Jim Buchanan rose groggily from the ground outside the cookhouse and brought his hands up to feel his pounding head. But the pain only became worse. He heard shooting but couldn’t care less. In his dazed state, he could still see Buck Halliday moving in for the kill, and could still feel the crunch of that last blow. Through bloodied fingers, he stared at the ground and saw a pool of his own blood settling in Halliday’s footprints.
“Kill him,” he promised himself. “Somehow I’ll kill him!”
Up the clearing, the hired hands had watched in silence as Cord Dorgan went down under the lethal blast of Billy Cantrell’s guns. No one ran to help him. But as soon as Halliday rode away, Jay Casey knelt at Dorgan’s side and lifted his head from the dust. Blood from a scalp wound had matted Dorgan’s hair. When Dorgan opened his eyes and stared, Casey said;
“Easy does it, Cord.”
Dorgan blinked, then lifted his right hand and gingerly felt his face.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Casey said.
Dorgan studied him grimly, knowing the voice of his top hand but still unable to see him properly. The rest of the crew came closer, with Red Simpson motioning for them to give the two men room.
Dorgan shifted his hand a little higher and felt his scalp. When his fingers felt blood, color drained from his face. With the shadows of the hired hands falling over him, Casey said;
“It’s only a nick, Cord. It ain’t too bad. I’ll get you inside and clean you up.”
Dorgan’s hand trembled and his breathing became faster as Casey worked his hands under the rancher’s shoulders and slowly lifted him to his feet. As Dorgan came upright, a loud howl of pain escaped from his lips.
Casey propped him up and managed to help him take several steps toward the porch before Dorgan collapsed. Lifting the man over his shoulder, Casey carried him into the house where he placed him on a couch. Dorgan didn’t move. His face was now chalky white. From the door, Simpson asked;
“How’s he doin’, Jay?”
“He’ll make it. You any good at doctorin’ bullet wounds?”
“Done some in my time,” Simpson said as he entered the house. He inspected the wound and went into the kitchen. There he put water on the stove and searched around until he found clean linen. Then he returned to the parlor where Dorgan was now sitting with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Casey was staring out the window and Simpson knew he was thinking about what he would do to Halliday.
Later, Simpson brought out the pot of boiling water and set to work on the wound.
“It’ll hurt some, but it’s got to be done,” Simpson said.
Dorgan gritted his teeth. “Just see that you don’t enjoy it, Red.”
Simpson dabbed at the wound and Dorgan let out a howl of pain. But Simpson had a strong grip on his head and kept him from getting to his feet. Simpson then washed the wound until a gash a few inches long and a quarter-inch deep showed through the slicked-down hair.
“It’ll need some ointment,” Simpson said, then he went back to rummage through a medicine box.
Minutes later, he applied the ointment and placed a pad over the gash, then he bandaged the pad into place.
“Okay, what the hell happened?” Dorgan said, his fear gone now. “And I want to hear it all.”
Casey finished his drink. “Well, I got behind the house just like you wanted, then I saw him and shot him myself.”
“I’d already put a bullet into him!” Dorgan barked. “I put two, mebbe three slugs into him.”
“And I hit him from behind,” Casey added.
Dorgan grinned, “Okay, then drag his carcass in here and let me have a look at him. I’m gonna throw his body on Lyman’s doorstep so everybody will know what happens if they try to get at me.”
Casey pulled at his bottom lip and shook his head. “Can’t do that, Cord.”
“Why the hell not?”
“He got away.”
“What?”
“Halliday intervened,” Casey said defensively.
“How? Tell me how!”
“He saw Jay aimin’ to shoot Billy Cantrell, so he shot the gun out of his hand. It was real fancy shootin’, too.”
Dorgan swung to glare fiercely at Casey. “You let Halliday beat you, Jay? You, a fast gun, supposed to be the top man in these parts? You couldn’t handle that drifter on your own?”
When Casey scowled but said nothing, Simpson said as he walked to the front door;
“I wouldn’t put a bad brand on him, boss. Jim sure didn’t think so and any man who saw the way Halliday used that gun wouldn’t go along with it, either. He bucked everybody on the place, got young Billy on his horse, then gave him time to get away. Then, just as cool as you please, he rode off after him.”
Casey shot a fierce look at Simpson. “Mebbe you’ve got too big a mouth, mister!”
