The Stalking Death Page 4

  “Mr. Houser,” the conductor said, approaching his chair.

  “Yes?”

  “We are in Chugwater, sir. Your destination.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I do hope that your trip has been satisfactory.”

  “Oh, most satisfactory,” Houser said, reaching for the valise. The valise had not left his side from the time he left Sulphur Springs, Texas, though several times he had been offered the opportunity to “check it through.”

  The entire trip, including buying new clothes and traveling and dining first class, had cost him less than $250, which meant he still had $88,000 in cash.

  * * *

  Duff watched the train roll into the station and stop with a hiss of steam and a squeal of brakes.

  “What about the hands who worked at Twin Peaks?” Dale Allen asked. “Have you made any arrangements for them?”

  “I have dismissed them all.”

  “Harlon, there are cattle there,” Burt Rowe said. “Someone has to look after them.”

  “What is there to look after? Cows eat grass and drink water. Surely they can do that on their own.”

  As Duff listened passively to the interchange, he saw a passenger step down from the train. The passenger wore a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard and was exceptionally well dressed. He was clutching a valise, holding it with both hands as if frightened that someone might take it from him.

  “I have already made arrangements for Mr. Turley and Mr. Cooper to stay on, until the ranch is sold,” Martha said. “Mr. Turley has been the foreman for some time, and Clifford always set a great store by him. He also thought that Mr. Cooper was a good hand. I’m sure they will be of big help to whoever buys the ranch.”

  “Mother, I had no idea you had done that, and there was no need for it. It is an unnecessary expense,” Harlon said, his irritation with her action making his voice quite loud.

  “I believe it is necessary,” Martha replied quietly, but firmly.

  “I’ll check in on them from time to time,” Rowe promised.

  “All aboard!” the conductor called.

  “Gentlemen, we appreciate your service at father’s funeral. And now, we must take leave of you.”

  Martha took one last look around as if hesitant to leave.

  “Come, Mother,” Harlon said, taking her by the arm and escorting her onto the train.

  Chapter Five

  As Houser stepped down from the train, someone approached him.

  “Would you like a cab, sir?” the man asked.

  “Yes, as soon as I get my luggage, I think I would.”

  While Houser waited, he saw a small gathering of people around a young man and an older woman, who he took to be mother and son. From what he could observe the gathered men were telling the young man and woman good-bye.

  “Mother, I had no idea you had done that, and there was no need for it. It is an unnecessary expense!”

  It was the young man who spoke, validating Houser’s belief that they were mother and son. As his voice was quite loud, and with a tone of obvious irritation, it was the only line of dialogue that Houser heard from the conversation.

  He was somewhat discomfited when he saw that one of the gathered men, a tall man with golden hair, wide shoulders, and muscular arms, seemed to be looking at him. The unblinking gaze made him a little ill at ease, and he clutched the satchel even closer to him.

  “This must be your luggage, sir, as you were the only one on the train,” someone said. This was the man who, but a moment earlier, had solicited him for a cab.

  “Yes, it is, thank you.”

  “Shall I get it for you?” the cab driver asked.

  “Yes, please do.”

  The cab driver reached for the satchel, but Houser jerked it out of reach. “I’ll carry this,” Houser said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Houser had the driver take him to the “nicest hotel in town,” where he took a suite of rooms. He wasn’t sure how long he would be staying in the hotel, and he wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

  From the hotel, Houser, still carrying the satchel, walked two blocks to the Bank of Chugwater, where he asked to meet with the president.

  “Yes, sir, what can I do for you, sir?” Joel Marsh asked with a businessman’s smile.

  “I have a rather sizable sum of money that I would like to deposit with your bank,” Houser said. “And I want to know if you can handle an account this large.”

  Marsh’s smile grew broader. “Oh, I think you will find that we are quite capable of handling any amount you might wish to leave with us.”

  “Do you have a vault?”

  “We have a Yale and Towne vault, sir. There is none better. Exactly how much money will you be depositing with us?”

