Newman, Texas
The tiny town of Newman, Texas, was on both sides of a single street. It had a general store, a drugstore, a leather goods store, a school, a church, and two saloons.
It had cost Sid Shamrock $2,000 to avoid going to jail in Elam and he had survived the last few weeks on the $100 he had gotten from Rosemary Woods. Now that money was almost gone, and he was here, in Newman, with barely enough money to buy drink and food for himself.
Glancing up toward the bar, Shamrock saw a man about five feet eight inches tall, with a narrow face, sunken cheeks, a nose rather like the beak of a hawk, and deep-set very dark eyes. This was someone who he knew, someone with whom he had once done a job.
Shamrock had very little money left, but what money he did have was worth investing in an idea he just had. This was someone he might be able to do business with.
Shamrock stepped up to the bar alongside the man, just as the bartender was pouring him a whiskey.
“I’m buying,” Shamrock said.
The man looked toward him, and though no smile ameliorated his almost skeletal face, he did nod.
“Hello, Bodine,” Shamrock said.
“Jefferson,” Bodine replied.
“I’m using the name Shamrock now. How ’bout joining me at my table?”
Bodine picked up the glass and followed Shamrock back to his table, which was now occupied by a young cowboy and one of the saloon girls.
“That’s my table,” Shamrock said.
“You wasn’t here, so now it’s mine.”
“Get up,” Shamrock ordered, letting his hand rest on the butt of his pistol.
The cowboy looked at him for no more than a moment, then he stood up and reached for his drink.
“Leave the drink.”
“The hell I will. I just . . .”
“I said leave it.”
“Come on, honey, we can find another table,” the bar girl said with a frightened glance at the two men who were standing there.
“What do you want?” Lucien Bodine asked.
“I want to do something that’ll make us a little money,” Shamrock replied.
“You got something in mind?”
“No. I was hopin’ maybe you would.”
“Yeah, I got an idea,” Bodine replied.
* * *
Two days later the two men waited behind some rocks that shielded them from the road leading into Wayland, Texas.
“His name is Crites, Garrison J. Crites,” Bodine said. “He’s goin’ into Wayland to buy a prize bull, ’n he’ll have the cash money with him.”
“How much do you think he’ll have?” Shamrock asked.
“I don’t figure he’ll have any less than a thousand dollars on ’im,” Bodine replied. “We’ll split the money fifty, fifty.”
“Five hundred dollars apiece,” Shamrock said. He thought of the $14,000 he had just gone through, and by comparison, $500 was minuscule. On the other hand, compared to the $12 he had now, $500 was a fortune.
“Here he comes,” Bodine said. “Wait till he gets close. We don’t want him runnin’ away. If he’s well mounted, he could get away from us.”
“What if he starts to ride off soon as we call out to ’im?” Shamrock asked.
“We won’t be callin’ out to ’im,” Bodine replied, pulling his pistol.
Crites was well dressed, and riding a golden palomino with a Mexican saddle liberally decorated with silver. As soon as he drew even with them, both Shamrock and Bodine moved out into the road, right in front of him.
“My word, where did you two . . . ?” That was as far as he got before Bodine shot him.
“Twelve hundred ’n eighteen dollars,” Bodine said a bit later, after counting out the money.
“I want his horse and saddle, too, unless you want it.”
“You can have the horse, but leave the saddle.”
“You’re wantin’ the saddle? All right, long as I’m gettin’ the horse. ’N I don’t blame you none, this is a damn fine-lookin’ saddle,” Shamrock said.
“Yes, ’n that’s the problem. It’s too fine-lookin’. It’s the kind of saddle that people might recognize. We’ll leave it here.”
“Oh yeah, that’s most likely right, ain’t it?”
Bodine stuck his $609 down in his pocket, then remounted.
“Where you goin’?” Shamrock asked.
“Not sure,” Bodine replied. “But wherever it is, we’ll not be goin’ together.”
“Yeah,” Shamrock replied. “Yeah, that’s probably right.”
* * *
Three weeks later, in the little town of Duxbury, Texas, Shamrock found himself in the Trail Dust saloon, sitting across the table from Jeb Jaco. Running into Jaco had been by chance, just as it had been when he had encountered Lucien Bodine a little earlier. And like Lucien Bodine, Jaco was a man Shamrock knew from his past, for the two had once joined together to rob a store.
Although Shamrock was more careful with the $600 than he had been with the $14,000 he had netted from the bank robbery in Sulphur Springs, he had managed to spend most of it, and once more, he was in need of cash. Meeting up with Jaco might just be the opportunity he was looking for.
