Chapter Seven
Some seven miles distant from Sky Meadow, in an area of open range land known as the Pine Flats, Kenny Prosser was watching over his herd when he saw Turley riding toward him.
“Good morning, Mr. Turley,” he said, greeting the man who had once been his boss.
“Good morning, Kenny,” Turley replied.
“What can I do for you?”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a close look at your cows.”
“Why? I mean, I don’t mind, but what are you looking for?”
“Houser wants me to make certain . . .”
“Oh, I see. He wants to make sure that I don’t have any of his cows,” Prosser said. “Go ahead, take a good look. I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.”
As Turley began riding through the small herd, Prosser rode with him.
“He ain’t really worried none that I’ve got any of his cows, is he? What he’s pissed off about is that I got my cows to the Pine Flats before he did.”
“You know Twin Peaks has always been usin’ the Pine Flats,” Turley said.
Prosser laughed. “Yeah, I know it. It serves the new guy right that I got here first.”
“All right,” Turley said when he had examined every cow in the herd. “I didn’t see none o’ our cows there. But, Kenny, if I was you, I’d get your cows away from here.”
“Why? This is public land, ’n you know it.”
“Yeah, but they’s somethin’ about Houser that’s kind of troublesome.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t like to carry tales ’bout someone I’m ridin’ for, ’n truth to tell I don’t really know him all that good, I mean, bein’ as he ain’t been here all that long. But I’ve kind of got it in mind that he ain’t the kind of person you want to make mad.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know nothin’ about ’im, ’n I don’t care to know,” Prosser said. “But I’ve got as much right here as anyone does, ’n you know that, Mr. Turley. This here is open range, for anyone as wants to use it.”
“I know you do, Kenny, ’n I ain’t never goin’ to do nothin’ to make you leave. But like I say, Mr. Houser, well, he ain’t like Mr. Prescott was, who, if you ’member, was just the same nice to ever’ one, whether he be an ordinary rider or one o’ the other big ranchers. This feller, well, I can’t promise you what he’ll do.”
“All right,” Prosser said. “I’ll get m’ cows back to my own grass today.”
“I ain’t rushin’ you or nothin’, but if you want, I’ll help you drive ’em back.”
“Yeah, thanks, I’ll appreciate that.”
* * *
“Kenny ain’t got none of our . . . uh, that is, Prosser ain’t got none of your cows mixed in with his’n, ’n besides that, he’s moved his cows back to his own place,” Turley said, reporting on his visit with Prosser.
“He may not have had any of my cows mixed in with the cows you examined,” Houser replied. “But I’ve no doubt but that he and all the other small ranchers are increasing their herd at my expense.”
“I don’t know. It could be, I suppose. But to be honest, Mr. Houser, you ain’t been here all that long, ’n you ain’t lost no cows at all since you come. I know, ’cause I been keepin’ a pretty good track on it.”
“We are losing grazing range and watering holes, though, are we not?”
“Well, yes, sir, some of what used to be free range for us has been took up by homesteadin’, that’s true, and even what is still free range is bein’ used, not only by Kenny, but by all the small ranchers. But I reckon, bein’ as it is free range, that they got a right to use it. ’N anyhow, I don’t see that it hurts none, I mean, seein’ as they ain’t none of ’em got enough cows to really graze the range out, ’n right now you ain’t got enough cows to overgraze your own land.”
“Perhaps, individually, that may be so,” Houser said. “But I am told that there may be as many as fifteen or twenty small ranchers, and if you take into consideration all the cattle they are running, then they certainly can make an impact on the supply of grass and water.”
“Yes, sir, I reckon if you put it that way, they could,” Turley agreed.
“If you look at the big picture, and as a rancher that is exactly what I must do, then the threat to the well-being of any of the larger ranchers can easily be seen.”
Turley didn’t answer, because he had no idea what the answer should be.