  “Eighty-five thousand dollars,” Houser said.

  “Oh my, that is a rather substantial amount. Are you moving to Chugwater?”

  “Yes. I shall be looking to buy a ranch while I’m here.”

  “Twin Peaks,” Marsh said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are in luck, sir, as I have just been given the authority to sell Twin Peaks, a ranch that once belonged to Clifford Prescott.”

  “You have repossessed it, have you?” Houser asked.

  “Oh no, sir, nothing like that. Clifford Prescott, who owned Twin Peaks Ranch, died earlier this week. In fact I, just a few minutes ago, returned from his funeral. If you just arrived on the train today, you may have seen his widow, Mrs. Prescott. Her son is taking her back to Memphis, and it is he who is selling. He has offered the ranch, and all stock and accouterments, for sale for fifty-five thousand dollars.”

  “You know the area. Is the ranch worth that much?”

  “Oh, dear me, yes, that, and much more,” Marsh said. “And I told young Prescott as much. But he wants nothing to do with the ranch, except to get rid of it as quickly as possible.”

  “How large is this place?”

  “One hundred and ten thousand acres. Only Sky Meadow is larger.”

  “Can you arrange for me to see it?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll take you there myself.”

  Elam, Texas

  For a while, Sid Shamrock was the wealthiest man in Elam, and he lived like it. Rather than take a room in the hotel, Shamrock took a room in Miss Wanda’s House of Accommodating Women. Miss Wanda was a madam, and the six “accommodating” women who lived and worked there were whores.

  “Ha!” Shamrock said. “I’ve always wanted to live in a whorehouse, ’n now I do.”

  By living there, Shamrock was able to enjoy any of the girls he wanted, anytime he wanted. Such an arrangement cost him a great deal of money, but he had a great deal of money.

  Shamrock was very generous with his money, many nights buying drinks for everyone in the saloon until the saloon closed. He also played cards, betting large sums and losing a lot of money. On one occasion, he lost well over $1,000 in one game.

  He didn’t seem to be bothered by his losses, because the next night he would buy drinks for everyone, lose more money, then return to the whorehouse where, even though he lived there full-time, he paid the going rate for whichever whore he selected for the night. It didn’t seem as if he would ever run out of money.

  If Wanda and her girls wondered how he came by so much money, they never bothered to question him.

  There was, however, one man in town who did wonder where Shamrock got all his money, and a few weeks after Shamrock showed in town, he knew.

  T. J. Carmichael, who was sheriff of Swisher County, was also sheriff of Elam, since Elam was the only town in the county. At the moment, he was holding a wanted poster.

  WANTED FOR ROBBERY

  of the BANK OF SULPHUR SPRINGS

  $2,000 REWARD

  TWO MEN, identities unknown

  First man is about 5’10” tall, long blond hair, approximately 165 pounds, with a purple scar running from his left eyebrow, down through his left eye, ending at the top of his cheek.

  Second man has brown hair and blue eyes. He is about 5’8”, 155 pounds, with no identifiable marks.

  Sheriff Carmichael had no idea who the second man might be, but he was certain that the big spender who was calling himself Sid Shamrock was the first man.

  Carmichael went over to the Silver Bell Saloon, where Shamrock was playing cards. Carmichael watched until the game broke up, then he called out to him.

  “How was your game, Mr. Shamrock?”

  Shamrock smiled. “Well, I won a little today, but not enough to make up for all the losin’ I been doin’. How ’bout lettin’ me buy you a drink?”

  “Oh, you could do that, I suppose. Or you could come over to my office and let me give you a drink. I have some good Kentucky bourbon, which is much better than anything you’ll find in this place.”

  “Yeah? I don’t think I’ve ever drank me no real Kentucky bourbon.”

  “Well, my boy, you are in for a treat,” the sheriff said.

  The two men walked down to the sheriff’s office and Carmichael stood back to let Shamrock go in first. Then, as Shamrock stepped in through the door, Carmichael jammed his pistol into Shamrock’s back.