“What are you doin’ now, Jaco? How are you makin’ a livin’?” Shamrock asked.
“I’m ridin’ for the Duxbury brand,” Jaco said.
“Duxbury?”
“J. F. Duxbury. He’s a big rancher here in Fisher County, ’n he’s the feller this town is named after.”
“You like cowboyin’, do you?” Shamrock asked.
“Twenty-one dollars a month and found? What the hell is there to like about that? Hell no, I don’t like it, but it’s three hots ’n a cot.”
“How would like to do a job with me?”
“What kind of job? ’Cause to tell you the truth, that last job we done only got us about forty dollars, ’n it warn’t hardly worth it.”
“That’s because we robbed a store,” Bodine said. “This time we’ll rob a bank.”
“A bank? I don’t know, that seems like a pretty big job for just two men. I figure a job like that would call for at least six men,” Jaco said.
“Do you know where to get four others?” Shamrock asked.
Jaco smiled. “Yeah, come to think of it, I do,” he said.
“Then get ’em.”
Twin Peaks Ranch
After supper one evening Brad Houser sent word to Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings, telling them that he wanted to see them in the ranch office. He had a plan in mind, and of all his hands, he believed that these two were best suited to carry it out.
Houser got out a bottle of whiskey, then put three glasses on his desk as he waited. A moment later, there was a knock on his door.
“Come in!” he called.
It was very unusual for anyone to be summoned to the ranch office for any reason, but it was particularly unusual for someone to be summoned this late in the day. As Dooley and Slim came in, they exchanged nervous glances with each other.
“You . . . uh . . . wanted to see us, Mr. Houser?” Dooley asked, speaking for both of them.
“Yes, I do,” Houser said. He poured whiskey into the three glasses, then picked two of them up and handed one to each of the two men.
“Have a drink,” he invited.
“Yes, sir!” Dooley and Slim replied, a big smile spreading across their faces. They still didn’t know what this about, but if they were about to be fired, they didn’t think Houser would offer them a drink first.
“Salute,” Houser said, holding his glass out toward them.
“Uh, yes, sir, here’s to you,” Dooley replied as he and Slim lifted their glasses as well.
“Gentlemen, I have a task I would like the two of you to perform for me.”
“Yes, sir, whatever it is you want me ’n Slim to do, why, you can count on us a-doin’ it,” Dooley said.
“Tonight,” Houser added.
“Tonight?”
“At midnight.”
“This job you got for us has to be done at midnight?”
“Or shortly thereafter,” Houser said. He refilled the glasses. “It’s a very special job that needs to be done in the middle of the night, so that no one sees you. It will require men of courage and intelligence. Do I have the right men for the job?”
“Yes, sir,” Dooley said, smiling as his glass was refilled. “You got the right men, all right.”
Houser took out two twenty-dollar bills.
“I forgot to tell you that it’s worth twenty dollars apiece for you to do it, but you must tell no one else what you are doing.”
“What about Turley? I mean, him bein’ the foreman ’n all,” Slim said. “He might figure out that me ’n Dooley left in the middle of the night. Oughten we to tell him?”
“Absolutely not. When I say I don’t want anyone to know, then I mean I don’t want anyone to know, and that includes Turley.”
“All right, we won’t tell ’im nothin’, even if he was to ask,” Dooley said hesitantly, wondering now what this was all about.
“And, if you handle this job well enough, there will be more jobs exactly like it for you to do, and more money for you.”
Dooley and Slim smiled at each other.
“We’ll do whatever it is you’re a-wantin’ us to do,” Dooley said, “’N we won’t tell nobody nothin’ about it.”
“Yes, sir, you can count on us,” Slim added.
“Good, very good.”
Houser began to give his instructions, and as the two men listened, they thought they had never heard anything so bizarre, even though that word wasn’t in their vocabulary.
The two men discussed the task that had been given them as they walked back to the bunkhouse.
“Why is it you reckon he’s a-wantin’ to do somethin’ like that?” Dooley asked. “Why, that don’t make no sense at all.”
“I don’t know, but he give us twenty dollars to do it, so what I think we ought to do is, just do it.”
Except for taking off their boots, neither Slim nor Dooley undressed for bed that night. Then, when they were sure everyone else was asleep, they left the bunkhouse as quietly as they could, went straight to the barn, and saddled their horses.
“Maybe we should lead them away instead of ridin’ them,” Dooley suggested. “That way we’ll have a better chance of not bein’ seen.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Slim agreed.
Five minutes later, with the horses saddled, Dooley and Slim led them away from the barn on the way to performing the task Houser had set for them.