“I’m just tellin’ it like it was,” Simpson said. He looked at Dorgan. “Want me to take the men after him?”
“Get them saddled up,” Dorgan ordered.
“You got somethin’ in mind, boss?” Simpson asked.
“I sure have. I’m gonna hunt that bastard down along with that back-shootin’ kid. Then I’ll string them both up.”
Simpson sighed. “Mebbe that’s bitin’ the bullet at the wrong end, boss.”
“Dammit, do what you’re told, Red, and don’t talk back to me. I want Halliday swingin’. You hear?”
“I hear,” Simpson said. “What about Jim?”
“To hell with him! If he ain’t fit to ride, tell him to lose himself down a dark hole so I don’t have to look at him.”
Dorgan moved toward the whiskey cabinet and poured himself another drink. When Casey went to help himself, Dorgan pushed him away.
“Find somethin’ useful to do, Jay, or go practice your shootin’. Could be that when we meet up with Halliday again, you’ll need to show some improvement.”
Casey studied Dorgan sourly, but said nothing. As Simpson went out, Casey followed him. Outside, he called Simpson to a halt.
“One day you’re gonna step too far outta line, Red. When you do, I might have to kill you.”
“You got your line of business and I’ve got mine,” Simpson shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I have a lotta friends. Mebbe you should remember that.”
When Casey opened his mouth to speak, Simpson walked over to Tub Wheelahan, Tom Pitt and Lee Cassidy, who were waiting for him. Casey watched them for a few moments and then kicked savagely at the ground. The slick-talking Simpson could wait. And he’d take care of anybody else who tried to get in his way—including Cord Dorgan.
He walked to where Buchanan was throwing water over his head from a horse trough. Casey waited for his partner to towel himself dry and then studied him closely. He was shocked at the bruises and cuts he saw on Buchanan’s face. Halliday had done quite a job on him.
“How do you feel, Jim?” Casey asked.
Buchanan scowled at him. “If you can ride, we’re goin’ after Halliday. This time there won’t be any messin’ around.”
Casey shook his head and showed Buchanan his hand. The back of it was gashed and two fingers were swollen.
“He shot you?” Buchanan asked.
Casey nodded. “Got the drop on me. While I was looking out for Cord, Halliday came up behind me. He shoulda killed me when he had the chance.”
Buchanan looked at the wounded hand again and shook his head. “We’ll see what happens when we get to him, Jay. All I’m sayin’ is that I won’t be waitin’ for anybody else to buy in. If I see him first, he’s dead.”
Casey turned away and headed for the corral. Buchanan hesitated for a few moments and then followed him. They saddled up. As they joined the other hands, Dorgan whistled to them from the porch. All looked Dorgan’s way as he said;
“There’s no doubt in my mind that Halliday’s behind this. He’d have killed any man who got in his way. So, every one of you has the right to kill him on sight. The same goes for Billy Cantrell. You all work for me and you know I pay well. But on this job, I’m gonna do better than ever before. The price for Halliday, dead or alive, is one thousand dollars. You got that?”
Most of the men nodded in agreement. But Simpson managed to find something wrong with his saddle strap and Wheelahan had trouble keeping his hat on his head, although it was far from being a windy day.
Dorgan swung onto his horse and led the way up the clearing, the pain throbbing through his head causing him to grit his teeth.
Mary Bland found Crater Creek quiet when she arrived. The eatery in which she had spent many miserable and terrifying hours still looked in need of a thorough scrubbing. In the doorway of the sheriff’s office, stood the man she despised. And the stores, their windows choked with rubbish, made her feel disgusted. As for the saloon, she wished it would burn to the ground, with Ben Doakes along with it.
She drew rein near John Ramsey’s office and slipped from the saddle. Two boys rolling barrel hoops made a racket going past. Mary touched her hair and was dismayed to find it thick with dust. She knew her face was lined with strain. The killing of Tim Cantrell had certainly left its mark on her.
She walked along the boardwalk and when she heard a door open behind her, she looked back and saw John Ramsey standing there, a sheet of paper in his hand. Ramsey pursed his lips in mute but expressive appreciation. Mary wanted to slap his face but had more important things on her mind.
“Glad you had the sense to come back, Miss Bland,” Ramsey called out. “There just isn’t anyplace out there on the range for a fine-looking woman like you.”
“Why isn’t there?” Mary shot back at him, sure of herself now that he had broken the ice.
