Gunsmoke and Gold Read online

  Twelve

  A crowd met him, and most were appalled at the sight of the bodies. Matt saw a few smirks among the crowd, glad to be rid of a nester family, but not many. He memorized those few faces.

  He handed the reins to Simmons and the store owner shook his head in sorrow. “Terrible. What’s wrong with people? Why can’t we all live in peace?”

  But Matt had no answer to that. He led his horse over to the doctor’s office and stepped inside. The doctor was in his outer office, talking with Sam.

  “How’s the boy?” Matt asked.

  “As stable as I can make him,” Doc Lemmon replied. “We don’t know much about shock yet. He will not respond to salts, and I’ve elevated his legs and have him warm. That’s about all that modern medicine can do at this point.”

  “Do people die from it?”

  “Oh, yes. Not often, but it happens. We just don’t know how many types of shock there are. The boy has experienced a terrible mental blow. He might come out of it not remembering a thing. The mind, the brain . . . well, there again, we don’t know much about that either.” He looked apologetic. “The pastor’s wife is in there with him. Perhaps God will take over where medicine fails.”

  Matt jerked a thumb toward the street. “I know what’s going to take over out yonder on the range.”

  “What?” the doctor looked puzzled.

  “.44’s and .45’s.”

  The brothers walked to the sheriff’s office, stoked up the stove, made a fresh pot of coffee, and sat down, waiting for Linwood.

  “Something awful funny about this,” Linwood said. “It stinks.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “The boy said they thought they’d killed him. I think they left him alive deliberately.”

  “That’s my thinkin’, too,” the sheriff said. “I’d bet my last dollar that Pete Harris had nothin’ to do with this. Hell, I’d bet my life on it.”

  “So would we,” Sam said. “Those night riders left that lad alive so he would tell just what he told us. The Box H brand on those horses is just a little too obvious.”

  “Right. That’s the way I see it. Hellfire, boys, Raner and Vernon could hide a whole army on their spreads; much less a dozen or so horses, and nobody could find them.”

  “If it was Raner and Vernon,” Matt said gently.

  Sam and Jack looked at him. Sam asked, “What do you mean, brother?”

  “Something is not adding up. I don’t know what. It’s just something that is roaming around in my head and I can’t pin it down. Look, boys, we got people switching sides here like a cook flippin’ flapjacks. First Dale hates me and Sam’s guts, then he welcomes us with open arms. First Dale is on the side of the big three ranchers and then he throws them out of town. Chrisman has hated Dale—or so everyone thought—for ten or twelve years, now he’s in cahoots with him. The rumor gets spread that the Raley gang is in this area, hired by Vernon and Raner. It was probably the Raley gang that killed that family last night, but that don’t necessarily mean they were hired by Hugo and Blake. And D. and R. don’t have to mean Dale and Raner. But it could. Dale could have ordered Raner out of town to make it look like there was a big split between them.”

  “This is makin’ my head hurt,” Jack said, moving toward the coffeepot. “This is like tryin’ to track a cow over a stampede trail.”

  The men talked and waited for Charlie and Jimmy to return. But they all knew they were no closer to solving the puzzle; knew the puzzle was becoming more complicated. They finally just dropped the topic and talked about horses.

  Jimmy returned from the Reed farm and said the family had been very helpful and polite. They all had Springfield rifles and showed no hesitation in producing them. The men all wore flat-heeled boots or shoes; the sniper had worn high-heeled cowboy boots. As far as Jimmy was concerned, and the sheriff agreed, the Reed family was dropped from the list of suspects.

  Charlie rode in about half an hour behind Jimmy. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “That damn Hugo Raner is a smart-mouth, arrogant son, I’ll say that first off. And if he crowds me, I’ll put lead in him. But I’ll add this: I don’t think he or his bunch had anything to do with that sniper. Nothin’ firm to back that up. Just a hunch. Both him and that Blake Vernon was coffeein’ on the porch when I got there. They stayed together whilst I talked with them. A puncher come foggin’ in with the news about that farm family bein’ slaughtered. I don’t think they had anything to do with that, either. They was both stunned over the news and they wasn’t play-actin’? And both of ’em said the same thing about Pete Harris: ‘He didn’t do it.’ ”

  “How about a Springfield rifle?” Jimmy asked.