* * *
The next morning Louie Patterson, who was one of the small ranchers recently arrived in the valley, was checking up on his small herd. Louie was a lean, lanky cowboy who seemed overpowered by the ten-gallon hat he wore. As he came to the top of a slight rise, he saw six cows cropping grass on the open range.
“Hello, cows,” he said, speaking aloud. “Where did you critters come from?”
Louie was riding alone because his ranch was so small that he couldn’t afford any hands. At the moment he didn’t really need anyone as he had less than fifty head of cattle and one man could easily tend to a herd that small.
But now he was about to add ten additional cows. These were mavericks, cows that had been born, then wandered away before they were castrated and branded. Because there was no way of knowing who such cattle belonged to, they belonged to anyone who claimed them. Louie was a very active cow hunter, and more than half of his herd consisted of mavericks he had found and branded.
Particularly skilled in being able to approach isolated cattle without alarming them, he rode slowly up to the ten cows who, content with their grazing, paid no attention to the horse and rider who was coming near them.
“Well, now, it looks like you ten are about to get a new home. What do you say we . . .” Louie paused in midsentence. None of the ten cows were actually mavericks; all ten were wearing the Twin Peaks brand.
“Ahh, I see that you aren’t mavericks,” Louie said. “But since you have gone to all the trouble to come over here, I hate to have to send you back home. Besides, Twin Peaks has so many cattle that they won’t be missing ten cows. I think I’ll just take all of you.”
Louie got the cows moving, and soon they were with the rest of his herd. Using a running iron, he turned the Twin Peaks brand into his own. The adjusted brand could pass a cursory glance, but not a close examination. He was taking a chance that there would be no close examination.
* * *
Ben Turley was beginning to get a little aggravated by the fact that two of his men, Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings, had not yet shown up for work. It wouldn’t be so bad if it hadn’t happened before, but this was the third time within the last week. When he stepped into the bunkhouse, he was angered, but not surprised, to find them both still in bed.
“What the hell are you two doin’ in here, layin’ around on your asses?” Turley demanded. “It’s after eight o’clock in the morning and you two lazy bastards is still asleep.”
Groggily, the two men got up.
“I seen that you didn’t neither one of you get back in till near two o’clock this mornin’. ’N this isn’t the first time. Are you two layin’ out with whores that long? Where at are you gettin’ enough money to do that?”
“We’re gettin’ up,” Dooley said, waving his arm as in a motion to stop the haranguing.
Leaving the two men to get dressed, Turley hurried over to the ranch office to knock on the door. He entered when he was invited.
“Yes, Mr. Turley, come in. Coffee?” Houser offered. A bluesteel pot sat on a small stove, the aroma of the coffee perfuming the office.
“Yes, sir, I don’t mind if I do.”
Houser poured two cups and handed one to Turley. “Now, what can I do for you?”
“First thing is, Kenny, that is, Prosser, he’s pulled all his cows off the Pine Flats, so if you want I’ll move some of ours onto it.”
“Whose cows would we be moving?” Houser asked pointedly.
“Your cows,” Turley corrected hastily. “It would be your cows.”
“Very good, Mr. Turley. All right, have some of the men divert a portion of the herd to the new grazing.”
“Yes, sir. And now the second thing is, it looks like maybe somebody has been rustlin’ Twin Peaks cows after all. I been keepin’ a pretty good count of the young ones, most especial the ones that’s less than a year old. Damn if they ain’t been nigh on to fifteen or twenty of them been took, just in the last few days.”
“I have suspected as much,” Houser said.
“Yes, sir, well, it might be some of our own people.”
“Why do you say such a thing?”
“I don’t know. They’s somethin’ goin’ on with Carson ’n Hastings, somethin’ that don’t seem quite right. They laid out, real late last night, ’n just a couple o’ nights ago, they was out real late, too. So, it’s got me to wonderin’. I mean, how is it that they’ve got enough money to do that ever’ night? I’m thinkin’ ’bout firin’ ’em, if you want to know the truth.”
“No, don’t fire them now. Later, perhaps, if they give you any more trouble beyond their nocturnal habits. But they have been here more than most of the other hands, and they know the ranch intimately. I think there is something to be said for experience.”
“Yes, sir, if you say so.”
When Ben Turley went back outside, he saw three men come riding up toward the house. He stepped over to meet them.
“Can I help you men?”
“Yeah, we come to work.”
“All right, dismount, and we’ll talk.”
“Talk about what?” one of the men asked.
“Why, talk about you workin’ here, of course. I’m the foreman.”
“No need to talk to you,” one of the men said. “Houser’s the one that owns this place, ain’t he?”
