CHAPTER 26
Shelby Profer hooked his thumbs into his vest pockets and leaned back in his chair as Duke surveyed the room with a look of amazement on his face. “If it wasn’t you sitting behind that desk,” he said, “I’d guess I came to the wrong place.”
The lawyer smiled. “I have made arrangements with an excellent cleaning lady,” he said. “Things are now so perfectly organized that I’m unable to find anything.”
Keene removed his hat, settled in a chair, and began telling what had taken place at the ranch. “I just overheard it from one of the Colonel’s own people. He’s laid up, shot bad in the leg.”
Profer pondered the welcome news. “This,” he said, “could dramatically alter the plan I had in mind and offer us an even better one to consider.”
“I don’t recall you ever explaining the first one.”
“No matter now. With Colonel Abernathy lame and bedridden, it is highly unlikely he will be leading any advance against our associates. Being homebound reduces him to nothing more than a vulnerable adversary in need of comforting. That’s what we’ll plan to do, pay him a get-well visit.”
Duke wasn’t following.
“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘While the cats are away . . .” We, sir, shall be the mice. There will be details yet to work out, but what we’ll do is go to the Shooting Star after Abernathy’s men have left to do battle with Mr. Dalton and Mr. Kelly and the others we’ve enlisted.
“I see the possibility of our bringing a quick and justifiable close to this matter. We’ll discuss this further after I’ve had more time to think about it. And, of course, this is just between you and me.”
As Duke rose to leave, the attorney had another request. “Is it possible you own a sidearm I could borrow? Time is of the essence, and I feel the need of a bit of practice.”
Keen walked back toward the livery with a bemused look on his face. He wasn’t all that certain that Profer’s plan, whatever it was, had a chance of working. And he certainly couldn’t picture the old lawyer replacing his cane with his Peacemaker.
He might have felt a little better if he’d known Profer in his younger days.
To earn money for law school, he had worked as a buffalo hunter up on the Texas High Plains. In addition to becoming an excellent marksman with a rifle, he also gained necessary experience with his sidearm since it was regularly necessary to fight off raiding Comanches and other buffalo hunters attempting to steal the hides they had collected. The reason for his limp and the use of a cane was not his age but the fact that a horse had fallen on him during a fight with Indians, breaking his leg. Even as Profer was trapped beneath the fallen horse, he had been able to shoot and kill several members of the raiding party.
By the time his leg was injured he had earned enough to fund his education and left buffalo hunting to enroll in school. Since then he had neither ridden a horse nor held a gun.
Long after Duke was gone, he sat at his desk, tapping the head of his cane against the floor. He was not nearly as confident about his still-murky plan as he had let on. Gunfights were an exercise for the immortal young, not philosophical elders. Still, as he had watched events play out and come to know the defenders of his community, he had felt a growing need to make a contribution, to perform a final gesture that would demonstrate he still had worth.
In his mind, this had never been a standoff between two groups of men eager to return to the frightful kind of battle many had known as Confederate soldiers. They had survived one war and did not deserve to be forced to fight another. All this growing madness was the fault of one evil and greed-driven man, Colonel Raymond Abernathy.
And now, if what Duke had told him was true, he, too, was crippled. Profer liked the idea of things being even. Another old saying passed along by his father came to mind: To kill a snake, you cut off his head.
At the Shooting Star, it was as if Profer had read the minds of those who drew their pay from Abernathy. Upon learning he had been shot, to a man they were disappointed to hear that he had survived. The only remaining question was whether their boss would go forward with his insane plan.
Raff Bailey had returned from the Colonel’s bedside with the answer.
Most of the cowhands were younger and Bailey wondered if they had fully grasped the danger of the mission Abernathy planned for them.
“I’m duty bound to tell you that he will reward each man with five hundred dollars and a half-dozen head of cattle,” he said. “There’s also a sizable bounty for any man who kills the old lady who shot him. He again emphasized that anyone who chooses to take his leave will be hunted down and shot.”
