Warm Springs, Wyoming
Bodine dismounted in front of the Clayton and Barr livery.
“Yes, sir?” he was greeted. “You want to board your horse?’”
“Where am I?”
“You are in the wonderful community of Warm Springs.”
“What state?”
The man chuckled. “You really are lost, ain’t you? Well, sir, you’re in Wyoming, but we ain’t a state yet. There’s them that says we won’t never be a state, but most folks thinks that we will. But like I said before, are you a-wantin’ to board your horse? Or was you just wantin’ to find out where at it is that you are?”
“I want you to board my horse.”
“That’ll be fifty cents a night with hay, six bits if you want your horse to have oats.”
“Hay is good enough for ’im,” Bodine said.
“In advance.”
“Here’s for two nights.” Bodine gave him a dollar, then looked down the street. There were three saloons interspersed with the other business buildings.
“Which one o’ them saloons is the best?” he asked.
“Well, sir, you can get food in all of ’em. But the one that serves the best food is Lamberts. The best whiskey is at the Red Star Saloon, ’n the most accommodatin’ women is at Frog City.”
Bodine chose Frog City, and was greeted as soon as he walked in the door by someone saying, “Hello, cowboy.”
At first, he didn’t know who said it, then he saw a parrot in a cage, and never having seen one before, he went over for a closer look.
“Hello, cowboy,” the parrot said again.
Bodine was fascinated by the parrot, but he saw something in the bottom of the cage that caught his interest right away. The bottom of the cage was lined with an old newspaper, and a visible story said, Lucien Bodine killed in Chugwater.
Since he was obviously still alive, he realized that the story must be about his brother.
Bodine smiled. If people thought he was dead, it would give him an opportunity to move around without fear of some old reward poster getting in the way.
* * *
At Twin Peaks Ranch, Brad Houser was having lunch with his brother.
“I’m going to have to give you a new name,” Houser said. “You are wanted as Thomas Jefferson, you are wanted as Ray Kellerman, and now you are wanted as Sid Shamrock. I can’t take a chance of being connected with any of those names.” Brad chuckled. “You are running out of names, little brother, it’s getting hard to keep up with them.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who made me give up my real name.”
“You’re the one that killed Angus Duncan. And Thomas Jefferson was no more your real name than John Tyler was mine. It was the nature of our mother’s . . . let us call it, profession . . . that she didn’t always know who got her pregnant. And, as she had an interest in past presidents, we were each named for one. I got rid of the name she gave me as soon I could. I needed nothing to remind me of the whore who, by accident, was our mother.”
“Yeah, but then you wound up changin’ that name, too,” Shamrock said.
“Names are like shoes. You can put them on, or take them off as is convenient for the circumstances.”
“What new name are you givin’ me?”
“Harris. Paul Harris.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Why not?”
“It don’t stick with you like the name Shamrock does.”
“Think about it, brother. Do you really want a name that sticks with you? A name that people, and the law, can remember? Or would you rather have a name that people can forget as soon as they hear it?”
“Yeah, that’s why you got rid of your old name, ain’t it?”
“Tell me, Thomas, just how many men have you killed?” Houser said, without responding directly to Houser’s question. “Excuse me, I mean Paul. I had better get used to saying it, and you need to get used to hearing it. How many men have you killed?”
“I don’t know. Six, maybe, seven. I ain’t exactly kept count. I ain’t kilt as many as Knox has. He told me he’s kilt twelve men.”
“Do you think you could kill him?” Houser asked. “Knox, I mean.”
“Are you asking me if I’m faster ’n he is? I mean, that would be damn funny, comin’ from you.”
Houser shook his head. “I didn’t ask if you were faster. What I want to know is, could you kill Knox if there was no chance of him killing you?”
“You mean could I shoot the son of a bitch in the back? Yeah, I wouldn’t have no problem with that.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Why do you ask? Do you want me to kill him?”
“Not yet,” Houser replied. “But he has given me some indication that the time may come when I find it necessary to get rid of him.”
“What about them other two? Malcolm and Dobbins?”
“They are followers,” Houser said. “Without Knox, they will need someone to follow.” Houser smiled. “That will be you.”