  Charlie shook his head. “The men said they’ve owned Springfields before, but that they don’t no more. I don’t like neither one of them men, but I believed them.”

  “All that’s left is to talk with Pete Harris,” Linwood said.

  The words had not stopped echoing before Pete and his son and Shorty the foreman rode into town and reined up in front of the office. Pete stepped into the office, his face flushed.

  “Boys,” he said, taking off his hat. “I got the news about that farm family and come straight into town. It’s a terrible thing that’s happened. The word I got is that the boy is blamin’ me. But I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that—nothin’, I tell you!”

  “Relax, Pete,” Linwood said. “We don’t think you had anything to do with it. Have some coffee and sit down. Let’s all do some jawin’.”

  But Pete was upset and angry and frustrated. Coffee was not what he had in mind. “I’ll pay for that boy’s medical care and upbringin’,” the rancher said. “I’ll do anything I can to help that boy.”

  Charlie got up and put his arm around the man’s shoulders. “Take it easy, Pete. Just calm down some, old hoss. Anybody who knows you knows you wouldn’t do something like was done to that family. There ain’t nobody—includin’ Blake and Hugo—who thinks you had anything to do with it. So just put your mind to rest about it.”

  “But somebody did it!” the rancher said. “Somebody ridin’ horses with the Box H brand. Somebody destroyed that little boy’s life and besmirched my good name. I better not find nobody ridin’ a Box H horse without sale papers. If I do, there’s gonna be a killin’. I warn you all of that right now!” He stormed out of the room.

  “Pete!” Charlie called. “Where are you goin’, man?”

  “To see about that little boy,” Pete called over his shoulder, never breaking stride as he stomped down the boardwalk.

  Sam stood up and stretched. “Somebody wants to throw blame onto Pete, and get any suspicions off of them. But we don’t have any real suspects. Now if it isn’t Raner or Blake, who is it?”

  But nobody had an answer.

  * * *

  The night riders struck again that night. A group of about twenty-five men riding Lightning Arrow brand horses hit a sheepman and his herd and killed two shepherds, and their dogs and ran most of the sheep off a cliff, killing them. A third shepherd dragged himself to his horse and made it to a farmer’s house. The farmer put the basque into a wagon and brought him into town, arriving just at dawn. He lived long enough to tell his story and died as the doctor was probing for the bullet in his chest.

  Jack Linwood, Charlie Starr, and Jimmy Bryant looked at each other and walked out of the doctor’s office. Matt and Sam were just stepping up onto the boardwalk.

  “You two are now officially deputized,” Jack told them. “Come to the office and get swore in and badged. And I don’t wanna hear no argument about it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, with badges pinned to their shirts, Matt and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder with Charlie and Jimmy as Jack said, “Jimmy, you and Sam stay close to town. Charlie, Matt, and me will ride out to the killin’ site and start trackin’. Three days’ provisions, boys. Get supplied at Simmons and charge it to the county. Get plenty of ammo. Let’s go.”

  Stopping at a creek to water their horses, Matt s
aid, “First it was Box H, now it’s Lightning. If the next one isn’t Circle V . . . ?”

  “Yeah, I been thinkin’ on that, too. And I’ll bet you it won’t be. But I’ll also bet that Blake is innocent.”

  “But the farmers and sheepmen won’t,” Charlie said.

  “Right,” Jack said, his words soft. “Whoever is doin’ this is smart. Real smart. They’ve given this a lot of thought. But why are they doin’ it? Who in the hell has what to gain by doin’ it? That’s what’s got me stumped.”

  “Jack, has the mother lode been found in this county yet?” Matt asked.

  “No. Lots of small strikes. Been a lot of gold taken out. But it’s been a lot of smaller strikes. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “You think gold might be the reason behind these attacks?” Charlie asked.

  “Something is. Has any gold been found on any of the big three ranches?”