  “Just keep going on back and step into that open cell,” Carmichael said.

  “Here, what’s this about?” Shamrock asked.

  Carmichael slammed the cell door behind him.

  “You got no call to do this!”

  Carmichael picked up the wanted poster and showed it to Shamrock.

  “This is you, isn’t it?”

  “No, that ain’t me.”

  “You’ve got the scar, you’ve got a lot of money that you can’t account for. I can take you back to Sulphur Springs and have you identified, or . . .”

  There
was an implied escape in the sheriff’s “or” and Shamrock leaped at it.

  “Or what?”

  “There is a two-thousand-dollar reward out for you.”

  “I didn’t think the law could collect on rewards,” Shamrock said.

  “Oh, we can’t, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless we collect it from the wanted man himself.”

  “I ain’t a-followin’ whatever it is that you’re a-gettin’ at,” Shamrock said.

  “I’m going to give you a choice, Mr. Shamrock. You can let me take you back to Sulphur Springs, where you will be tried for armed bank robbery and most likely serve from fifteen to twenty years in prison. But of course if I do that, I will be doing it as a matter of civic duty, only, because, as you correctly pointed out, I can’t collect the reward. We both lose if I do that.”

  Sheriff Carmichael smiled and held up a finger. “On the other hand, there is a way where we can both win. You pay me the two-thousand-dollar reward, and I’ll let you go, but with the stipulation that you leave town, and never come back.”

  “I don’t have much over two thousand dollars left,” Shamrock said.

  “But you do have two thousand dollars?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “It’s your choice, Mr. Shamrock. You can choose prison or freedom. Which will it be?”

  “Let me out. I’ll go get the money and bring it to you.”

  Carmichael chuckled and shook his head. “No, sir, Mr. Shamrock. We will both go get the money, then you’ll leave town.”

  “All right,” Shamrock agreed. “Come on, I’ll take you to the money.”

  Sulphur Springs

  Shamrock had less than twenty dollars left when he rode into Sulphur Springs. He knew he was taking a chance, not so much that the banker might see and recognize him, but that someone else might identify him from the description. And the description had gotten out, because it was on the wanted poster Sheriff Carmichael had shown him.

  Despite the danger, Shamrock had returned to Sulphur Springs because he didn’t think he had any other choice. He knew that Brad Houser had gotten a lot more money from the bank robbery than he had, and he knew that if he asked for some more, his brother would give it to him. Actually, his brother had no other choice, because if he didn’t give him the money, it could get out that he, too, was involved in the bank robbery.

  Shamrock laughed at the prospect. His brother always lorded everything over him—he was smarter, richer, and better-looking. But this time, Shamrock was holding the ace.

  Shamrock rode up to the Saddle and Stirrup Saloon, tied his horse off out front, then went inside. He saw the girl he was looking for leaning against the piano, perusing the girls who were working the saloon. Although he had never actually met her, he knew that this was Rosemary Woods, and he knew that Rosemary had a thing for his brother.

  He walked up to her.

  “Hello, Miss Woods,” he said.

  “Do I know you?” she asked.

  “No, we ain’t never met. I need me a lawyer, so I come here to see Houser, only when I went to his office it was closed. When I went to askin’ about ’im, I was told he was sweet on you, so I figured maybe you’d know where he is.”

  “Wait a minute!” Rosemary said, gasping. “You’re the one that robbed the bank.”

  “No, I ain’t robbed no bank. I was in Elam when the bank was robbed, ’n the sheriff there can prove it. But I need a lawyer ’n that’s why I come to see Houser.”

  “Brad isn’t here any longer,” Rosemary said.

  “He ain’t? Where is he? Do you know?”

  “Yes, I know,” she said with a smile. “When he left, he said he would send for me as soon as he was settled in.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in Chugwater.”

  “Chugwater? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I hadn’t heard of it, either, but it’s up in Wyoming.”

