Chapter Ten
The girls who worked at Fiddler’s Green offered nothing but drinks, smiles, and friendly conversation. Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings wanted more than that, and they had the money in their pockets to be able to make that happen, if they went to the right place.
The Wild Hog Saloon was just such a place. There, one could arrange for just about any pleasure, as long as they could afford it. Dooley and Slim had both the means, and the willingness, to buy some of the pleasures thus offered. At the moment they were sitting at a table with two of the girls, enjoying the drink and the company, preparatory to taking the two young ladies upstairs for the ultimate pleasure.
Another customer came into the saloon, and he stood at the end of the bar, staring at Dooley and Slim.
“Hey, ain’t that one of them new men that come to work at the ranch?” Slim asked.
“Yeah,” Dooley said. “I think it is. It’s that Knox feller.”
“You two,” Knox called out to them. “You’re cattle thieves, ’n Mr. Houser wants me to take you down to the jail ’n turn you over to the sheriff.”
“What? What do you mean, we’re cattle thieves?” Dooley said.
“You’ve took twenty head of Twin Peaks cows,” Knox said.
“We didn’t do no such thing.”
By now all other conversation in the saloon had stopped as they followed the exchange between the man whose head looked like a cannonball, and Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings. Nobody knew the man with the cannonball head, but everyone knew Carson and Hastings—they had worked at one ranch or another for the last couple of years.
“Mr. Houser said that you did take ’em. Are you callin’ him a liar? I work for Mr. Houser, ’n I won’t put up with nobody callin’ him a liar. I’m loyal to the brand, unlike you two, who have stoled twenty cows. What did you do with ’em?”
“Wait a minute,” Hastings said. “We took them cows, yes, but they wasn’t stoled. We took ’em ’cause Mr. Houser told us to take ’em.”
“Why would Mr. Houser tell me that you stoled ’em, if he told you to take ’em?” Knox asked.
“I don’t know. All I know is we was told to take ’em.”
Knox held out his hand, then crooked his finger. “Why don’t you two come with me down to the sheriff’s office? You can tell him that Mr. Houser told you to steal them cows, and Mr. Houser can tell him that you stoled them of your own account, ’n we’ll see who the sheriff believes, you, or Mr. Houser.”
Dooley stood up then and let his hand hang loosely toward the pistol at his side. Slim stood as well.
“We ain’t goin’ nowhere with you, Knox,” Dooley said. “We’re goin’ back out to Twin Peaks ’n get this settled.”
Knox shook his head. “No, you ain’t. Mr. Houser has told me not to let you two boys come back to the ranch, ’n I aim to see that you don’t. Now, come on over to the sheriff’s office with me.”
“The hell we will!” Dooley shouted, making a grab for his pistol.
Dooley’s sudden grab caught Slim by surprise, but it committed him to draw as well.
Knox wasn’t surprised at all. He had been expecting it, had in fact been pushing to bring it about. And whereas the expressions on the faces of the two young cowboys were of fear and desperation, Knox was wearing a triumphant smile. He drew and fired, twice.
Dooley got off only one shot, his bullet punching a hole in the floor. Slim didn’t even manage to bring his gun to bear before Knox’s second shot slammed into his stomach.
The sharp, acrid odor of the cloud of gun smoke drifted across the room. Nobody said a word, so that the saloon, which but a second earlier was filled with the roar of gunfire, was now ghostly quiet.
Knox put his pistol away then walked over to the two bodies and started going through their pockets. He took all their money and stuck it down into his own pocket.
“What are you doin’, mister?” someone asked.
“They won’t be needin’ this money no more,” Knox replied. He took another look around the saloon, then left.
* * *
Duff was at Fiddler’s Green having a drink with Meagan when Knox came in. Shortly after Knox came into the saloon, another man came in and whispered something to one of the patrons. He whispered to another and yet another, so that word spread quickly. It was Biff, himself, who came over to tell Duff.
“That ugly, brutish-looking man just killed two of the Twin Peaks riders,” Biff said, nodding toward the man.
“Has anyone told Sheriff Sharpie?” Meagan asked.
“Apparently not. He’s still walking around,” Biff said.
“Maybe I should walk over to the sheriff’s office and . . .” Meagan started, but she interrupted her sentence when she saw Sheriff Sharpie coming into the saloon.
The sheriff had his pistol in his hand.
“Mister?” he called.
All conversation stopped.
“You talkin’ to me?” the cannonball-headed man replied.
