Cole figured one more day as he bedded down for the night. And then he’d move out and meet the stage. A good thing too—he was running short on supplies and had just finished the last of the beans and was coming to the end of both Arbuckle’s and jerky.
He kept the fire burning low and spread himself out in his bedroll. Still fearful of further wolves he kept his Colts close to hand. He filled a pipe and lay there, smoking and listening to the myriad sounds the night produced.
So far so good, he thought and wondered what would be happening back at Squaw.
How would Jessie be?
Had Bowden and his men badgered here at all?
He didn’t think they would, couldn’t see the point of it. Left to Sam Bowden then he was sure the man would have moved in, tried to scare Jessie into telling him all she knew of his (Cole’s) whereabouts but Clem was cleverer than that. The old man was not as bombastic as his son and would never let blind rage get the better of him. In many ways that made him all the more dangerous and Cole was sure the old man would not shy away from murder if it suited him He would ensure his own hands were kept clean, though and for that reason Cole didn’t think Jessie was in any danger.
He rolled over, bone weary from his expedition of the caves, but sleep was hard come by and he kept churning things over and over in his mind, thinking about Jessie back in Squaw and worrying about the fecundity of his own plan.
There would be a fight, that much was inevitable, but if he rode back into Squaw with the judge then he was sure major bloodshed could be avoided. Sam Bowden would go to prison for a very long time and his father would learn that times were changing, that that he didn’t own the law in Squaw any more.
Cole remembered that first time he had gone up against Sam Bowden. He was barely into his second week as sheriff of Squaw. He had been having dinner with Jessie, course he had only just met the schoolteacher then and was still very much in the delicious phase of learning things about the woman who would eventually become his fiancé and, assuming he survived all this, his wife.
He had been taking coffee prior to leaving for the jailhouse when gunfire sounded in the street. He had seen the concern in her eyes and he had smiled, politely bid her goodnight, and stepped out into the street ready to do his duty.
The street was deserted, the only sounds coming from the saloon, but the smell of cordite was heavy in the air. Then Cole heard another shot coming from the direction of the Majestic, the busiest and wildest of the town’s saloons. Cole had taken a deep breath and walked towards the batwings.
Inside Cole got his first real look at Sam Bowden and he didn’t like the man there and then. He knew that he would come up against him time and time again until one of those clashes resulted in bloodshed; either Bowden’s or his own.
Sam Bowden had a several of the saloon girls up on stage, dancing to a tune played by a terrified doleful looking man at the piano. Sam Bowden had a large pistol in his hands, a civil war model, and was laughing and firing wildly into the air. From the look of the place a bullet had smashed a barrel upon a shelf behind the counter and several cowboys were fighting to get their glasses beneath the pouring liquid.
‘Dance, dance, dance.’ Sam Bowden yelled, manically. He’d set off another shot, firing into the ceiling and sending plaster down, like snow, into the room.
Cole had stood there for a moment watching, taking in the terrified look of the girls on the stage, the anger of the barkeep who was just that little too scared to do anything about the wayward cowboy. And then he removed one of his Colts, he always wore two, tied down to the leg gunslinger style, the result of a youth misspent, and sent yet another bullet into the ceiling.
Bowden had spun on his feet, his own gun in hand, and faced the new sheriff for the first time.
‘I wouldn’t.’ Cole said when it looked as if the man would reach for his gun. Years of living with a gun in the hand had honed Cole’s reflexes until he was as fast as the best of them.
‘Do you know who I am, Sheriff?’
Cole had smiled. ‘Don’t really care.’ He said and walked towards Bowden, keeping his gaze firm into the other man’s eyes. He didn’t blink as he crossed that room.
People stood aside to let him through, parting like the waves of the sea for a holy man.
‘Give me your gun.’ Cole had said and stood there before Bowden, his hand outstretched.
‘What?’ For a moment Bowden look confused but then he snarled and… it was unclear if he was going to hand his gun over or make a play since Cole did the deciding for him, when he brought the butt of his Colt crashing into the side of the man’s face with blinding force.
Sam Bowden’s legs buckled, his eyes rolled back into their sockets, and he fell to the floor and lay there as harmless as a newborn baby.
Cole had dragged him through the street that night and then deposited him, bruised, muddy, and stinking like a hog, in a cell before making out an arrest report, the first of many that would carry the name of Samuel Bowden.
And now, here in the present, Cole lay there and cursed the Bowden name. That one event, of which there had been many more, had sowed the seed that had led to the current situation.
From that first catalytic meeting things had been leading to the here and now.
One time Sam had been drinking and decided it would be a mighty fine thing to ride down Main Street wearing nothing but a hat and gun belt. When Cole tried to arrest him for indecent exposure he pulled a gun and started shooting wildly. No one was hurt but Cole had to spend several tense minutes hidden behind a building while Sam shot off all his bullets.
Cole had then wrestled the man from his horse and dragged him, naked, kicking and screaming to the jailhouse. It was fast becoming a home from home for the loco cowboy.
It was after that incident that Cole had first met Clem Bowden.
The old man had come storming into the jailhouse the next morning, demanding his son be released, screaming about letting high spirits go and the heavy handed attitude of the sheriff.
‘Heavy handed doesn’t come into it.’ Cole had told him. ‘Your boy was shooting off in all directions, his pecker jumping every which way. It’s only a miracle no one was killed.’ He had then taken pleasure in pointing out to the old man that there was a small matter of a fine before he could even consider releasing his son.
Bowden had paid up there and then, peeling the bills from a large wad. With each dollar he handed over the anger in his eyes seemed to intensify until his face had the color of a hurricane about to make landfall.
Cole then smiled and reminded the old man that his son was currently buck-naked with only a blanket in the cell to cover his modesty. He simply couldn’t release him until suitable clothes were found. Why if he did that he’d have to arrest him all over again as soon as he stepped out into the street.
That had angered the old man even more and Cole, despite his better instincts, found himself enjoying the situation.
The Bowdens’ thought far too much of themselves and tended to look down on everyone else as if they were not of the same fine stock as they were. It was a joy to watch the old man’s pompous indignation as he stood there before the lawman. He was making it quite transparent that he’d like to strangle him with his bare hands.
‘Sorry,’ Cole said. ‘Can’t have your son wandering around naked. It just wouldn’t be decent.’
‘I’ll have some clothes sent over presently.’ Clem Bowden said and then glared at Cole. ‘You’re new to this town,’ he said. ‘It won’t be healthy for you to carry on like this.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Cole had asked.
The old man shook his head. ‘I’m just suggesting you familiarize yourself with the way this town works.’
Cole shook the thoughts from his mind and closed his eyes. Things had gotten far worse now and the Bowden situation was so far advanced that it would take blood to end it.
He willed himself to sleep.
Tomorrow he planned on setting out. The stage would be due and he needed to meet it, explain to the judge what was happening and then, hopefully, divert things, if needed, some twenty miles south to Fort Brannon and get the army involved.
Soon he was asleep.