and burnt wood permeated the street. It was still early in the morning, but already a gathering of forty or so people stood in the middle of the road looking at the charred remains. Charles Blanton, who had not gone to sleep since the fire, was poking around inside seeing what was left of the building. From time to time he would pick up blackened items for a closer examination then discard them in frustrated disgust.

  “I don’t know what it’s goin’ to be like without a newspaper in town,” one of the bystanders said.

  “Wonder how the fire got started? You don’t reckon ole’ Charley left a lantern burnin’ do you?”

  “No, he wouldn’t do nothin’ like that.”

  “If you ask me, somebody burnt it down,” another said.

  “What? Why would anybody do a thing like that?”

  “What do you mean why would someone do somethin’ like that? You’ve read some of them stories he’s wrote.”

  * * *

  “What makes you think it was arson?” Marshal Ferrell asked later that morning when Charley expressed that sentiment to him.

  “What else could it be?” Charley asked. “I didn’t have any lit lanterns in the building, there was no lightning strike, and it certainly wasn’t spontaneous combustion.”

  “Spon what?” the marshal asked, showing his confusion over the term.

  “Look, Bill, you’ve read some of my articles,” Charley said.

  “Ha,
that I have. They have been some stem winders, I’ll say that.”

  “I’ve made Poindexter and his crowd angry, and they paid me back by burning down my newspaper office.”

  “Now, you ought not to be so quick as to make a charge like that, Charley,” Ferrell said. “The truth is, your stand on the railroad has made a lot of people in town mad. They are afraid that you might cause the railroad to change their mind and not come through the town. So if you really think it was arson, who is to say it wasn’t one of the people from town?”

  “Hell, Bill, the number of people in town that I haven’t made mad can be counted on one hand. But in the end we’ve always ‘kissed and made up,’ so to speak.” Charley shook his head. “No, sir, I don’t believe for a moment that any of our regular citizens would be evil enough to do something like this.”

  Ferrell stroked his chin for a moment. “The truth is, Charley, I’m inclined to agree with you. It probably was someone from the railroad. But we can’t just go charging someone without some kind of proof.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to rebuild my newspaper office, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Marshal Ferrell nodded. “Yeah, I would have made book that that’s what you intended to do.”

  * * *

  Duff learned about the fire that afternoon when he came into town for the specially called meeting of the Cattlemen’s Association of Laramie County that was to be held that night. He had planned to have dinner with Meagan before the meeting, and because her dress shop was on the same street as the newspaper, he learned of its destruction when he passed by the charred remains of the building.

  Duff stopped to look it for a long moment. Sky, his horse, was made nervous by the burnt smell and became a little agitated. He made it known by tossing his head that he wanted to go on.

  “All right, boy. We’ll be for going on then,” Duff said as he reached down to pat Sky’s neck.