“Yes, I’m talking to you, whatever your name is.”
“It’s Knox. Hard Knox,” he added with a grin.
“I want you to come with me, Mr. Knox,” the sheriff said.
“Why should I do that?”
“Because you are under arrest for the murder of Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings.”
“They drew on me first,” Knox said.
“We’ll let the judge decide that.”
“Duff,” Meagan said in quiet urgency.
“I see it,” Duff replied.
Meagan was referring to the fact that Knox had drawn his pistol and was holding it down by his side, away from the sheriff.
Quietly and unobtrusively Duff drew his British Enfield Mark I revolver and aimed it at the gun Knox was holding. Only Meagan and Biff knew what he was about to do, so when Duff pulled the trigger, everyone in the saloon was surprised.
The most shocked was Knox, who felt the pistol being knocked from his hand, even though his hand wasn’t struck.
“What the hell?” he shouted in a shaken voice.
For just a second, Sheriff Sharpie was as surprised as anyone, until he saw the pistol lying on the floor at Knox’s feet. Glancing toward the sound of the shot he saw Duff holding a smoking pistol.
“Thanks, Duff,” the sheriff said.
Duff nodded in acknowledgment.
* * *
The next morning Brad Houser showed up at the sheriff’s office.
“Sheriff, I have a habeas corpus here, demanding the release of my employee. I also have the sworn statements of fifteen eyewitnesses who say Carson and Hastings drew on Mr. Knox. He shot them in self-defense.”
Sheriff Sharpie examined the papers Houser presented, then shook his head.
“I would have thought you would show more concern for the two men who were killed. After all, they did ride for you.”
“They did work for me, that is true. But yesterday I learned that they had been stealing cattle from me and selling to the small ranchers. Consequently I terminated their employment in absentia and I sent Mr. Knox into town with instructions to turn them over to you for proper adjudication.”
Houser pointed to some of the papers he had presented to the sheriff. “As you can see by the witness accounts, my client . . . that is, my employee, Mr. Knox, made that abundantly clear when he confronted them. All he wanted to do was for them to accompany him, peacefully, here to your office to turn themselves in. But alas, that wasn’t to be. Now they lie dead, the victims of their own misdoings, and Mr. Knox, who was doing naught but following my instructions to turn them over to you, has been incarcerated.
“And now I ask that you turn Mr. Knox over to me.”
The sheriff looked at the assorted papers, then nodded.
“You can have him,” he said.
“Thanks for gettin’ me out,” Knox said on the way back to the ranch.
“That’s all right. You are no good to me in jail. And tonight, I shall have a special assignment for you, Malcolm, and Dobbins.”
* * *
“Hey, Turley,” Cooper, one of the cowboys from Twin Peaks Ranch said. “Did you hear what happened to Slim ’n Dooley?”
“No, but not much they can do would surprise me. What happened, did they get drunk ’n get throwed in jail?”
“No, sir, they got themselves kilt is what happened,” Cooper said.
“What? They’ve been kilt? How did that happen?”
“It was one o’ them new fellers, Knox, that done it.”
“Knox? If they know he done it, how come he ain’t in jail? I seen ’im come ridin’ in with Mr. Houser just a few minutes ago.”
“Yeah, Mr. Houser, what he done was, he got Knox outta jail.”
Later that afternoon, Houser asked Turley to call all the hands together so he could address them. It took only a few minutes to get everyone together, and they stood out in the yard between the bunkhouse and the Big House to listen to what their boss had to say.
“Men, by now you have heard that two of your own number, men who worked for me, were guilty of stealing cattle from this very ranch.”
None of the hands had heard that, and they exchanged questioning looks.
“Dooley Carson and Slim Hastings had been spiriting cows away, at night, and selling them to some of the small ranchers around here. When Mr. Turley informed me of their despicable scheme, I sent Mr. Knox to see them.” At his comment, Houser paused for a moment and pointed to one of the three men standing behind him.
“Mr. Knox approached the two men and told them that I was aware they had been stealing from me, and they drew against him. That was a terrible mistake, for Mr. Knox, who is quite skilled in the employment of the revolver, withdrew his own weapon much more rapidly and engaged the two men. The result of the engagement between the three men was the ultimate death of Mr. Hastings, and Mr. Carson.
“Sudden death is always a sad thing, but in this case it is even worse because these two men, who all of us considered as our friends, brought on their own demise by their precipitate and foolish action.
“Let that be a lesson to you.”