“Well, yes, but as I say, I’m the foreman, and that means that I am the one you need to talk to, if you’re plannin’ on workin’ here. That’s ’cause I’m the one that does the hirin’ ’n the firin’.”
“You ain’t hirin’ or firin’ us. We’ll be workin’ for Houser.”
“We all work for Mr. Houser,” Turley said, his voice showing his irritation. “But like I said, I am the foreman.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Turley,” Houser said, stepping out of his office. He looked up at the three mounted men. “This is Mr. Knox, Mr. Malcolm, and Mr. Dobbins. I did get those name right, didn’t I, gentlemen?”
“Yeah,” one of the men answered. He was a big, brutish-looking man, clean-shaven and bald so that his head looked like a cannonball sitting on top of a short neck. “I’m Knox. ‘Hard Knox,’ they call me.” He grunted a few times in what might have been a chuckle. “This here is Malcolm, ’n this one is Dobbins.”
“Mr. Knox is quite correct, Mr. Turley, I did hire these men,” Houser said. “Please find billets for them.”
“All right,” Turley said, a bit chagrined at being left out of the hiring. “Come with me, I’ll show you where you’ll bunk, then we can ride out ’n take a look at the herd.”
“There is no need for you to take them out to the herd. They won’t be subject to your orders. And they will not be working as cowboys. Mr. Knox, Mr. Malcolm, and Mr. Dobbins will be supernumeraries to the outfit.”
“They’ll be what?” Turley asked, not understanding the word.
“It means that they will not be involved in the day-to-day operation of the ranch. They will be working directly for me. As I get more settled here, I intend to get quite involved in all the activities going on in the valley,” Houser said. “You, yourself, Mr. Turley, have pointed out the lamentable fact that I am losing cattle to these smaller ranchers.”
“No, sir, now, that ain’t what I said. I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout it bein’ the small ranchers that has been takin’ the cows. I just said we’ve lost some of ’em.”
“And who do you suppose took them?” Houser asked.
“Well, I . . .” He didn’t want to accuse Slim and Dooley, who had been employees for some time now, in front of these three men who had just arrived. “I don’t rightly know who it is that’s took them. It’s just that I know most all the small ranchers, ’n I just don’t think it was them that took the cows that’s missin’.”
“Perhaps it is the result of rustlers and not the small ranchers themselves, but ask yourself, Mr. Turley, if we are the victims of, let us say, self-motivated and independent rustlers, just who would be their market? What use would the independent rustlers have for the cattle they are stealing from us, if not to sell them to the smaller ranchers? I intend to investigate this problem, and whether it turns out to be rustlers, or small ranchers, my inquest may well put me at risk. I have hired these three gentlemen specifically to provide security should there be any attack against my person. I am sure that, under the circumstances, you can understand why my personal bodyguards should be answerable to me, and to me, only.”
Turley nodded. “Yes, sir, I understand,” he said.
“Good, then that means we’ll have no problems. Discourse among employees is a very bad thing.
“Now, you were concerned about Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings, I believe. Please send them in to see me. I wish to talk to them.”
“Yes, sir,” Turley agreed.
* * *
“You got another job for us?” Dooley asked anxiously when, a short while later, he and Slim showed up in response to the summons.
“No,” Houser said. “I shall have no further need for you to perform those special jobs. I have hired three men who will take care of such things for me in the future. However, I do appreciate what you two have done, and while I shall no longer be needing you for such services, I would like to show my appreciation for what you have done.”
Houser gave each of the men a one-hundred-dollar bill.
“I give you this money with the understanding that it is not only a token of my appreciation, it will also be a guarantee of your silence.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Houser,” Hastings said with a broad smile. “We ain’t never goin’ to say nothin’ to nobody about it.”
Shortly after Slim and Dooley left, Houser sent for Knox.
“Mr. Knox, you came rather highly recommended to me,” Houser said.
“Yeah?”
“I am told that if I needed a particular job done, one that might seem”—he paused—“rather extreme, that you would be able to handle it.”
“You’re wantin’ me to kill someone?”
“Most perceptive of you, Mr. Knox.”
“Most what?”
“Yes, I want you to kill someone. There are two men who have knowledge of an activity that, were it to get out, could be quite damaging. They are quite aware of just how damaging such information would be to my future plans, and I fear they may be tempted to blackmail me.”
“It’ll cost you two hundred ’n fifty dollars apiece,” Knox said with an evil smile.
“Here are two hundred and fifty dollars now. I’ll give you the other two hundred and fifty after the job is done.”
“Who is it you’re wantin’ me to kill?”