CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rhey Selmon reported to Agon Bordner and was surprised at the oversized boss’s reaction—or rather, the lack of it. Savoring a freshly baked apple pie, the huge man stopped eating as his top gunman reported that all of the posse had been killed except Deed Corrigan, but he was wounded and three men had gone after him to finish the job.

In the far corner, a man was playing the violin for Bordner’s enjoyment as he ate. He hadn’t shared with Selmon or Murphy that two Texas Rangers had made an appearance while they were gone. Bordner had fed them generously and given them a place to sleep, then they had ridden on. He was certain they believed his story about an unknown band of renegades attacking his ranch, stealing horses, and then attacking the Lazy S.

Bordner looked up, apple syrup dripping down his chin. “What about Lucas?”

“He’s dead,” Selmon said. “Murphy’s wounded. Just skinned his arm. Like you ordered.”

“Good. Good.” Bordner took another bite of pie, enjoying the combination of crust and fruit. “Fine job on the pie, Simpson,” he yelled to the unseen cook.

Outside of the ranch was a burst of noise and Selmon went to see what was happening. He came back, frowning.

“That’s Benson. He’s shot up some,” Selmon said. “Some stranger gunned down the other two.”

Bordner licked his fingers and called for more coffee. Without turning toward Selmon, he asked, “What stranger?”

Hitching his gunbelt as if to challenge someone, Selmon said that a stranger who called himself Sam Holton showed up as they were closing in on the wounded Deed Corrigan. He made the difference and they rode off together.

“This stranger was leading Deed’s horse. Deed had his hands tied to the pommel and his boots to the stirrups, to keep him steady,” Selmon said. “Like I said, he was carrying lead. Don’t know how bad though. He’s a tough sonuvabitch.” He cocked his head to the side. “From what Benson says, this other guy was, too.”

“Ever hear of a Sam Holton?”

“No.”

“Well, well, that’s not a good day’s work, Rhey. You didn’t kill them,” Bordner said and pushed another quarter section of pie into his mouth and followed it with coffee.

Selmon looked at him, worried about what Bordner would do.

Bordner told him to keep the arrested and escaped Bar 3 men there on the ranch, except when on specific assignment. To make it easier for them, he had ordered extra whiskey and a wagonload of prostitutes to be brought in for their enjoyment. He planned to keep three for himself.

Rhey Selmon smiled and left to tell the men.

The fat man was pleased with several outcomes of the last few days. The men who had attacked the Lazy S and survived the Corrigan counterattack were back and no law would be looking for them. So were all of their horses. That brought his force to twenty-two men. Not as many as he wanted, but enough if he used them well, and more were available for hire in El Paso. The Lazy S had lost another three men; he was certain Felix Sanchez had no more than ten men left to operate and protect his ranch.

Murphy was ordered to go to town and report on the posse’s demise. He was to say he didn’t know if Deed Corrigan was alive or not, only that his body wasn’t there when he rode away. He was to tell the town editor that he had been hit on the head and had been unconscious until after the ambush was over. Bordner wanted the town council to select an interim county sheriff until an election could be held and he wanted Macy Shields to hold both jobs, at least for now. It would make the final takeover of the region’s cattle lands so much easier. He prided himself on thinking long-term. That was the key. None of his men knew all of his plans. Not Dixie Murphy. Not Rhey Selmon. Not Macy Shields. Not anyone.

He finished the pie with a flourish and lit up a black cigar. The women should arrive anytime this afternoon.

After returning from town, Murphy was to oversee the gathering of cows with calves for fall branding. There would be no cooperation with the Sanchezes or the Corrigans, of course. He had already merged the two small ranches into the Bar 3 and all of the new animals were being marked with his bar crown brand. He loved the look of it. Sheer power he thought. Murphy’s men were to stay on their side of the boundary between the Bar 3 and the Lazy S spreads. Bordner wanted it to appear that he was a law-abiding citizen and any trouble that occurred was not his doing.

He didn’t like hearing about a gun-savvy stranger helping Deed Corrigan. Things he couldn’t control upset him. He planned on having Murphy drive some cattle to the railroad crew working around Houston to provide some immediate cash. Selmon would also be directed to rob the El Paso stage, at least once more. Bordner had kept his men away from robbing the trains; he didn’t like the idea of Pinkertons backtracking them . . . to him.

Bordner pulled on his cigar and waved at the violinist to leave. The house was quiet and he liked that. He took the cigar from his mouth, studied it, and called out for Selmon. The gunfighter was in the other room and responded quickly.

“Did you leave all the bodies where they fell?” Bordner asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think the Sanchezes will send a wagon to bring back the bodies of their men?” Bordner ran his finger along the table.

Selmon rubbed his chin. “Hadn’t thought about it. But, yeah, I reckon so.”

“Yes. So do I. Here’s what I want you to do.” Bordner had decided he wanted to hit the Sanchez ranch again, right now when they wouldn’t be expecting it.

“Take men with you and wait. Out of sight. When you see the wagon and their men leave the Lazy S, I want to you to hit the ranch again. They won’t be expecting it.” He returned the cigar to his mouth.

Controlling the county law would make it all go smoothly. Since the owning family was Mexican, he didn’t expect much of an outcry from the rest of the community. Except for the Corrigans. They would be dealt with separately.