“What about Turley? You want me to kill him, too?”
“No. This is a cattle ranch, and everything else I am doing is designed to make the ranch bigger and more productive. Neither you, nor Jaco, nor any of the men you brought with you know the first thing about ranching. Turley does know ranching, and not only that, he knows this ranch. I need him, and I need the men under him. I may have made a mistake in having Slim and Dooley killed, but they knew too much about the strategy I’ve put into effect, and I didn’t trust either one of them to keep it secret. Besides, they were neither ruthless, nor innovative, enough to react to unforeseen events, whereas Knox, Malcolm, and Dobbins are.”
“I thought you wanted me to kill Knox.”
“I do, but not until the time comes.”
Trail Back Ranch
Leo Hartzog, foreman of Trail Back, made another circle around the cattle that had been pushed into the east range. Without even counting, he could tell that there were considerably fewer cows here now than there had been yesterday.
“Parker,” he called to one of the riders. “Did you move some beeves out of here without tellin’ me?”
“No,” Parker said. “Why do you ask?”
“Take a good close look, then tell me if you still have to ask that question.”
Parker stood in his stirrups and looked out over the milling cattle.
“Damn, some of ’em is gone, ain’t they?”
“How many did we put in here?”
“We put five hunnert head in here.”
“Get a count.”
An hour later, Hartzog went up to the Big House to report to David Lewis. Hazel Prouty answered the door.
“Yes, Mr. Hartzog?”
“Ma’am, I need to talk to Mr. Prouty.”
“He’s just finished breakfast. Come on in, have a cup of coffee with him.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Good morning, Leo,” Prouty greeted when Mrs.Prouty escorted Hartzog into the dining room.
“We got a problem, boss.”
Proutyshook his head. “That’s not something a rancher likes to hear, first thing in the morning. What sort of problem?”
“Well, sir, we moved five hundred head into the east pasture a few days ago.”
“Yes, I remember. Has the creek dried?”
“No, sir, it ain’t that. What it is, is that there ain’t five hundred cows there now. There’s only three hundred ’n eighty-seven of ’em. We counted them.”
“Are you sure that you moved five hundred cows to begin with?”
“Yes, sir, we counted ’em out as we moved ’em. And anyway, even if we hadn’t counted ’em, you can tell the cows is gone, just by lookin’ at the herd. That’s how come I had Parker ’n the boys count ’em this mornin’ in the first place.”
“Rustlers,” Prouty said.
“Yes, sir, that’s sure what it looks like.”
* * *
Two days after the conversation between Prouty and his foreman, a letter that Brad Houser had written appeared in the “Letters to the Editor” section of the Chugwater Defender.
To the EDITOR,
I address this letter not to you, but to the cattle thieves who are currently plying their iniquitous trade.
To you rustlers, I say that you have been stealing cattle without fear of reprisal, for the law in Laramie County has been unable, or unwilling, to hunt you down. I am, by means of this letter, giving you fair warning. Cease and desist your evil activity, for honest men will rise, and you will pay for your crimes.
BRAD HOUSER, honest cattleman
Twin Peaks Ranch,
Laramie County
Not long after Houser’s letter appeared in the newspaper, Duff received an invitation to a meeting to be held by the Laramie County Cattlemen’s Association.
“Well, now, this is rather odd,” Duff said as he looked at the invitation.
“What’s odd?” Elmer asked.
“The meeting is to be held in the boardroom of the Bank of Chugwater.”
“Well, don’t you s’pose most of the cattlemen here ’bout does their business with the Bank of Chugwater?” Elmer asked.
“Aye, but that’s the point. I’ve seen the boardroom, ’n ’tis much too wee of a space to hold a meeting of all the cattlemen who belong to the Laramie County Association.”
“Well, more ’n likely some of the folks up north will decide it’s too far to come,” Elmer suggested.
“Aye, that could be,” Duff agreed.
When Duff and Elmer rode into town on the afternoon of the meeting, Duff expected to see a score or more surreys, buckboards, wagons, and horses. Instead, there were less than a dozen.
“Duff, do you think we’ve got time for a . . . ?” Elmer started to ask, but Duff interrupted him.