“I shall consider all my options,” Houser said, though he was speaking more to himself than he was to his foreman.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
The man standing at the far end of the bar was, perhaps, the most unprepossessing figure in the saloon. He was smaller than the average man, his trousers, shirt, and low-crown hat were all faded and indistinct, not broken by any color. He had very dark eyes, set rather deeply under shaggy eyebrows. His face was narrow, and his nose resembled the beak of a hawk. He was standing by himself, staring into a mug of beer that had sat before him, undisturbed for over a minute.
At the opposite end of the bar stood two cowboys wearing blue denim trousers and wide-brimmed hats. They differed in appearance only in their shirts. Tanner wore yellow, Cole wore white.
“Hey, you!” Cole called to the man who was staring into his beer mug. “What you expectin’ to find in that glass you’re a-starin’ at? Maybe a catfish, swimmin’ around?”
Tanner laughed. “No, he ain’t lookin’ for no catfish. He’s lookin’ for one o’ them mermaids.”
“What’s a mermaid?”
“It’s half woman ’n half fish. The top half is a naked woman, ’n the bottom half is a fish.”
“If the bottom half is a fish, how do you . . . uh . . . I mean if you was wantin’ to . . . uh.” Cole was unable to form his question.
“Well, it don’t make no nevermind for that ole fool standin’ down at the other end of the bar,” Tanner said. “He’s so ugly he can’t get no woman whether she be half-fish or not. Hell, he likely can’t even get a woman if he pays her for it. He’s the kind we wouldn’t want hangin’ around no calves, if you know what I mean.”
“Ha!” Cole laughed. “Hey, mister, is that true? When you cain’t get no women, do you go out lookin’ for calves?”
During all the provocation put forth by Tanner and Cole, the man at the end of the bar had not moved, but after the latest taunt, he lifted his glass and drained the rest of his beer.
“You have hurt my feelings,” he said without turning toward them. His voice was low, almost like a whisper.
Tanner laughed. “You hear that, Cole? You hurt his feelin’s.”
“I would appreciate an apology,” the man said.
“You want me to apologize?” Cole asked incredulously. “I tell you what, why don’t I just wipe the floor up with your scrawny little ass?”
The man turned, for the first time. “I have a better idea,” he said. He smiled, though there was more evil than humor in his smile. “Why don’t I just kill you?”
“Kill me?” Cole asked. The bravado had faded somewhat, because of the way the man had made the remark. It wasn’t challenging, and he hadn’t raised his voice. It was the low-key, matter-of-fact way he said the words that Cole found disconcerting.
“Mr. Bodine, I’m sure if these boys knowed who you was, why, they would be glad to apologize,” the bartender said. “There’s no need to carry this any further.”
“I done give ’em the chance to apologize,” Bodine said. “Now I’m goin’ to give ’em a chance to back up their words.”
“Bodine?” Cole said, his voice cracking a little. “Did you call him Bodine?”
“I tried to warn you boys,” the bartender said. “This is Lucien Bodine.”
“Cole, back off,” Tanner said. “Back off. My God, you don’t want to go bracing the likes of Lucien Bodine!”
A weak smile spread across Cole’s face, and he stopped, then opened his fists and held his hands, palm out in front of him.
“My friend is right,” he said. “We was just a-funnin’ with you, is all. We didn’t neither one of us mean nothin’ by it. I mean, it ain’t worth either one of us dying over.”
“You don’t understand, do you, cowboy? It ain’t goin’ to be either of us. It’ll just be you,” Bodine said. He looked over at Tanner. “You, too, if you decide to take a hand in this.”
Tanner shook his head. “No, it ain’t goin’ to be Cole, ’n it ain’t goin’ to be me, neither, on account of there ain’t neither one of us going to draw on you,” he said. “I don’t reckon you’ll be a-wantin’ to shoot us in front of these here witnesses. Unless you kill ever’ body so’s they ain’t no witnesses.”
“Look here, cowboy!” one of saloon customers said, suddenly frightened by Tanner’s suggestion that everyone might be killed. “You ’n your friend here is the ones what opened the ball. Don’t you go gettin’ none of us mixed up in it.”
“You’ll draw, all right. You’ll draw first, and these witnesses will say that.”
