The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  Bessie June sat at a table in the back of the saloon, playing a game of solitaire. Earlier she had engaged in a little pleasant conversation with the four drovers, but there clearly weren’t enough customers in the saloon to require her services.

  “How long do you reckon it’ll be ‘a fore you fellers start back?” one of the Rocking K men asked.

  “I don’t reckon we’ll be here much longer,” Unger said. “What with most of the other herds gone, we can put about seven hunnert ‘n fifty cows on the cars a day, so I expect we’ll be pullin’ out pretty soon.”

  “We’ll more ‘n likely be right behind you,” the Rocking K cowboy said. “We got started later ‘n you all did, but we’re puttin’ on as many cows each day as ya’ll are.”

  Another customer came in then. The new customer was not a cowboy, but a resident of the community. When he stepped up to the bar he was standing about six feet down from Campbell and Unger.

  “I need a drink, Hodge,” he said to the bartender. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”

  The bartender poured the customer a glass of whiskey and pushed it across the bar.

  “What did you see, Tim?” Hodge asked.

  Tim tossed the drink down before he replied.

  “Tisdale just shot ‘n killed a cowboy for no reason at all. ‘N here’s the thing. It turns out that the cowboy wasn’t nothin’ but a kid. Hell, he couldn’t a been more ‘n fifteen or sixteen.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Unger said, having overheard the conversation. “Ian, do you reckon that might a’ been . . .?”

  Unger didn’t finish the question because Campbell interrupted with a question of his own, directed not at Unger, nor even at the man who had brought the news. He questioned the two drovers from the Rocking K.

  “Would yer outfit be for havin’ a wee lad who is still a boy, such as that described by the mon here?”

  The two glanced at each other before one of them answered.

  “If the drover the deputy shot is as young as the man says, there’s no way he can belong to us. We don’t have a man who is under twenty – two, maybe twenty – three years old.”

  “It had to be Van!” Unger said.

  “Aye, ‘could be no other,” Campbell agreed.

  Van’s body was put in an open coffin and stood up in front of the Shockey and Landes Hardware store. A sign over the body read:

  DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? Boy

  It was an act of frustrated defiance that had driven someone to strike through the word man, and replace it with boy.

  “His name is Van Beecher,” Cade told the undertaker. “Now, get him down from there. He was our friend, and I’ll not have him on display like some carnival freak.”

  “I’m sorry, mister, I meant no disrespect,” the undertaker replied. “I was just hoping we could get him identified, is all.”

  Cade didn’t have to ask the undertaker how it happened. He had already heard the story as to how Deputy Tisdale baited him, then shot him.

  Campbell and Unger were there as well.

  “Cade, if you can take care of everything here, Jess and I will take the sad news to Colonel Puckett ‘n the others so that we can be for having services for the lad,” Campbell said.

  “Yes, go tell the colonel,” Cade said.

  Cade made arrangements with the undertaker for Van to be buried the next day.

  “We’ll be needing a preacher,” Cade said.

  “I’m sure you could get Reverend Luscomb to do the funeral.”

  “Thank you. Make the arrangements, please.”

  The next day, Van’s body was transported to the graveyard in a shining ebony, glass sided, hearse. The hearse was pulled by four white horses, each horse draped with a purple pall, their manes adorned by a black feather plume. A considerable number of the citizens of the town lined both sides of the street as the hearse made its way to the cemetery.

  For the actual interment, every LP drover was there. Nearly all the Rocking K drovers were there as well. They considered Van one of their own, simply because, like them, he had helped bring a herd up from Texas.

  George Billingsly was present for the burial and so was Millie Wagner. Arnold Baker, who owned the clothier where Van had bought the clothes that he was being buried in, was there as well. The shirt, which had a bullet hole and was stained with blood, had been replaced with one that was identical, free of charge by Baker.

  Six of the LP riders, using ropes, carefully lowered the coffin into the grave. When that was done, the preacher, wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black string tie, said a few words, asking that nobody’s blood be boiling over with the craving of revenge, reading from the Bible, Romans 12:19: “Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”

  After the funeral, most of the LP drovers returned to the bedding grounds outside of town. Cade, Jeter, Rufus and Boo went to Waggy’s where Millie Wagner served pie and coffee, for a repast. George Billingsly was there as well.

  “What kind of man is Tisdale that he could shoot down a boy like that?” Cade asked

  “He is typical of the kind of man who now controls every aspect of our lives,” Billingsly replied. “All the deputies have a background with guns, every one of them. That’s why Dobson hired them in the first place. None have quite the reputation of our illustrious chief of police, but they are all quite skilled in the art of killing.”

  “Who is your chief of police?” Jeter asked.

  “He’s the worst of them all,” Billingsly said. “His name is Enos Crites.”

  “Who?” Rufus asked, quickly.

  “Enos Crites,” Billingsly repeated.

  “I wondered where he would wind up.”

  “Rufus, do you know Crites?” Cade asked.

  “I used to know him. We were friends, once. Then he began selling his gun to the wrong people and I lost touch with him.”

