CHAPTER 13
Frustration showed on the Colonel’s face as he stepped onto the porch and squinted into the morning sun. He had not slept well despite consuming a large amount of tequila before going to bed, and the skin beneath his eyes sagged and was turning the color of ripe plums. Leaning against the railing, he let his gaze wander from the barn to the corral, the orchard, and the well-kept garden out to the distant pastures where hundreds of cattle appeared as brown dots on the landscape. And he wondered to himself: With all this, why does my head feel like it might explode and my stomach hurt like somebody set fire to it?
He was waiting for the arrival of Sheriff Langston. Earlier, he’d sent a messenger to tell him they needed to talk, but at the Shooting Star instead of Luisa’s roadhouse. No need for the law, however friendly and easily manipulated, to be nosing around their usual meeting place with the Rawlings youngster being hidden there.
“Too early for hard liquor,” Abernathy told his Mexican maid. “Just bring coffee, strong and black, por favor.”
She was on her way to the kitchen when the sheriff stepped onto the porch. “Morning, Colonel,” he said, lightly touching the brim of his hat.
“A time of the day I could gladly do without,” Abernathy replied, setting the tone for their meeting.
“Troubles?”
The Colonel frowned. “I think you know the answer to that. Tell me what the mood is in town. I’ve had some of my men hanging around the saloons, but all they’re coming back with is hangovers and promises on God’s bible they didn’t do any drinking.”
Langston shook his head. “I saw one of them take a pretty good beating, just because it was known he works for you,” he said. “Folks are riled up. That little boy disappearing and Brent St. John getting his throat cut has angered a lot of people.”
“I sent idiots to get the boy. Idiots. There was no need for killing,” the Colonel said.
Langston didn’t bother to agree. “Those who aren’t angry are scared,” he said. “They’ve been coming to my office in droves, demanding that something be done.”
“It’ll blow over,” Abernathy said as he poured coffee from his cup into a saucer to let it cool. “The scared ones will outnumber those who are angry before long. Then things will return to normal.”
“But until they do. . . .”
There was a sudden sharpness to the Colonel’s voice. “Until then . . . I want John Rawlings found and brought to me. The other man we’ve talked about still needs killing. And if you can’t do it, I’ll use every man on this place to get my satisfaction. But if I’m forced to do it that way, things might get a little unpleasant for a worthless town sheriff.”
“I can take care of it,” Langston said. “It just might take a little time.”
Abernathy threw his china cup against the wall and erupted in curses. “I don’t have time,” he said.
The sheriff waited until he calmed before passing along his last bit of news. “Getting back in touch with the Rawlings boy’s mother won’t be easy. They’ve put more guards on her place. There must be a dozen or more, working in shifts. And they’re armed.”
“Who’s responsible for that?”
“The old lawyer named Shelby Profer. He’s suddenly taken quite an interest in these matters.”
For the first time since they had begun talking, Abernathy smiled. “Then it’s him I need to send a message. Be something, wouldn’t it, if his office was to go up in flames tomorrow night?” he said.
Hoping he had successfully managed to mask his fear of the Colonel, Langston took his leave and rode back to Fort Worth.
Later in the day he and Ben Dalton visited Profer’s office.
Anyone who so much as considers pouring kerosene or coal oil on the walls of this building can expect to be sued to within an inch of his life, not to mention a lengthy list of criminal charges that will be brought,” Profer bellowed. “I’ve officed here for a good half century and plan on breathing my final breath sitting behind this very desk. Should we ride out to the ranch and advise Mr. Abernathy of the consequences his proposed action will bring?”
Dalton shook his head and offered an alternate plan. “I think those volunteers you rounded up can provide adequate protection for your property,” he said. “We can post them around the building, all with lanterns so they can be seen, and I’m guessing anybody the Colonel sends to set a fire will quickly rethink their plan.”
“And what harm will it do to them?” Profer said.
“I’m guessing there will be enough of them who ride into town,” Dalton said, “that there won’t be too many left to look after the ranch. We can get coal oil, too. Maybe it’s time we send a message of our own.”
“Ah, yes,” the attorney said, slapping an open hand down on his desk, “we fight fire with fire, as the saying goes. I think it’s a marvelous plan. Marvelous indeed.”
The following evening, Marshal Kelly sat astride his horse on a rise south of town, looking through his spyglass. In a canyon below were a half dozen of Brent St. John’s friends. Each had an unlit torch, a canteen filled with coal oil, and matches in his pocket.