One of the wranglers asked his advice. “If he’s stove up and can’t leave his bed, how’s he to know who chose to take off or just got himself killed in the fighting and didn’t return?”
“Any chance of him coming to his senses and forgetting the whole thing?” another asked.
“I’ve considered the same things,” Bailey said. “He’s a stubborn man, and he’s bound and determined to carry this out. Whether you choose to participate is a decision every man has to make on his own. You’ve got only two remaining days to think it over. Meanwhile, he’s requested that a couple of men station themselves outside his bedroom door.”
He didn’t mention that less than an hour earlier, while standing at the Colonel’s bedside receiving instructions, he had considered shooting him.
“What are you planning on doing?” another cowboy said.
“The Colonel tells me I’m to be the leader, but I’m not here to demand that any of you follow. Think things out and make your own decisions before Saturday morning.” With that, he turned and left the bunkhouse to take a ride and clear his head. As he walked away, several cowboys were already stuffing their belongings into saddlebags.
Up at the house, Colonel Abernathy lay in bed, still in pain, his leg badly swollen, and frowning at the bowl of stew the cook had brought him. He was unaware that just a hundred yards away his plan for revenge was crumbling.
In Duke Keene’s livery, a similar meeting was taking place. The men hired by Profer were sitting on hay bales or leaning against the doors of the stalls, most of them drinking the strong coffee that Lanny Butler had prepared. The last to arrive were Sheriff Langston and Profer, who had talked briefly before entering the barn.
There was a smattering of laughter when Dalton described the incident that had had played out between the Colonel and the old woman from the roadhouse.
“Unless they load him in a wagon and haul him along,” Ben said, “it seems highly unlikely that he’ll be accompanying his men Saturday. Fact is, I’d like to think the whole thing might get called off. But knowing how crazy he is—probably even more so after his encounter with Miss Luisa—that’s not likely.
“I’ll not hold anyone to their promise to be a part of this, but I still feel strongly that we need to be sure they don’t get to town. We don’t want innocent folks involved, so best we’re prepared. Anyone who wishes to can walk out the door without apology.”
No one left, so he continued. Since they had no idea when on Saturday the ranch hands would be coming, the plan was to assemble at the livery late Friday afternoon and ride to the site near the roadhouse. There, they would wait through the night. “If they arrive early Saturday morning, we’ll be ready. If they choose to wait until nightfall, maybe we can get Luisa to cook up something for us since she’s determined not to leave.”
“I think everyone would like to shake her hand,” Duke said, “even if her aim’s not exactly what I would have wished it to be.”
Though he’d wanted to attend the meeting, John Rawlings had been told by the doctor to remain in bed for a few more days. Doc Thorndale had allowed him to return home and, while much of the facial swelling had gone down, he was still experiencing headaches and dizziness. When told of the encounter between the Colonel and Luisa, his laughter quickly turned to a grimace as pain shot across his face.
Mandy entered the bedroom with a tray of biscuits and apple butter. Alton, getting used to the discoloration on his father’s face, followed her and climbed onto the end of the bed.
“I’m glad he’s not old enough to know what a fool his old man made of himself,” John said as he reached for a biscuit.
“I’ll not argue about you sometimes being foolish,” his wife said, “but one day he’ll be proud to know that his daddy is a man of considerable courage. I’m proud of you, too. Still a little mad that you allowed yourself to almost be killed, but proud just the same.” She leaned toward him and gently kissed his forehead.
They sat quietly, sharing the breakfast and watching as Alton slipped a biscuit to Too, who had joined them. “I’m guessing Ben’s going to have a hard time getting his dog back,” John said.
“Knowing him, all he’s concerned about is that Too has a good home and is being well cared for. Besides, he told me he’s got a dog of his own waiting for him back in Aberdene.”
John was silent for a moment, then said, “You’ve enjoyed seeing Ben again, haven’t you?”
Her only reply was a slight nod. And then they sat silently, watching their son playfully wrestle with Too.