  “Not that I know of,” Jack replied. “But gold is the one thing I haven’t thought of. Maybe you’re right. Maybe somebody is trying to stir up trouble so’s the big three will have at each other’s throats. It’s sure something to ponder on. But who is it?”

  “R. and D.”

  “Whoever that might be,” the sheriff said glumly.

  The scene at the murder sight was horrible, and the stench of dead sheep didn’t help any. Charlie knelt down by one of the sheepdogs.

  “Hell of a price to pay for bein’ hard-workin’ and loyal,” the famed gunfighter said, touching the head of the sheepdog. “It’s like shootin’ a man’s horse. It’d take a sorry son to do this. Man’ll do this don’t deserve nothin’ but a rope or a bullet.”

  The men dug holes and buried the sheepmen and their dogs side by side, the men figuring that’s the way the sheepmen would have wanted it. Charlie got a tattered Bible from his saddlebags and read a few words.

  He closed the Bible and sighed.

  Jack settled his hat on his head and hitched at his double rig gunbelt. “Let’s ride.”

  The tracks were easy to follow, unlike those of the raiders who had attacked the farmer, which had petered out after a few miles. But these were easy to read, and they led right toward the Circle V range.

  “You know what they’re gonna do,” Charlie said. “They’re gonna get with a herd and push them along, then one by one leave out.”

  Jack nodded his head. “Sure. As long as we trail them to Circle V range, they’re thinkin’ that’s all it’ll take to stir things up. And maybe they’re right. We got to put out this fuse, boys. And we got to do it right quick.”

  “I figure just one more farmer gets killed, the farmers are gonna band together and start some night-ridin’ of their own,” Charlie said. “I seen it happen before. And don’t nobody sell them sodbusters short. You crowd ’em hard enough and they’ll shove back.”

  They spotted two punchers riding toward them just as they crossed the creek that signaled the east boundaries of the Circle V range.

  “Mac and Jody,” Linwood said. “Comin’ from the west, probably wonderin’ what happened to the herd that was grazin’ here.”

  “What’d you boys want?” Jody said, his eyes riveted on Bodine, and on the badge he wore on his shirt.

  “Some sheepmen was killed last night, their sheep stampeded over a cliff and their dogs shot. One lived long enough to tell me the raiders was on Circle V horses. We trailed them here.”

  The punchers exchanged looks, Jody saying, “Now that just breaks my heart about them stinkin’ sheepmen and their sheep and their goddamned dogs. But we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.” He looked at Charlie. “Kinda old to be totin’ a badge, ain’t you, dad?”

  “That’s what LaBarre thought, too,” Charlie told the mouthy puncher.

  “Huh? What about LaBarre?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Who killed him?” Mac asked.

  “I did,” Charlie said.

  “I don’t believe that!” Jody said, his hand dropping to the butt of his gun. “You’re a liar.”

  “What he is is Charlie Starr,” Matt said.

  The color drained out of Jody’s face. Very slowly, he removed his hand from the butt of his gun. “Pleased to meet you, Mister Starr,” he said.

  “It ain’t for me,” Charlie told him. “I just ain’t got no use for smart-mouthed, pushy people.”

  “You got no call to talk to me like that,” Jody said sullenly.

  “I just helped bury two good men and their hard-workin’ dogs. I killed LaBarre ’cause I took a likin’ to a young deputy right off. I have always liked dogs. And I don’t like you and probably never will. The reason for my sayin’ that is simple: if you get mouthy with me again, you ain’t gonna have the time left you for me to make up my mind one way or the other. Do you understand all that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jody said, very humbly.

  “Fine,” Charlie said.

  “We don’t think you boys had anything to do with killin’ them sheepmen,” Jack stepped in. Charlie was on the prod and Jack knew why. Charlie was a famed gunslick, but he was also a decent man. And no decent man would kill another man’s good horse or dog, any more than he would kill a woman or a child. For all his rowdy past, Jack Linwood had always had a clear streak of decency in him. But he was tough and quick and hard, just like the times.

  “I swear to you, Jack,” Mac said. “No Circle V hand had anything to do with no raid last night. Nor that other raid that kilt them farmers. I’ll swear on a Bible and on my mother’s picture.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Mac. Let’s ride single file, you two on the west side of these cow tracks, and see if we can’t pick up where those raiders broke loose.”

