“Hello, Chief Standing Deer. I am Colonel Linus Puckett.”
“You have many cows,” Standing Deer said.
“Yes.”
“You are taking your cows to Kansas?”
“Yes.”
Standing Deer nodded. “That is good. In Kansas you will get much money for your cows.”
“That’s the idea,” Colonel Puckett said.
“How many cows do you have?”
“A little over four thousand head.”
“When your four thousand cows cross our land, they will eat our grass and they will drink our water. And when you want meat for your men, you will kill our deer and our rabbits and our birds. Is this right?”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” Colonel Puckett said.
Standing Deer nodded. “Good, that is good. We will say one thousand dollars.”
“One thousand dollars?”
“You must pay a toll of twenty-five cents for every cow that crosses our land.”
“Last year it was only fifteen cents per head.”
“Yes,” Standing Deer said. “But last year the brokers in Abilene were paying only twenty-five dollars per head. Today they are paying thirty dollars per head. It is more money for all of us.”
Colonel Puckett laughed. “Thanks for the latest market report, Chief. I’ll pay your toll.”
“Good, that is good,” Standing Deer said. “We are friends, Colonel Puckett. And as friends, we will eat together. Tell your cook he can rest. Our women have prepared turkey, corn, beans, and squash.”
It was a well-fed group of drovers who told the Indians goodbye.
Eighty-two days after Cade and the others started the herd north from the LP ranch, they reached the bedding ground, one mile south of Abilene.
“You ain’t never seen nothin’ like Abilene Town,” Unger said, the day they arrived. “They’ve got damn near as many saloons as they have people, ‘n ever saloon has got near ‘bout as many girls as there is customers that come into ‘em.”
“That sounds like quite a town,” Cade agreed.
“Hey, you never found Chantal down in Galveston,” Jeter said. “Maybe she’s up here in Abilene.”
“Could be,” Cade said. Even though Jeter was Cade’s closest friend, he had not told him that Arabella was Chantal.
The cook’s assistant began ringing the triangle to call the cowboys to supper.
“Ha!” one of the cowboys said. “I can tell you for damn sure, that I won’t be eatin’ no beans ‘n bacon tomorrow night. I got me a hunnert dollars comin’, ‘n some of it is goin’ to go for a good, sit down ‘n eat out of plates dinner.”
“I ain’t wastin’ none of my money on food,” another cowboy said. “I aim to get me a drink . . . no, by damn! I aim to get me a whole bottle of whiskey, then take it ‘n the prettiest woman I can find, and have myself a fine ole’ time.”
“Hell, Duke, if you get drunk enough, it won’t make no difference whether the woman is pretty or not,” Slim said.
“You better watch out that some woman don’t get you drunk, then take your money, ‘n just tell you what a fine time you had,” Unger suggested.
The others laughed.
“Hey, Cade, you’re a lot smarter ‘n me,” Jeter said later, when there was little chance of his being overheard. “They was 541 of the IIIX cows that made it up here. How much will that be for us?”
“I’ve already figured it out,” Cade said. “That will be six hundred and twenty-six dollars, and twenty-five cents for each of us.”
“Damn! I ain’t never had that much money in my whole entire life,” Jeter said. “What about you?”
“It sure is a lot of money,” Cade agreed without actually answering. He thought of the money he had received from the diamonds, and also the money Arabella had taken from him. She told him she would pay him back, and he believed that she really would, if he gave her the chance.
Cade never thought he would hear himself say it, but right now he considered himself a wealthy man.
The next day Joseph McCoy came out to the bedding grounds to meet Colonel Puckett and to count the cows. The final count was four thousand one hundred and twelve.
“Here’s today’s prices, Colonel,” McCoy said. “Buyers are paying twenty-nine fifty per head. I have to tell you, that the market has been as high as thirty one, and as low as twenty-seven. I suppose you can keep them out here and see where the market is going.”
“I believe I’ll take the broker’s offer,” Colonel Puckett said.