  “What I don’t understand is what Van could have possibly been doing that set this off,” Boo said. “He was just a real nice kid, he never gave nobody any trouble.”

  “He was killed because he wasn’t on Texas Street,” Billingsly said. “Arnold Baker watched it all from the front door of his store. Tisdale ordered him back onto Texas Street, but the boy refused. Then, according to Baker, Tisdale just began shooting, taking nicks out of him until finally the boy had no choice but to draw his own gun. And that’s when Tisdale killed him.”

  “That is awful. Just awful,” Millie said.

  “Yes it is. And this has gone far enough,” Billingsly said. “I think it is high time that the people do something about it, and believe me, if I still had my newspaper, I would print a first page editorial condemning Dobson and all his mignons in the harshest possible terms.”

  “Is your newspaper still here?” Cade asked. “What I mean is, is there still a press, ink, and paper?”

  “The noble press of Abilene has died, but the ghost of the paper remains. To answer your question, yes the paper is still here, but now it belongs to Dobson, and as I said, it is used by him as a self-serving tool.”

  “We’re going to use it,” Cade said. “Show me where it is, Mr. Billingsly. We are going to take the paper back so that you can print whatever you wish.”

  When Cade and Billingsly stepped into the newspaper office a few minutes later, their arrival was announced by a bell, its ring activated by opening the front door. They were met by a rather small man, bald headed, and with a closely trimmed moustache that didn’t extend beyond the ends of his mouth.

  “Mr. Billingsly! What are you doing here, sir? I thought you said you would never set foot in here again.”

  “Hello, Mr. Lovelace. As you can see, I have changed my mind.”

  Lovelace, who had been working in the back, was wearing an ink-stained apron.

  “What caused you to change your mind?”

  “Perhaps you heard of the young man that Deputy Tisdale shot down i
n the street, today.”

  “I heard something about it, yes. I haven’t heard any of the details.”

  “Well, I have heard the details, and I think everyone in town should hear the details.”

  Billingsly turned toward Cade and the others who had come into the newspaper office with him.

  “Mr. McCall, this is Paul Lovelace. He was my compositor, and when I lost my newspaper, he stayed on to work for the enemy.”

  “Mr. Billingsly, I had no choice!” Lovelace complained. “I have a family to feed and I have no other employable skill.”

  “I’m not angry with you, Paul. In fact, you’ll have a chance to make it up to me. I’m about to put out a special edition of The Defiant, and you can print it for me.”

  “But how are you going to do that? This isn’t your newspaper anymore,” Lovelace said.

  “Let’s just say that I have re-acquired the newspaper. If you want to leave now so you can tell Dobson you had nothing to do with it, I’m quite capable of putting the paper out myself.”

  Since Billingsly and the others had arrived, the expressions on Lovelace’s face had mirrored confusion and fear. Now he showed defiance and determination.

  “No, sir, you won’t have to put the paper out by yourself. I would be proud to compose it for you.”

  “Very well, Mr. Lovelace, get the type sticks ready and let’s get this paper on the street,” Billingsly said, enthusiastically.

  “He was just a boy,” Dobson said. “What in the hell were you thinking about when you shot him down like that?”

  “Colonel, we’ve got a whole town here to deal with,” Tisdale replied. “And nearly ‘bout ever’ damn one of ‘em was in the war. Maybe they don’t carry guns no more, ‘n maybe most of ‘em is tryin’ to forget the war, but we can’t show them no weakness at all, else they might figure out that they could all get together ‘n fight us. ’N we can’t take on the whole town.

  “You asked why I shot ‘im? I shot ‘im ‘cause he didn’t obey my order when I told him to get back onto Texas Street. And we can’t none of us afford to have people just pay no never mind to our orders. Crites, you said yourself that we needed to let people know who was in charge here.”

  “I said that,” Crites said. “I’m not sure that shooting a boy would do that.”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know how old he was? He was a drover, he was wearin’ a gun, ‘n he wasn’t on Texas Street where he belonged.”

  “Colonel, if you was to take back the order ‘bout keepin’ all the cowboys on Texas Street, that problem wouldn’t come up no more,” Parker suggested.

  The discussion, involving Tisdale, Parker, Crites, and Dobson, was taking place in Dobson’s office.

  “No, we have to keep the cowboys on Texas Street,” Dobson said. “There are ten saloons there, and we get a nice piece of that pie.”

  “Some of the merchants that’s not on Texas Street is complainin’ that they’re losin’ business,” Parker said.

  “They’re making money from the brokers, the cattle owners, and the trail bosses,” Dobson said. “The drovers don’t have that much money, and we need them to spend the money they do have in the saloons and whorehouses.”

  “Tisdale, tell me them names that you said again,” Crites asked.

  “What names?”

  “You said somethin’ about the boy tellin’ you that he only took orders from two people. Who were the two people?”

  “One was Colonel Puckett. I don’t recall the other name.”

  “You said the other name a while ago.”