Ramsey showed her the piece of paper. “I’ve just made out this document giving Jim Buchanan title to Tim Cantrell’s spread. It’s legal now that Cantrell is no longer with us.”
Mary stood and glared at him. Then as anger boiled inside her, she said, “You can’t do that. Tim filed his claim to that piece of land and two years must pass before anybody can decide whether or not he’s improved it.”
“In the case of a person’s death, the next applicant in line is allowed to stake a claim. The next in line in this case is Jim Buchanan.”
“But he’s not a rancher!” Mary challenged.
“Doesn’t matter. He filed his claim and I have no option but to sign over the deeds to him. So it seems you have noplace to go. However, you can stay at my place, doing the odd chore and such until you find something better.”
Mary clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She wanted to scream and tear this man’s eyes out, but she managed to keep her emotions under control. She said, “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time and Jim Buchanan’s, Mr. Ramsey. Tim’s brother is a partner in the land and he’s very much alive.”
Ramsey gaped at her. “Tim has a brother?”
“Yes. He’s out at the property now and means to stay there. In his possession is a legally signed paper which gives half-share in the place to him. What do you have to say about that?”
“You’re lying!” Ramsey said, his voice breaking.
Mary shook her head and smiled.
“Good day to you, Mr. Ramsey.”
With that, she walked off.
Ramsey scowled after her and then hurried to the jailhouse. He found Jed Lyman sitting behind his desk, picking at his teeth with a matchstick, his eyes bleary from the previous night’s heavy drinking. The smell in the small office made Ramsey want to puke, but he buried his distaste for Lyman with an effort.
“The Bland girl’s back,” Ramsey said, “and she’s looking to make trouble.”
Lyman shrugged his meaty shoulders. “So?”
“She claims Cantrell has a brother.”
This caused Lyman to sit up. “Cantrell has no brother. I never heard him mention any kin. He just moped around this town, oglin’ that little piece of baggage until his papers came through. If he had a brother, wouldn’t the brother have been with him?”
“The brother might have had other things to do,” Ramsey said. “Look, I don’t think she’s lying because that would get her nothing. I want you to ride out to see Cord Dorgan and tell him.”
“Ride all the way out there?”
“Somebody has to.”
“Why me? I’m busy. I’ve got things to do.”
“It can’t be as important as this. Get going now. Tell Cord—”
“Slice a vein,” Lyman growled.
Ramsey’s eyes flashed.
“Dammit, Jed, this could be important! I’ve already made out the papers. If Cord thought getting that property was important enough to hang a man, he’ll want to finish things by taking care of the brother.”
Lyman got slowly to his feet. He needed a shave and a drink, and he meant to get both just as soon as he could. He sure wasn’t going to ride anywhere in this heat. So he said, “Maybe I’ll go question her. Maybe she was lyin’ or stallin’.”
Ramsey hammered the desk with a clenched fist. “You don’t mind taking Cord’s handouts, do you, but just as soon as some effort is needed, you want to throw in your hand. I’m warning you, Jed, your position in this town could be in jeopardy if you don’t do as you’re told.”
Lyman’s mouth twisted. “My job doesn’t depend on you in any way, so don’t come stompin’ in here tryin’ to lord it over me. I know more about you than you think.”
Ramsey eyed him viciously. “What do you mean by that? By hell, if you’re threatening me—”
“I’m just tellin’ it straight, mister. You ain’t no clean skin. You got some real dirty linen in your laundry bag and I know where to put my hands on it. I answer to Cord and nobody else, so git.”
“By hell, Jed—”
Lyman came from behind the desk, his ugly face contorted. “Get the hell outta my office! If you want Cord to know somethin’ you found out, go tell him yourself. I know where I stand, and it ain’t under your boots.”
Ramsey glared furiously at the lawman. “We’ll see about that just as soon as Cord comes to town. I won’t stand for fools like you taking things into your own hands. There’s too much at stake.”
“There sure is,” Lyman said. “Out there is a big cattle kingdom and one man who wants to get his hands on all of it. There’ll come a time when you won’t be needed, but it’s a lot different with me.” He touched his gun butt and grinned. “This is what’ll count in the long run, not your flimsy pieces of paper.”