Abilene, as a railhead for shipping cattle, was the brainchild of Joseph McCoy. Since McCoy had brought the cattle and the railroad together, hundreds of thousands of cows had reached the Eastern markets. The town of Abilene which had only a dozen families, a few cabins, a post office, a store, and a single saloon when McCoy established it as a cattle shipping point, had ballooned into a town big enough to accommodate the business, as well as the influx of cowboys arriving in town after having spent three months on the trail. Abilene now had ten saloons, five general stores, two legitimate hotels, and two brothels, all spread out along Texas Street.
The larger, and nicer of the hotels was the Drovers Cottage and it catered to the cattle owners, trail bosses and cattle buyers. The Merchants’ Hotel was less expensive and with fewer amenities than the Drovers Cottage. This is where the cowboys stayed.
Within the last several days, at least six other herds had arrived, so there were considerably more cowboys than the hotel could accommodate. That never presented a problem though, as most of the cowboys declared that they would rather save their money for liquor, gambling, and women, than spend it on sleeping.
“Hell,” Slim said. “I’ve slept on the ground for more ‘n two months, ‘n I was a lot happier there, than in the saddle ridin’ nighthawk. I’ll just stay out here on the bedding grounds with the cattle.”
21
ARRANGEMENTS WERE MADE to bring the cattle in to the railhead at two-hundred and fifty head per day. The trains could handle seven hundred and fifty cows per day, but the LP wasn’t the only herd in Abilene. Colonel Puckett worked out a schedule whereby half the men could be in town, while the other half stayed with the herd.
Leaving the bedding grounds, Cade, Boo, and Jeter rode on into town together. The first thing Cade did was check with the post office.
“Yes sir, what can I do for you?” the mail clerk asked.
“My name is Cade McCall. I’m not sure, but I might have a letter here. If I did, it would have arrived in care of the LP herd.”
The clerk smiled. “It’s been here for over a month,” he said.
Dear Cade,
It was with great joy that we received your letter, for we had come to think, once again, that you were dead.
There is much news to put in this letter. The first thing is the sad news that Mom has died. But, as you remember from the brief time you were here, she was no longer really with us. I believe her soul had gone on to join Papa, even before her tired, old body.
But on a happier note, you are twice an uncle. Our son, Cade Gordon is nearly two years old, and is full of vinegar. Our daughter, Margaret is as beautiful as her mother.
We have made two good crops and, with the farm paid off and secure, there is little danger of ever again getting into difficulty as we did before. And if such an occasion would come up again, it wouldn’t be with Lloyd Botkins. He overextended himself, lost all his money, and has gone back to Ohio.
Melinda sends her love.
Sincerely, your brother
Adam
He put the letter in his pocket.
“From Adam?” Jeter asked. Cade had shared with Jeter than he sent Adam a letter from Ft. Worth.
“Yeah. I’m an uncle,” Cade said, smiling. “I have a niece and a nephew.”
Most of drovers headed for the saloons, settling in particular for the Trail’s End on Texas Street, but Cade, Boo, and Jeter crossed Cedar Street where they saw a small café called Waggy’s, and at C
ade’s suggestion they tied their horses up in front and went in.
There were three tables in the café; two were empty and a lone man sat at third. Cade and his friends took one of the other tables. An attractive, middle-aged woman came out from behind the counter.
“Yes, sir, what can I get for you men?” She asked.
“I am just betting that a place like this serves the best pie in town,” Cade said.
The woman’s smile grew broader. “I’m happy to say that I do get my share of compliments on the pies,” she said.
“I want a piece of pie and a cup of coffee.”
“What kind of pie would you like?”
“I’ll let you choose.”
“Yeah,” Jeter said. “You can choose for me too.”
“Me too,” Boo added.
“That’s quite a responsibility these gentlemen have put on you, Mrs. Wagner,” the other customer said. “But I’ve no doubt but that you will choose wisely.”