It was nearing midnight when the flickering of the Shooting Star torches appeared on the horizon, moonlit shadows moving in the direction of Fort Worth, just as the sheriff had said they would. Ten, maybe a dozen, Kelly thought before riding into the canyon.
“They’ll be past us shortly,” he said. “Then we’ll be on our way.”
True to his word, the Colonel had ordered his men to set fire to Shelby Profer’s office. He told the ranch hands he’d been sending into the saloons to find the building’s location and they had returned with a hand-drawn map. Torches were passed out to everyone and four of the men were assigned to carry fuel. Abernathy’s final instructions were simple, military-like: “Do it quickly and get out.”
When one of the cowboys asked what they were to do if there was indication someone might be inside the building, the Colonel only glared at him and repeated himself. “I said, do it quickly and get out.”
He would remain at the ranch, awaiting word of the mission’s success.
Inside the livery, Dalton’s planning was somewhat more elaborate. With Profer’s help, he had assembled those who had expressed their anger at St. John’s murder. He told them what Sheriff Langston had learned. “We’ll send a message of our own,” he said. Half of those in attendance would accompany Kelly. The others were to arm themselves and join him in protecting the lawyer’s property.
As he spoke, Duke was passing out torches and the canteens filled with coal oil. He was still miffed that Dalton had flatly refused to allow him to participate more. He, Profer, and the sheriff were told to remain in the livery.
Kelly was standing next to his fellow marshal as the meeting ended. “I don’t even want to think how many laws are gonna get broken tonight,” he said.
“This isn’t about the law anymore,” Dalton said. “It’s about right and wrong.”
Abernathy’s men were boisterous, almost giddy, as they headed toward town. Their mission was nothing more than a game, and each was eager to play. But as they neared their target, they were surprised by what they encountered. All around the perimeter, men stood in the glow of lanterns placed at their feet, each pointing a rifle.
Even as the ranch hands reined their horses to a stop, several shots broke the night silence, bullets humming over their heads and disappearing into the darkness. “Be advised our aim’s better than that,” Dalton yelled from his position on the front steps of the building. “Come any closer and we’ll gladly prove it.”
Torches began falling to the ground and were soon extinguished. Canisters of fuel oil were abandoned. Horses were abruptly turned and were heading south. Behind them, a cheer broke out.
At the Shooting Star, Colonel Abernathy had fallen into a drunken sleep in his office, snoring loudly and unaware of the activity playing out less than a hundred yards away.
At Sheriff Langston’s suggestion, Kelly and his followers had entered the ranch from the east, near the big stand of cottonwoods, and slowly advanced toward the barn. Two of the men had dismounted and gone ahead on foot to check inside. “We’ve got no cause to kill livestock,” the marshal said. “If there’s cows or horses inside, quietly lead them out before we arrive.”
Nearby, the empty bunkhouse was dark and the only light in the main house came from a flickering lantern located by a window in the Colonel’s office. Aside from the normal night sounds, all was quiet until Abernathy’s cook was awakened by the splashing of liquid against the barn walls.
By the time she had shaken Abernathy awake, torches had been lit and an orange glow was coming from the barn. Smoke was already climbing into the night sky as the Colonel staggered out to the front porch. He was frozen in place for a moment, then rushed inside to get his pistol. By the time he returned he heard only the distant sound of horses galloping away.
Abernathy could do nothing but watch in stunned silence as his barn was consumed in flames.
The message had been delivered.
Duke Keene had paced nervously while he awaited everyone’s safe return. The guardians of Profer’s office were the first back, some expressing disappointment that things had begun and ended so quickly. “They hightailed it out before things even got interesting,” one said. “Cowards,” said another as he accepted a whiskey bottle that was being passed around.
Shelby Profer was shaking every hand he could find. “Your efforts are greatly appreciated,” he said over and over. Dalton told him that a few men had remained at his office on the off chance the arsonists decided to return. “It’s not likely, though,” he said. “At least not tonight.”
It was almost dawn when Kelly and the others returned. “Not a shot fired,” he reported. “But the Colonel will be needing to build himself a new barn.”
Sheriff Langston watched the celebration in silence. He could only imagine the fury Abernathy would display once his unsuccessful employees returned. Failure, he knew, was not something for which the Colonel had any tolerance.
Aside from money and power, the only thing that drove Raymond Abernathy was revenge, the more ugly and violent the better.
“This,” Langston finally whispered to Dalton, “is gonna start a war.”