Ramsey drew himself to his full height. He wanted to smash this poor excuse of a lawman down, but decided to bide his time. As he left the office, he swore he’d see Lyman cut down to size. He went straight to the saloon, feeling the need of a drink. Inside, Ben Doakes was in a sullen mood as Mary Bland held center stage. When Mary saw Ramsey, she pointed accusingly at him and said;
“There’s another of them!”
Ramsey stared furiously at her, but didn’t reply.
Seeing Ramsey’s discomfort, Mary went on;
“I’m telling you what will happen if you don’t find the courage to make a stand now. Five men I know have been driven off their land and Ramsey saw to it that in every instance Cord Dorgan gained the rights to their land.”
“That’s a lie!” Ramsey cried out. “Cord owns only the land he bought years ago when he first came here. Every other slice of country that’s come up for reclaiming has been taken up by different people.”
“Conlon, Bellamy, Pierce,” Mary said, counting off the names on her fingers. “And there are another two men I can’t recall. But all of them work for Dorgan, and just as soon as the required time elapsed, Dorgan had them sign that land over to him. But he couldn’t frighten Tim away or make a deal with him. So he hanged him.”
Lyman then entered through the batwings. “You know women aren’t allowed in here.”
“Who said so?” Mary grated.
Lyman looked around for help but none was forthcoming, not even from Ben Doakes. “Hell, it’s the law! Women can’t come where men are cursin’, gamblin’ and drinkin’. A woman’s place is at a stove or behind a broom.”
“Not every woman, Sheriff!” Mary sneered. “Some want to make a stand for what’s right. You’re afraid of me, Sheriff. You can’t stand even the slightest hint of trouble. You’re a coward. But even so, I’m going to demand that you do something about Tim Cantrell’s murder.”
“Tim was hanged fer cattle rustlin’,” Lyman said with a show of righteous indignation.
“Who claimed that he was a rustler?” Mary asked.
“He was caught red-handed,” Lyman blustered.
He didn’t like the silence around him, nor did he like the fact that apart from Doakes and Ramsey, both of whom weren’t buying in, most of the crowd were townsmen who had shown no great love or regard for Cord Dorgan and his crew.
“Did Dorgan catch him?” Mary asked bitterly.
“Cord found some of his cattle on Cantrell land. But it ain’t only his word I’m goin’ on. I’m a fair man and I check things out. Harley and Mullins were with Cord when he found where a hole was cut in his fence. There were Dorgan cattle grazin’ on Cantrell land. When Dorgan accused him, Tim turned and ran. Just like he was guilty. So like any honest cattleman, Dorgan hanged him. That’s the law here. And I say good riddance.”
Mary walked to Lyman and slapped him hard across the face. The lawman staggered back. Mary kept after him, forcing a group of drinkers to step out of the way.
“You’re a no-good swine, Jed Lyman, and most people in this town know it! Cord Dorgan’s a swine, too, and they also know that. But what they don’t know or don’t want to know is that the two of you aim to take control of this whole territory. And you won’t stop with the range, will you? No, Cord Dorgan is too ambitious for that. It’ll be the whole town—stores, small businesses, this saloon, everything.”
Mary turned to the other men as Lyman cringed.
“Can’t you see what they aim to do? They hanged Tim because he had the courage to stand up to them. Regardless of what you think of me, believe me when I tell you that Tim Cantrell wasn’t the kind of man who would steal from anyone. He had no bad in him, only guts and youth. For that, he was hanged. Well, Dorgan will go on killing until he has everything he wants. Then this town, which has already begun to die, will be buried forever.”
Lyman moved closer to Mary. Her assault had temporarily put him back on his heels. But now, humbled in the face of so many men he needed to impress, he snapped;
“Dammit, woman, I’m not takin’ this from you or any other piece of baggage! You get out of here and stay out. If you don’t, I’ll throw you in a cell.”
“Put a hand on me, Jed Lyman, and you’ll live to regret it,” Mary vowed. “I’ll scratch your eyes out.”
She touched her hair, smoothed down her riding skirt, and looked at the men individually. “Isn’t there anyone here with the courage to stand up to these criminals?”
Nobody answered. Mary let out a sigh and was halfway across the room when she turned.
“Not even one man? Isn’t there one of you who loves this town and wants it to be a decent place? Is there one of you with a son Tim Cantrell’s age who doesn’t want to see him murdered?”
Again there was no answer.
Mary’s eyes burned with anger. “Cowards! Every one of you is a coward! Sleep with that, if you can!”