“I will do my best, Mr. Billingsly,” Mrs. Wagner responded. “I will do my best.”
“Are you three gentlemen part of an arriving herd?” Billingsly asked.
“Yes, sir, we come up here with the LP herd. The LP is a ranch down in Jackson County, Texas,” Boo said.
“Southerners are you?”
“Well, yeah, Texas is south of here,” Boo replied.
Billingsly chuckled. “You missed my point, young man. What I meant is, did you wear the gray during our nation’s recent unpleasantness?”
“Me ‘n him did,” Jeter said, proudly, pointing to Cade. “We was even in the same outfit for a while. But Boo, here, he was too young.”
“I’m sure you have maintained a degree of pride in having served. But I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that most of the people here either fought for, or supported the Union. And many of them remember the bitter border war between Kansas and Missouri.”
“Well, we didn’t have anything to do with that,” Cade said. “Those were irregular troops; we were with the regular army.”
“I’m afraid that wouldn’t make much difference to the colonel,” Billingsly said.
“Who is the colonel?”
“That would be Colonel Martin Dobson. I have no way of personally validating or disproving the claim, but it is said that the colonel commanded the Fifth Ohio, a Union Regiment at Gettysburg.”
“Gettysburg was a brutal battle,” Cade said. “You would think that someone who saw such bloodshed would want to put it all behind him.”
“One would think that, wouldn’t one?” Billingsly said.
“But they would only think that if they didn’t know the colonel,” Mrs. Wagner said, joining the conversation as she returned from the kitchen with three small plates, and a slice of pie on each plate. “I chose dewberry,” she said.
Cade smiled widely. “You chose well, ma’am. My mom used to make dewberry pie and it was my favorite.”
The three had just started to eat their pie when the door opened and a man, wearing a badge, stepped into the little café.
“Hello, Deputy Tisdale,” the woman said.
Cade couldn’t help but notice that there was no warmth in her voice.
“Miz Wagner, the colonel sent me to see if you’ve got the tax money ready,” the deputy said. “If you do, I can take it now.”
“I have one more week before the taxes are due.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s true. But here’s the thing. If you ain’t got the money to pay the taxes now, then that means that you more ‘n likely ain’t goin’ to have the money to pay the taxes in another week. The colonel says to remind you of that, ‘n also to remind you that his offer to buy you out still goes.”
“He doesn’t want to buy my place, he wants to steal it. He has offered less than half of what the café is worth,” Mrs. Wagner said.
“Yeah, but remember this. If you ain’t got the money come time the taxes is due, what’ll happen is your café will be took away from you, ‘n you won’t get nothin’ a’ tall. You might want to think about that.”
“Deputy Tisdale, do you really think I have been able to think of anything other than that?” Mrs. Wagner replied in an exasperated tone of voice.
“He told me to tell you that his offer to buy is only good up until the taxes is due. Then he’ll just wait ‘n take over your café’ for nothin’.”
“Is this colonel you are talking about so intent on getting into the restaurant business that he will harass this lady to do it?” Cade asked.
“Who are you three men?” the deputy asked.
“We’re drovers with the LP. We just brought a herd up from Texas,” Cade said.
“Yeah? Well what are you doing here?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, Deputy, but as you can clearly see, what we are doing here is eating pie and drinking coffee.”
“No, what I mean is, what are you doing on Cedar Street?”
“Obviously we are on Cedar Street, because this café is on Cedar Street.”
“You’ve got no business bein’ in here,” the deputy said.
“There’s no need for such harsh talk, Deputy. These three men have been perfect gentlemen from the moment they came in,” Mrs. Wagner said.
“That don’t matter none a’ tall, ‘n you know it. When they first come in, you should ‘a told ‘em what the law was.”
“What law?” Cade asked, surprised by the comment.
“The law that says that the only place that drovers can be is either at the stockyard, in the Merchants’ Hotel, or in one of the stores or saloons on Texas Street. This here is Cedar Street, ‘n you ain’t allowed here.”
