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  After the trouble with Ike Cheney and his sons was discussed, Shorty filled Will in on the status of the ranch. Will was frankly impressed, because he had no high expectations for Shorty when he had left him to run the J-Bar-J, after Jim Hightower had been killed and Miss Jean moved to Arkansas. At the time, his hope was that Shorty, with Slim and Cal’s help, could manage to maintain a small operation, enough to keep them off the grub line. Now he was surprised to find that they had increased the size of the herd considerably and Shorty had hired on two more men. “Not only that,” Slim informed him, “we got us a cook, too. She ain’t the cook Sally Evenin’ Star was, but it sure beats what we were doin’ for ourselves.”

  “She can sure bake good biscuits, though,” Cal added, “and that’s one place where she outshines Sally.”

  “Well, that’s the main thing, all right,” Will said with a grin.

  “You boys drive the wagon on up to the house and unload it,” Shorty said to Cal and Slim. He turned to Will then. “I expect you’re wantin’ to take care of your horses. I’ll go with you to the barn.” They walked together toward the corral as Will led Buster and his packhorse behind him. “I see you’re still ridin’ ol’ Buster,” Shorty commented.

  “Yep,” Will said. “I ain’t found no other horse that can stand up to him.”

  Something else occurred to Shorty then. “Me and Cal and Slim have been bunkin’ in the house ever since you left. We’d best make some room for you to bed down. Cal and Slim can double up, or one of ’em can go down to the bunkhouse. I opened up the bunkhouse when I hired Mutt and Billy on. We’re all eatin’ at the kitchen table, though. I figured that was easier on Anna.”

  “No need to do that,” Will insisted. “The bunkhouse will be just fine for me. I don’t figure to be here but a few days, anyway. Ain’t no use in movin’ everybody around. Hell, I always stayed in the bunkhouse when Boss and Miss Jean were still here.”

  “You sure you’re all right with that?” Shorty asked. “Don’t seem right, I mean, for the owner of the ranch to have to sleep in the bunkhouse.”

  “Half owner,” Will reminded him, “and a nonworkin’ one at that.”

  “All right,” Shorty said with a chuckle, “if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  After Will’s horses were taken care of, they went to the house and sat down to talk over a cup of coffee. It was served by Shorty’s cook, Anna Sanchez, a Mexican woman whose husband had been killed when he came off a bucking horse headfirst and broke his neck. A pleasant woman of uncertain age, Anna offered to fix them something to go with the coffee, but Will declined, saying he could wait until supper. He couldn’t help noting the irony of the circumstances that brought her to the J-Bar-J, since it had been a bucking horse that widowed Miss Jean as well. The thought must have entered Shorty’s mind, too, for he asked if Will had had any opportunity to visit the widow of the original owner, Jim Hightower.

  “As a matter of fact,” Will answered, “I do have occasion to see Miss Jean once in a while. I pick up extra horses from time to time, and Miss Jean’s brother lets me pasture ’em on his farm about a half-day’s ride from Fort Smith. I just came from there before ridin’ down to Durant. She’s gettin’ along just fine livin’ there with her brother’s family. Her father, Mr. Ward, died last winter.”

  “I’m right sorry to hear that,” Shorty said.

  “From what they told me, they were expectin’ him to go before long. He’d been ailin’ for quite a spell. I think Miss Jean took it pretty well. I believe she was glad that she had a chance to visit with him for a little while before he died.”

  “Well, that’s good. You say you’re pickin’ up some horses?” Shorty asked.

  “I’ve got about twenty good horses now, fifteen of ’em with Miss Jean up in Arkansas. When I make an arrest, there’s almost always some extra horses involved, and sometimes it’s about the only profit I can show, so I keep ’em for myself. I figure that sometime in the slow part of the year, one or two of you boys could ride up to Fort Smith and help me drive those horses back here. Now that you’ve hired on some extra help, you can spare one of them.”

  “I could at that,” Shorty said. “I’ve got two pretty good men, Mutt Samson and a young boy named Billy Wilson. You’ll meet ’em tonight when they come in for supper. Me and Slim and Cal were doin’ all right before we started missin’ cows. That was the main reason we took on two extra hands to keep an eye on all the cattle, mainly those in that section to the east, next to the north ridge.”