  “Yeah, well, it was still fresh in my mind then. Right now I can’t recollect.”

  “Was it Cade McCall?” Dobson asked.

  “No, I would have remembered it if it had been McCall. He’s the one I run into in Waggy’s, remember? It was somebody else.”

  “I believe you said Rufus Slade,” Crites said, cryptically.

  “Yes, that’s it. He said he only took orders from Colonel Puckett and Rufus Slade. How the hell is it you was able to remember that name, when I couldn’t?”

  “I’ve heard the name before,” Crites said.

  “Does that name mean anything to you?” Dobson asked.

  “If it’s the same person I’m thinking about, yeah, it means something. The only thing, he’s about the last person I would picture as a drover.”

  “Well, who is he?”

  Crites made a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Never mind, it can’t be the same person.”

  “Colonel, the town is a little jumpy,” Parker said. “Did you see how many turned out for this boy’s wake? I mean they was lined up on both sides of the street, ‘n it wasn’t ‘cause they was just curious neither. If you was to ask me, I’d say we’re goin’ to have to kind of keep a pretty close watch on these folks.”

  “I agree. The drovers come and go, but the townspeople are here all the time. It might be necessary for us to remind them of just who is in charge here.”

  24

  THAT AFTERNOON THE CITIZENS of Abilene saw something they hadn’t seen in the last six months. They saw an issue of The Defiant. Billingsly printed 500 copies of the paper then put them out all over town, free of charge. Word spread quickly that the newspaper was back in circulation, and within no time at all, every copy had been picked up.

  Shop keepers shared the information with their customers, barbers talked about it with their clients, ladies discussed it in their garden clubs.

  “Did you see that The Defiant is back?”

  “How is that possible? I thought Mr. Billingsly lost the newspaper.”

  “Maybe he started a new one.”

  Millie Wagner was the very first to see the paper because Billingsly brought her a copy even before the others were distributed.

  “Oh, George, I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.”

  “To quote the great bard, Millie, ‘A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once.’”

  “That’s what Amos said before he left to go to war. He died at Antietam, a place I had never heard of.”

  “Your husband was a brave man who did his duty. I make no claim to be as brave, but I have a duty to do as well,” George said.

  It was one of Dobson’s deputies who brought him a copy of the newspaper, though because it was only one page, and contained only one story, it could more properly be referred to as a broadside, rather than a newspaper.

  “Colonel, maybe you need to see this,” the deputy said, handing the single sheet to Dobson.

  AN ASSERTION OF THE RIGHTS OF THE CITIZENS OF ABILENE

  “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.”

  Thus begins the Declaration of Independence by which this nation was born. The trials, tribulations, and travails which were visited upon the people of the colonies are repeated here, in Abilene. Our oppression comes not from a government whose deliberative body has passed laws, but from a single, evil despot who has employed thirty gunmen to enforce his unholy will upon an innocent body of people.

  As the owner and publisher of this newspaper, I must confess that I surrendered to the unjust demand that I give up my newspaper, and in so doing relinquished my self-respect. It is my intention by this publication to regain my dignity, and to instill in those who read these words, a determination to do the same.

  The catalyst of this resolve was the senseless and brutal murder of a fourteen year old boy, shot down on the street by Ron Tisdale, a “deputy” in Colonel Dobson’s malevolent private detective agency. The young man’s name was Van Beecher, and his crime was to have purchased cloth
es from a store on Mulberry Street, rather than whisky on Texas Street.

  It is high time that this charlatan “police force” be eliminated, and replaced by legally constituted, city government mandated officers of the law.

  With this publication, I call upon all who honor freedom, to unite in resolve to overthrow the tyranny that has, for too long, oppressed our citizenry.

  And to this story I append my name: George W. Billingsly.

  “How did he do this?” Dobson asked. “Where did Billingsly get this printed?”

  “From what I’ve heard, he done it at the newspaper office.”

  “But I own that newspaper!” Dobson said, angrily.

  “Yes, sir, you do. But that’s where this here paper was done.”

  “Find Tisdale and tell him to take care this.”

  Billingsly was showing Cade around the newspaper office.

  “I should have never given it up,” he said. “I should have stayed here and fought Dobson. I’m ashamed that I sold the paper to him.”

  “How much did he pay you for it?” Cade asked.

  “One hundred and fifty dollars,” he said. “The building and equipment alone are worth at least five hundred dollars. I would say that the good name of the paper was worth an equal amount, but he didn’t continue with The Defiant. He began publishing something he called, The Order.

  “I will loan you one hundred and fifty dollars to buy the newspaper back,” Cade offered.

  “You’ve got that much money?” Billingsly asked, then he held up his hand and shook his head. “Forgive me, Mr. McCall. I had no right to blurt that out. That is most generous of you, and if I thought Dobson would accept it, I would take you up on your offer.”

  Cade smiled. “I have a feeling that after what you printed and circulated today, that Dobson won’t be around much longer. I think the people of Abilene will answer your call to overthrow the tyrant.”