“That’s not a law, Deputy Tisdale, and you know it,” Mrs. Wagner said.
“Maybe it ain’t a law, but it’s a rule the colonel has put out.”
“Who is this colonel that he can put out a rule that doesn’t have the authority of the law?” Cade asked.
“Colonel Dobson runs this here town,” Tisdale said.
“You are an officer of the law. Are you saying that the colonel controls you?”
“Ah, but you have put your finger on the rub, gentleman. Disabuse yourself of any idea that Ron Tisdale is an officer of the law,” Billingsly said. “Despite the badge he is wearing, he has no administrative authority. He is merely one of Colonel Dobson’s lackeys.”
Tilsdale pointed at Billingsly. “You’d better watch your mouth, Billingsly. You saw what happened when you spoke out against the colonel the last time.”
“I didn’t ‘speak out’ my good man, I expressed my views as an editorial in my newspaper, The Defiant. Evidently, the colonel is unaware of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution, the one that guarantees freedom of the press.”
“You should ‘a paid your taxes on time,” Tisdale said. “And the same thing goes for you, Miz Wagner. You don’t pay your taxes, and you’ll be losing this café, same as Billingsly lost his newspaper.”
“Did I understand you right, when you said that Tisdale has no administrative authority?” Cade asked.
“That’s right. Tisdale here, is a deputy for Colonel Martin Dobson, who is himself without administrative legal sanction.”
“What kind of town is this where a private citizen can have his own deputies?” Cade asked.
“You would need to know what kind of man the colonel is, in order to understand that,” Billingsly explained. “He is the kind of man that would take advantage of any opportunity that might present itself. You see, Colonel Dobson realized that the influx of cattle was going to do two things. One, it was going to bring a boisterous group of young men into a town that had no law. It also meant that this same event would mean the infusion of a great deal of money into our economy.
“The colonel organized a private detective agency and had it licensed by the state. That gave him limited police powers, but it wasn’t necessary for him to go beyond those limited powers in order to accomplish what he wanted.
“By a rat
her bizarre interpretation of the law of eminent domain, it also gave him the authority to levy a tax against all the businesses; supposedly to pay for the ‘protection’ his detective agency provides the town. It was that, my railing against these levied taxes, that led to the colonel shutting down my newspaper.”
“Them stories you wrote in the paper had nothing to do with it,” Tisdale said. “You was shut down ‘cause you didn’t pay your taxes. The colonel is running the paper now.”
“Yes, and a once-proud beacon of truth has become an organ of lies and self-aggrandizement,” Billingsly said, bitterly.
Tisdale turned his attention away from Billingsly, and glared once more at Cade and the others. The three men had been following, with interest, the conversation, but that had not interfered with their enjoying the pie.
“What’s your name, cowboy?” Tisdale asked.
“McCall. Cade McCall.”
“McCall, are you and your friends going to leave here, ‘n get back on Texas Street where you belong, or am I going to have to get some more deputies ‘n run you out of here?”
“Well, I do want to get a drink, so I guess we’ll leave.”
“Good. You’ll be savin’ yourself a lot of trouble.”
“But we’re not ready to go just yet,” Cade said.
“Now why do you want to go ag’in the town like that?”
“I thought it was the colonel we were going against.”
“Goin’ ag’in the colonel is goin’ ag’in the town,” Tisdale said. “That’s ‘cause the colonel is the town.”
“I’ll just bet that Mrs. Wagner and Mr. Billingsly don’t agree with you that the colonel is the town,” Cade challenged.
“I certainly do not agree,” Billingsly said.
“And I expect there are many others in town who don’t agree as well,” Cade said.
“If you go to stirrin’ up this town, you’re just goin’ to cause trouble for yourself,” Tidale said. “Maybe I should take care of this now. There’s two more deputies, not more’n a hunnert yards from here. I can have them here in less than a minute.”
Cade lifted his cup and took a drink of his coffee, his demeanor one of total dispassion.
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 17