  “You pretty sure they’re the ones rustlin’ the cattle?” Will asked.

  “I’m damn sure,” Shorty said. “I’ll put it this way, we weren’t missin’ cattle before they turned up in this territory. Trouble is, we ain’t been able to catch ’em at it. What I think they’re doin’ is cuttin’ out some of our cows and some of Thompson’s and Williamson’s, too, all on the same night, and drivin’ ’em over to the stockyards in Fort Worth to sell. There’s buyers over there that ain’t too particular about the brands, as long as the price is right.”

  “Maybe we can put a stop to it,” Will said.

  “We’ve all been ridin’ night herd for the past week, tryin’ to catch the bastards in the act, but we ain’t had no luck so far,” Shorty lamented. “They’re pretty slick about it. Makes me think they’ve had a lot of experience at it. I don’t know where they came here from when they drove that first herd over on Kettle Creek. It wasn’t much of a herd, no more’n about forty or fifty head. I told the boys to keep an eye on ’em, make sure their cows didn’t start mixin’ in with ours. We ain’t never caught ’em over on this side of the ridge, but that little herd they started with sure grew in a short time.”

  “Maybe we can ride over that way and get a look at the brands on some of their cows,” Will suggested.

  “Well, we mighta could have,” Shorty said. “But they ain’t got no herd right now. They just drove ’em to market. We’ve all been ridin’ night herd to try to keep the bastards from buildin’ up another herd to sell.”

  “I reckon I can help you with that while I’m here,” Will said, disappointed to hear it was too late to check the brands.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Damn you!” Ike Cheney roared. “You come ridin’ back here with your brother’s body over his saddle and tellin’ me the man who shot him ain’t dead?” Buck Cheney cringed before his father’s wrath, his face tinged red, a result of the vicious backhand delivered by the angry man.

  “I couldn’t do nothin’ about it, Pa,” Buck whimpered. “We didn’t even know he was there, holdin’ a rifle on us. Levi shouldn’ta tried it. He cut him down before he could clear leather.”

  “You sorry excuse for a man,” Ike ranted on, his anger rising with each utterance out of Buck’s mouth. “At least Levi didn’t shame me and his brothers by backin’ down.” The rest of the family stood silently watching the old man expend his fury upon the unfortunate son. None dared speak in his defense, not his mother, nor his two brothers, nor his sister. “What’s this man’s name?” Ike demanded.

  “I heard one of them J-Bar-J fellers call him Will Tanner,” Buck answered. “I ain’t never seen him before, but they acted like they knew him.”

  “Is he still in town?” Ike pressed.

  “I don’t know,” Buck replied.

  “You don’t know?” Ike railed, his temper rising again. “You didn’t even go back to look for him, just ran home with your tail between your legs, weren’t man enough to avenge your poor brave brother.” He looked away from the cowering brute at his feet as if he couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, and cast his accusing gaze on his other two sons. “How many other cowards have I wasted my life raisin’?” No one dared to answer, except one.

  “Why don’t we just go find the son of a bitch and kill him?” Ike’s daughter, Hannah, asked. “An eye for an eye.”

  “An eye for an eye!” Ike echoed, raising his voice in righteous anger. “Maybe I better send my daughter to find thi
s murderer.” He looked at his wife, Lorena, sitting on the floor, with Levi’s head propped on her lap. She moaned softly as she rocked slowly back and forth. There were no tears in her eyes for her youngest. The years living with Ike Cheney had long ago drained any tears she might have saved to shed upon her children.

  “Hell, I’ll go to town and find him,” Hannah said.

  Ike’s angry countenance momentarily took on a look of pride and his voice calmed slightly. “I know you would, darlin’, but you’d best help your mama clean Levi up and get him ready for buryin’. Rubin and the boys can go look for this jasper and settle up for your brother.” He paused then and turned to glare at his sons. “Well,” he demanded, “what are you standin’ around for? He ain’t gonna come lookin’ for you.”

  “We’re goin’, Pa,” Rubin answered at once. “I didn’t know if you meant right now, or after supper.”