Houser turned and walked back to the ranch office, with the three new men following behind.
“All them big words he was usin’, what the hell is it he just said?” one of the cowboys asked.
“He said that Slim ’n Dooley got themselves shot,” another replied.
* * *
A few days subsequent to Houser’s address to his company, Turley saw Kenny Prosser riding up. Prosser was pushing ten cows, and Turley walked out to see him.
“Hello, Kenny, what’s this?” Turley asked.
“This here is ten cows that don’t belong to me,” Prosser replied. “They’re Twin Peaks cows.”
Turley checked the brand, which was a horizontal line upon which two point-up carets were placed, making it look like a pair of mountains.
“Yeah, it’s our brand, all right. How’d you come by them?”
“I don’t have no idea,” Prosser said. “They wasn’t there last night, but this mornin’ when I went out to check on m’ herd, there they was. I heard what happened to Slim ’n Dooley, ’n knowin’ how Houser is already suspicious of me, they wasn’t no way I was goin’ to let them cows stay so I figured I’d better get them back here, quick as I could.”
“Thanks. By the way, did you have breakfast this mornin’?” Turley asked.
“I didn’t get around to it, seein’ as I needed to get these critters back.”
“Come on, Cookie’s got some breakfast left, you can eat ’n I’ll have a cup of coffee with you.”
The cowboys’ dining room was empty, except for three men, Knox, Malcolm, and Dobbins. They were sitting at one of the tables and enjoying a late breakfast.
“Cookie, you got ’ny biscuits ’n bacon left? Turley asked.
“You still hungry, Mr. Turley?”
“No, but a feller just brought some of our cows back to us that had wandered off, ’n since he didn’t have no breakfast this mornin’, why, I figured it would be a nice thing to thank ’im for bringing the cows back by feedin’ ’im.”
“All right, I got some left. You’ll want some coffee, I reckon.”
“I would appreciate it.”
“Who are those three men?” Prosser asked a few minutes later, nodding to the three new hires. “I figure as long as I’ve been here in the valley I’ve seen near ’bout ever’ cowhand there is, only I ain’t never seen none of them before.”
“I hadn’t ever seen ’em before they come here, neither, but they ain’t cowhands. You can’t tell now, ’cause they’re all sittin’ down when ever’ one else is at work. But if you was to see the way they’re wearin’ their guns, you’d know, they ain’t cowhands.”
“If they ain’t cowhands, what do they do?”
“You see the bald-headed one there? He’s the one that kilt Dooley ’n Slim.”
“Was they really stealin’ from the brand?” Prosser asked.
“I don’t know. We was missin’ some cows, and they was actin’ mighty peculiar. It could be that they was.”
“I don’t believe it,” Prosser said. “I know most all of the smaller ranchers, ’n I don’t believe none of ’em would buy cows they thought was stoled, let alone stoled from Houser. He’s done got hisself a reputation of not bein’ none too friendly with the small ranchers, which is why I brung these cows back.”
“And you don’t have no idea how they got there?”
“No, I don’t. It’s like I said, onliest thing I know is they warn’t there last time I checked.”
* * *
Shortly after Prosser left, Turley was watching a couple of men changing the wheel to a wagon, when Knox came walking up to him.
“Houser wants to see you,” Knox said.
“What about?”
“That’s ’twixt you ’n him,” Knox said. He pointed to the wagon wheel. “That wheel’s goin’ to need grease. I ’spect all of ’em will.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Turley said. He walked over to the office and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Houser?”
“Is it true what Knox told me? Did you give Prosser breakfast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I provide food for the men who work for me,” Houser said resolutely. “I can’t afford to feed any saddle bum who happens by, especially one of the small ranchers who I know is stealing from me.”
“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Houser. Kenny ain’t stealin’ from us. Fact is, he brung some of your cows back to us that had, somehow, wandered over to his place. I thought that, since he done that, why, it would be all right to give ’im breakfast since he hadn’t et yet. ’N Cookie was more ’n likely goin’ to throw it away, anyhow, seein’ as ever’ one else had done et.”
“He brought the ten cows back?” Houser said, the expression on his face registering his surprise.
“Yes, sir, that’s what he done.”
The surprised look was replaced by another expression, one that Turley couldn’t quite read, though it almost looked like he was annoyed.
“All right. You can get back to work,” Houser said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Turley didn’t ask, but he wondered how Houser knew it was exactly ten cows. He hadn’t given him any number.