“Wee drop o’ the dew? Aye, ’n ’tis a good idea. You go on down, I’m going to see if Miss Meagan would care to join us.”
When Duff pushed open the door, Meagan was giving directions to Mary Ellen.
“Move the new bolts of cloth onto the front table so our customers can see what they have to choose from.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mary Ellen said.
“Duff!” Meagan said happily. “What brings you to town in the middle of the day? Oh, wait, I heard there was a cattlemen’s meeting.”
“Aye,” Duff replied. “But I’ve time to wet my whistle at Fiddler’s and ’twas hoping, I was, that ye would be for joining me.”
“I’d love to join you,” Meagan said. “Mary Ellen, you can mind the store for a short time, can’t you?”
“Oh yes, ma’am, no problem,” the young lady replied.
“Now, let’s step next door and have that drink,” Meagan said.
“Oh, I don’t mean join me just for a drink. As you are a partner in ownership of Sky Meadow, I want you to come to the cattlemen’s meeting with me.”
“Cattlemen’s meeting?” Meagan replied, smiling as she emphasized the word men.
“Aye, ye have a point. ’Twould rightly be cattlemen’s and cattle women’s meeting.”
“No, cattlemen and cattle woman’s meeting, as, no doubt, I shall be the only woman there,” Meagan corrected.
“As ye wish, but you’ll come?”
“I’ll be there bright eyed, and by your side,” Meagan said.
As Meagan’s dress shop was right next door to Fiddler’s Green, it took but a few steps for them to get there.
“Duff !” Biff greeted when the two stepped into the saloon. Biff was at his private table with Elmer. “Thank goodness you brought someone pretty to join us to offset all the ugly from this miscreant.” He nodded toward Elmer, who was already sitting at Biff’s personal table.
“You know, sonny, durin’ the war, I used to shoot at blue bellies like you, sergeant major or not,” Elmer replied.
Biff chuckled. “Well, my friend, the operative words there are shoot at. And in my case, I’m glad you missed. What’ll it be, Duff, Meagan?”
Duff ordered a Scotch and Meagan ordered a white wine.
Biff stepped up to the bar, ordered the drinks, then brought them back to the table.
“Going to the cattlemen’s meeting, are you?” he asked.
“Aye, and cattle woman,” Duff replied.
“What?”
Meagan chuckled. “There’s no need in going through all this again. What he means is that I’m going as well.”
“As you should, since you own part of the herd,” Biff said. “What is the meeting about?”
Duff shook his head. “I’ve nae idea what it’s aboot. ’Tis not a regularly scheduled meeting, ’n from the looks o’ things across the street, ’tis not even a meeting to which ever’ one was invited. ’Tis wondering, I am, why they would want to meet in a room as wee as the bank boardroom.”
“Yes, Manuel Vazquez was in here earlier,” Biff said. “He had found out about the meeting quite by accident, because he hadn’t been invited. And when he asked about it, he was told that the meeting had nothing to do with him. I think he believed it was because he was a Mex.”
“I dinnae know. That could be the reason, I suppose, but I’m for thinking that it might be something else. ’Tis for a fact that I know Percy Gaines wasn’t invited, ’n Percy is a foine rancher. His ranch is still a wee one, aye, but I’ve nae doubt that it will grow. Percy is a good worker ’n as foine a lad as anyone would ever encounter.”
“I’ll say this about him. He watches his money,” Biff said. “He comes in here from time to time and buys but one beer, and that’s all.”
“Aye, he is savin’ money to marry his sweetheart. He plans to bring her here to help him run his ranch.”
“Merlin Goodman just got here. I can see him goin’ into the bank now,” Elmer said, looking through the window.
“Perhaps ’tis time for us to go as well.” Duff held his glass up. “Here’s to older whiskey, younger women, faster horses, ’n more money.”
“What? Younger women?” Meagan said.
“Forgive me, lass, for ’tis a Scottish toast I quoted without thinking.”
“Ha! I’ll say you weren’t thinking,” Biff said with a little laugh.”
“Then we’ll drink to faster horses ’n more money,” Duff suggested.
“Well, now, I didn’t have anythin’ against drinkin’ to the whiskey, neither,” Elmer added.