  “After supper?” Ike echoed, furious. “You ain’t got no more brains than Buck. The man killed your brother. Who knows where he’ll be while you set around eatin’ supper? Get saddled up and find that murderin’ dog.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rubin said. “We’ll get goin’. Come on, Luke.” He hesitated a moment more. “Whaddaya want us to do with him?”

  Ike looked as if about to explode again, bewildered by the asinine question from his eldest. It took him a moment to find words before replying. “Why, buy him a drink and tell him it was a fine shot that killed poor Levi.” When Rubin seemed confused, not recognizing the sarcasm in his father’s retort, Ike roared, “Shoot him down like the dog he is, you damn fool! Now get outta here and go find the son of a bitch!” He stood clenching his teeth as he watched his three surviving sons file quickly through the kitchen doorway.

  When the door closed behind them, he turned to look at his dead son, who had shared his favoritism with his daughter, Hannah. He had considered Levi to be more like him when he was sixteen, fearless and brash, more so than his other sons. Rubin was heartless and cruel, but he was decidedly slow-witted, and had to be told what to do. He was respected by his brothers, however, solely because he was the eldest. Luke seemed to have inherited many of his mother’s tendencies, silently obeying orders with the same display of emotions whether it was to kill a man, or kill a chicken for supper. Ike nodded in silent approval. Then he thought of Buck, and his anger began to flair again. Buck was a bully, a trait that Ike was not critical of. But this time, it was Buck’s bullying that got Levi killed. It should have been Buck lying dead on his kitchen floor instead of his younger brother. “Let’s get him on the bed, so you can clean him up,” Ike said to his wife. He reached down, took Levi’s arm, and pulled him up to let his body fall onto his shoulder. Despite his years, he was still powerful enough to carry his son into the room the boys shared and lay him on the bed. “Get some water and a cloth,” he ordered Lorena. When Hannah followed them into the room, he said, “You go ahead and get some supper started, sister. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

  * * *

  “Oh hell,” Moe Garvin muttered when he saw them come in the door of the saloon. Buck Cheney was back and two of his brothers were with him. He was not at all surprised to see them, knowing full well the purpose of their visit. But he had hoped they would take their business directly to the J-Bar-J. He moved down toward the end of the bar, closer to the shotgun he kept underneath, praying that he would have no occasion to use it. As usually happened, the barroom suddenly grew quiet when the Cheney brothers walked in. They paused just inside the door to look over the small crowd of customers before coming directly to the bar, openly pleased by the cautious silence their entrance caused.

  “You see him?” Rubin asked.

  “Nope,” Buck replied. So they moved down the bar to confront Moe.

  “Evenin’, boys,” Moe greeted them as cautiously as he could affect.

  “I’m lookin’ for the bastard that shot my brother,” Rubin announced. “Where is he?”

  “I ain’t got no idea,” Moe said, and nodded toward Buck. “He left here right after you did.”

  Rubin turned to Buck then. “What did you say his name was?” When Buck replied, Rubin turned back to Moe. “Will Tanner,” he repeated. “Is he stayin’ here in town somewhere?”

  “I don’t know,” Moe said. “I don’t think so.” He knew perfectly well where Will Tanner most likely had gone. He was out at the ranch he owned with Shorty Watts. There were a few others in the saloon who knew who Will was, but like Moe, they were reluctant to tell the Cheneys for fear it would mean a death warrant for him.

  Luke Cheney stood with his back to the bar, studying the faces of Moe’s customers, now silent while every ear was tuned to the conversation at the bar. He was accustomed to the way a saloon quieted down when he and his brothers walked in. But this crowd seemed especially tense. It occurred to him that maybe everybody in town, except him and his brothers, knew who Will Tanner was. “You know what?” he said to Rubin. “I think these jaspers are playin’ us for fools. I think they all know this feller, and they’re coverin’ up for him.”

  Rubin turned to study the crowd then. “By God, you might be right,” he said. Turning back to face Moe, he ordered, “You’d better start talkin’ and I mean right now, or me and my brothers are gonna start takin’ this saloon apart, piece by piece, and skull by skull.” He reached over, grabbed Moe’s shirt, and pulled him halfway across the bar. “You’re wastin’ my time.”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Moe insisted frantically. “I swear, he rode outta town right after your brother did. He didn’t say where he was headin’.”