  “Damn, that’s a long way off,” Shamrock said.

  “Are you going to see him?” Rosemary asked.

  Shamrock shook his head. “I’d like to, I truly would. But I don’t have enough money to go up there. Fact is, I don’t have no money at all. Which ought to prove that I didn’t rob the bank, on account of ’cause if I did, I wouldn’t be broke now, would I?”

  “I’ll give you some money if you’ll go up there and remind him that he said he was going to send for me.”

  “How much money will you give me?”

  “I can give you a hundred dollars,” Rosemary said. “That’s all I can spare.”

  Shamrock smiled, then held out his hand. “All right, you give me that money, ’n I’ll go up there ’n tell him to send for you.”

  Trail Back Ranch

  Half a pitted steer was being slowly turned over a fire, and a band had been hired to come up from Cheyenne. David Lewis, owner of Trail Back, was hosting a welcome party for Brad Houser, the new owner of Twin Peaks Ranch, and in addition to Duff MacCallister, Clyde Barnes, Dale Allen, Merlin Goodman, Webb Dakota, and Burt Rowe were also present.

  “I think Martha’s son was right to sell Twin Peaks after Clifford died,” Mary Beth Lewis said. “There is no way she would be able to operate that ranch by herself. Why, it’s bigger than Trail Back, and I certainly wouldn’t try to run Trail Back by myself.”

  “I know what the boy was asking for the ranch, and believe me, you got a very good deal,” Burt Rowe said.

  “Yes, except for the cattle,” Houser replied.

  “The cattle? My good man, are you saying that there is illness among the cattle?” Webb Dakota asked in a precise, British accent. Dakota didn’t own Kensington Place outright. He was but one of a consortium of English investors in the cattle industry of the American West. “If there is, we must take care of it straight away, rather than take the danger of it spreading.”

  “No, no, there is no disease,” Houser said. “It’s the number of cattle I’m talking about. Why, a ranch the size of Twin Peaks should accommodate from eight to ten thousand head. I’ve got less than twenty-five hundred head.”

  “Yes, well, I know for a fact that Clifford sold off most of his cattle there toward the end. He was too ill to look after the ranch himself. He knew the end was coming, and I think he was just turning cattle into cash.”

  “And, more ’n likely, there was a lot of maverickin’ done,” Clyde Barnes said.

  “Mavericking?”

  “Yeah, you know, every spring before roundup, quite a few of the new calves wander off before they can be branded. Truth is, for the last two or three years, Clifford wasn’t none too worried about roundup. He let all his hands go except for Ben Turley and Ty Cooper, so there warn’t no brandin’ goin’ on at his place,” Clyde said.

  “What happens to the maverick cattle?” Houser asked.

  “Well, sir, they belong to whoever happens to round ’em up,” Merlin Goodman said.

  “And most of the time, that’s the small ranchers,” Dale Allen added.

  “So, what you are saying is, the small ranchers are stealing from the larger ranchers,” Houser said.

  “Well, no, sir, I wouldn’t say that. It ain’t stealin’, exactly. It’s legal, ’n ever’ one does it, it’s just that the small ranchers do it a lot more ’n anyone else does,” Dale said.

  David Lewis, who was listening in on the conversation, chuckled. “Hell, half the small ranchers in the entire country owe their whole herds to mavericks they’ve rounded up.”

  “Yes, well, they’ll get no more cattle from me,” Houser declared resolutely.

  Chapter Six

  Twin Peaks Ranch

  When Houser first set foot on the ranch he had just bought, he was met by a tall, lean man with dark tendrils of hair hanging over his forehead from beneath his hat, dark eyes, and prominent cheekbones. He was about six feet one and was thin, though there was more of a rawboned edginess to his physique than actual attenuation.

  “The name is Turley, Mr. Houser. Ben Turley. I heard that you bought Twin Peaks. Me ’n Ty Cooper have been lookin’ out for the place for Miz Prescott till she could sell it.”