  They had gone only a short distance before Mac called out. “Here’s where one cut loose, but he took about a dozen steers with him.”

  “Here’s another,” Matt called from the point. “Same story.”

  “And here’s a piece of sackin’,” Charlie called. “They tied sacks around their horses’ hooves. Or they were goin’ to when they left them beeves they’re trailin’.”

  The men reined up. They knew there was no point in continuing their hunt. The raiders would leave the cows at some point where nothing could be found. And after so long a time, any grass that was bent down would be springing back up.

  “Thanks for your help, boys,” Jack told the hands. “And don’t be doin’ no travelin’ at night. These farmers and sheepmen are gettin’ edgy and just might blow you out of the saddle.”

  “I’d like to see one try!” Jody blustered up. “No sodbuster’s gonna get the drop on me.”

  Charlie snorted and swung his horse, putting his back to the man. “Damn fool,” he muttered.

  Jack gave the hand a long, hard look. “I’ll be goin’ to your funeral ’fore this is over, Jody.” He turned his horse and headed back to town, catching up with Charlie.

  Matt lingered, facing the two punchers. Jody’s eyes burned hate at him. “Why don’t we all work to bring peace to this area, boys?”

  “Why don’t you and your damned half-breed Injun brother both go to hell, Bodine?” Jody replied.

  “Nice talking to you boys,” Matt said, and turned his horse. As he rode to catch up with Jack and Charlie, he muttered, “I’ll have to deal with him someday.”

  Thirteen

  The raiders struck again that night, at two locations, killing all but one of a farm family, burning down house and barn, and killing all the livestock, and killing three sheepmen, stampeding their flocks, and destroying the dogs.

  The night riders rode horses with the Box H and Circle V brands.

  “That’s their plan,” Matt said to the sheriff and the deputies. “We were right. The only brand that isn’t obvious is Hugo Raner’s Lightning Arrow.”

  “So the other ranchers will turn on Raner. And the farmers, the sheepmen, and the townspeople,” Sam finished it.

  “That’s the way I see it,” Matt said.

  “D
amnest thing I ever heard of,” Linwood said. “But I see the logic behind it.”

  “We’re looking at a war here,” Jimmy said. “And we’d better be darn careful to stay neutral.”

  “You got that right, son,” Charlie told him. He cocked his head. “Who’s that comin’ in?”

  The lawmen moved to the boardwalk and watched as Hugo Raner and a number of his hands rode slowly into town. The men were all heavily armed and grim-faced. Three of the hands rode belly-down over their saddles, tied in place. Others had bloody bandages on arms and face and legs. The riders reined up in front of the four lawmen.

  “Damn nesters and sheepmen hit me early this morning, Linwood,” Hugo said. “A sneak attack on my ranch. You see what happened. I didn’t bury my boys right off ’cause I wanted you to see yourself. I ain’t had nothing to do with these night-riding incidents . . . up to now.”

  “How do you know it was farmers and sheepmen who attacked you?” Charlie asked. “Did you get any of them?”

  “No,” Hugo said bitterly. “But who the hell else could it have been? They was ridin’ mules and plugs and nags. That pretty well tells it, don’t it?”

  “Not necessarily,” Jack said. “Someone is trying to start a war here, Hugo. And we don’t believe it’s you or Blake or Pete that’s behind it. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the others: just calm down and let us handle it. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “The hell you say!” Hugo’s son, Carl said. “You people couldn’t catch a cold. We’ll take care of it our way.”

  “You’ll go to jail if we catch you night-ridin’, Carl,” Jack warned the young man. “And that includes any rancher or punchers in this county.”

  A cowboy came fogging up the street, from the east. He reined up in a cloud of dust. “Sheep!” he hollered. “Thousands of them. They’re about ten miles outside of town. They come in by train to tracks’-end and are being herded over here. I never seen so goddamned many sheep in all my days.”

  “Damn!” Mayor Dale said to Chrisman, as the men stood in front of the bank.