  Several men decided it was time to leave when Rubin snatched Moe across the counter, causing Luke and Buck to draw their weapons. “Ain’t nobody leavin’ this saloon until we find out where Will Tanner is,” Buck threatened. Then, to Moe, he said, “You’d better start talkin’ right now.” When Moe still hesitated, Buck whipped his .44 up and fired it, shattering a large mirror hanging behind the bar. He then drew a bead on a large lamp on a stand near the end of the bar.

  “Wait! Wait!” Moe cried out. “Will don’t live around here no more. He was just passin’ through.”

  “Is that so?” Rubin responded. “Well, I’m thinkin’ you know where he was headed when he left here, and I’m tired of wastin’ my cartridges on mirrors and lamps.” He stuck the muzzle of his pistol against Moe’s forehead. “If I don’t get some straight answers, I’m fixin’ to start bustin’ some heads, and yours is the first.”

  “Hold on,” Sam Harvey spoke up. He had been sitting, a silent witness to the altercation up to this point. Like Moe, he was reluctant to give the Cheney brothers any help in their hunt for Will Tanner. But the situation had progressed to a dangerous point and he feared someone was going to have to step in before Moe lost his life. “Will Tanner is a U.S. Deputy Marshal,” he said, hoping that would serve to discourage them from going forward.

  “Who the hell are you?” Luke demanded.

  “I’m the town’s undertaker, and I own the barbershop,” Sam answered.

  “What are you talkin’ about? Whaddaya mean he’s a U.S. Marshal?” Rubin responded.

  “I mean he’s an official U.S. Deputy Marshal,” Sam replied. “So it’s a lawman you and your brothers would be goin’ after.” When he saw Rubin and Luke hesitate and exchange uncertain glances, he continued. “You fellows don’t wanna cause the Texas Rangers to come lookin’ for you, do ya?”

  Although his question obviously created some cause for second thoughts, it was for only a moment. “I don’t give a damn if he’s a lawman or not,” Luke blurted. “I don’t care if he’s the president of the United States. He killed my brother, and he’s gonna pay for that.” He turned to face the undertaker. “And anybody protectin’ him is gonna pay, too. I’m gonna start shootin’ if one of you bastards don’t tell me where this Tanner feller stays when he comes to town.” He aimed his pistol directly at Sam’s head. “I’ll kill everybody in this whole town if I have to.”

  �
��The J-Bar-J!” A shrill voice from the kitchen door called out. They all turned to see Ellie Garvin standing in the doorway. “For God’s sake, take your quarrel where it belongs,” she screeched. “Nobody here had anything to do with killing your brother.”

  Like everyone else in the saloon, Rubin stood speechless for a few moments after the unexpected outcry from the kitchen. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, now, looks like the lady’s got more sense than the lot of you. The J-Bar-J, huh? Is that where he stays, ma’am?”

  Moe answered for his wife. “Ever’body knows Will Tanner ran the J-Bar-J before Jim Hightower died.”

  “How come you didn’t tell us that when my brother asked you where he was?” Buck challenged. “You said you didn’t know where he was.”

  “I didn’t know where he was headin’,” Moe quickly replied. “Hell, I didn’t know he was in town till he walked in the door today. And I didn’t have no idea if he was goin’ out to the J-Bar-J when he left here. Still don’t. He mighta just been passin’ through here on his way back to Fort Smith. That’s where he stays.”

  “Why, you lyin’ son of a bitch,” Rubin growled. “I oughta shoot you, anyway, for wastin’ my time.” He pointed his pistol at the bartender and cocked the hammer back, causing Moe’s wife to cry out again.

  “You pull that trigger and I’ll shoot you down, myself,” Ellie threatened and produced a double-barrel shotgun that had been propped just inside the kitchen door.

  “I believe you would,” Rubin said, laughing again at the woman’s spunk. He released the hammer on his. 44 and slid it back in his holster. “Come on, boys, let’s take a little ride out to the J-Bar-J.”