“They ain’t goin’ to be able to say it, ’cause we ain’t goin’ to draw on you,” Cole said. He looked over at the customer who had spoken out a moment earlier. “You don’t need to worry ’bout us gettin’ you into this, on account of there ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ happenin’ here for you to get into. There ain’t neither one of us goin’ to draw on Lucien Bodine.”
“Oh, I think you will,” Bodine said, calmly, confidently.
“Please, Mr. Bodine, we don’t want any trouble,” Tanner said. “Why don’t you just let us apologize and we’ll go on our way?”
Bodine shook his head, the evil grin spreading. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Like I said, it’s too late for that.”
Cole and Tanner looked at each other, then, in a signal understood only by the two of them, developed over a couple of years and many hours of riding together, they made a ragged, desperate, awkward, and ultimately ineffective grab for their pistols.
So bad were they that Bodine had the luxury of waiting for just a moment to see which of the two offered him the most competition. Deciding it was Cole, Bodine pulled his pistol and shot him first. Tanner was next, dying even before he knew that his friend had already been killed.
Bodine stood there for a moment, holding the smoking gun. He put it back in his holster, poured himself another drink, then turned his back to the bar and looked out over the shocked faces of the customers in the saloon. Though they had just witnessed a tragedy, the foremost thought in the minds of many of them was that they had seen Lucien Bodine in action. It was a memory they would retain and share with others for the rest of their lives.
“Is there anyone who didn’t see them draw first?” Bodine asked.
“They drew first, I seen it,” the customer who had asked to be left out of it, volunteered.
“Yes, sir, I seen it, too,” another customer said. “They drawed first, the both of them.”
“Bartender, you saw it?”
The bartender was staring down at the two young men who he remembered had been laughing and joking when they pushed in through the batwing doors no more than fifteen minutes ago.
“I asked, did you see that they drawed first?” Bodine repeated.
The bartender looked up at Bodine. His face showed more sorrow than fear.
“You goaded them into that fight, Bodine,” he said. “They was just two cowboys, they wasn’t gunfighters. They didn’t have no idea who you was, ’n they was just jokin’ aroun’. They never had no idea of somethin’ like this happenin’. You goaded them into it.”
“Did they draw first, or didn’t they?”
“They drew first,” the bartender admitted.
Bodine put some money on the bar. “Give ever’ body in here a drink on me, and have one for yourself,” he said.
“A drink, yes,” one of the customers said. “Damn, do I need a drink.”
The twelve customers and the two women who had been hustling drinks all rushed to the bar.
“Phil, I need a real drink,” one of the girls said. “Not the tea me ’n Leena drink all day.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Leena said.
Even as everyone was having their free drink, the sheriff came in.
“You sure got here fast,” Phil said from behind the bar. “How did you hear about it?”
The sheriff looked down at the two dead cowboys and shook his head. “I didn’t know nothin’ about this,” he said. “I just come to give Bodine a message.”
“Yeah?” Bodine replied. “What message is that?”
“Your brother got hisself kilt.”
“Who done it?” Bodine asked.
“I don’t know who done it, I don’t even know where it was done. All I know is I heard that he got hisself kilt.”
Bodine left the saloon, and the other patrons began talking excitedly among themselves, sharing the experience of having seen the infamous Lucien Bodine in a gunfight.
“Well, if you’re goin’ to be true about it, it really warn’t much of a gunfight, ’cause them two boys he kilt wasn’t really no gunfighter.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You think Bodine is goin’ to go huntin’ for whoever it was that kilt his brother?”
“Looked like he had it in mind.”
“Now, there’s a gunfight I’d like to see.”
“The one I’d like to see would be between him ’n Wynton Miller.”
“That ain’t goin’ to happen, ’cause Wynton Miller is dead.”
“Where at did you hear that?”
“There ain’t nobody heard nothin’ about him for awhile, has there?”
“No, but that don’t mean he’s dead. More ’n likely that just means he’s hidin’ out somewhere. They’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward out on ’im, you know.”
“Yeah, well, if he ain’t dead, there ain’t nobody ever goin’ to get that reward without they shoot ’im in the back.”
“That could be done, all right. Look at what happened to Jesse James.”