The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  The talkative rider chuckled. “Oh, you don’t understand. I didn’t say I was goin’ to buy ‘em. What I said was, that I plan to take ‘em off your hands. You’ve not only done the job of skinning the cattle, you’ve even loaded them in the wagon for me.”

  “How do you plan to do that?” Cade asked.

  “Easy enough. There ain’t neither of you wearin’ guns, but we are. That means that when we take your hides, there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

  “I don’t think I would like that,” Cade said.

  “Hear that boys? He ain’t happy with our proposal.” The talkative one reached for his pistol. “Let’s just shoot ‘em and ‘ be done with it.”

  The three men started for their pistols, but they were shocked when Cade dropped the bedroll to reveal a pistol in his hand.

  “You boys don’t really want to do that, do you?” Cade asked.

  All three took their hands away from their pistols.

  “Hold on there, now, just wait a minute!” the talkative one said. “You ain’t really goin’ to shoot us, are you?.

  “Why not? You were about to shoot us.”

  “No, we wasn’t really plannin’ on actually shootin’ you. I was just tellin’ you that so’s we could take your hides. But now that you got the drop on us, we’d be willin’ to just ride away, ‘n let you be. I mean, you couldn’t actual just shoot us now, could you? Shootin’ three men down in cold blood?”

  “Mister, I think there’s something you should know,” Cade said. “During the war, I killed a lot of men, good men, husbands, fathers, sons, and the only reason I killed them was because they were wearing a different color uniform. Now if I could kill decent men like that, do you think, for one minute, that I wouldn’t kill three low-life sons of bitches like you?”

  “I told you, we wasn’t really plannin’ on shootin’ you. We was just goin’ to rob you is all.”

  “Get out of here,” Cade said, making a waving motion with his pistol.

  “We’re goin’, we’re goin’,” the talkative rider said and turning his horse, he, and the other two men rode off.

  Cade and Jeter watched the would-be robbers until they were at least a quarter of a mile away.

  “You drive,” Cade said as the two men climbed into the wagon

  Cade looked onto the floor under his feet and saw that the Henry repeating rifle was there. He picked it up and held it at his side.

  “What are you doing that for?” Jeter asked.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than they heard the buzz of a bullet, followed by the sound of gunfire.

  Turning in his seat Cade saw the three men galloping toward them, pistols blazing away.

  “Stop the wagon,” Cade said.

  “Are you serious?”

  “We aren’t going to be able to outrun them, and this will give me a stable firing platform.”

  The three were within pistol range, and the bullets continued to fly by, but because they were shooting from the back of galloping horses, the gunfire wasn’t very accurate.

  Cade raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired, jacked a round into the chamber and fired a second time, then repeated it to fire a third time. All three of the would-be robbers were down.

  Kilgore had watched the entire operation from within a small thicket, the cottonwood trees providing him with enough concealment to prevent him from being seen.

  It was too bad that they hadn’t been able to get the hides from McCall and Willis. Inexplicably, Kilgore smiled. On the other hand, he had almost three hundred hides that they had taken from Canfield and Grimes, and now he didn’t have to share them with anyone.

  6

  It was mid-afternoon by the time Cade and Jeter reached the LP Ranch with their load of cowhides. But it wasn’t the cowhides that attracted everyone’s attention. Tied to the back of the wagon were three horses, and draped across the horses were the bodies of the three outlaws who had tried to rob them.

  “Damn,” one of Puckett’s cowboys said as he examined the bodies. “These here three men is Pogue, Morgan ‘n Cooper.”

  “You know them, Slim?” Cade asked.

  “Yeah we rode together some for the Bar J brand, but Mr. Jamison fired all three of ‘em when he caught ‘em stealin’ some of his cows. They warn’t no good.”

  “They’s a reward out for ‘em,” one of the other cowboys said. “A hunnert dollars apiece. I seen the posters last time I was in Texana. Didn’t say ‘Dead or Alive’ though, so I don’t know if the reward will be paid or not.”

  “I expect we’ll find out when we go to Texana,” Cade said.

  Texana, which was the nearest town to the MW ranch, had mail and stage routes, a growing business section, and its own newspaper, the Clarion. It was a busy shopping day when Cade and Jeter drove the wagon into town, and the boardwalks on either side of the street were filled. The sight of three horses, with bodies lying belly down across the saddle, caught the attention of everyone, and many began walking down the street rapidly enough to keep pace with the slowly moving wagon. By the time the entourage reached the middle of town, Sheriff Boskey had already been notified, and he was standing out in front of his office waiting to greet them.

  “Jeter, Cade,” the sheriff said, “who you bringin’ in?”

  “We’re not sure,” Cade admitted. “But a couple of Colonel Puckett’s men said their names were Pogue, Morgan and Cooper.”

  “Pogue, Morgan and Cooper?” Sheriff Boskey stepped out into the street to take a look at the bodies, and grabbing them by the hair, he lifted each head for a closer examination.

  “Yep, that’s them all right,” Sheriff Boskey said after he looked at all three bodies. “Keith Pogue, Sam Morgan and Julius Cooper. How’d you come by them?”

  Cade and Jeter told the story of the run in with the three men. When they had finished, the sheriff told them about finding Grimes and Canfield’s bodies.

  “I expect these were the ones who killed those two men, only there was no trace of their hides,” the sheriff said.

  “I suspect there may have been a fourth one,” Cade added.

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “No. It’s just something that I felt. I can’t explain it.”

  “You don’t have to. I know what it’s like to get a notion,” Sheriff Boskey said. “But you did wind up with three men, and they’re worth a hundred apiece, so if you’ll come to the bank with me, I’ll authorize the payment.”

  Amon Kilgore sold 312 hides and had a little over two hundred and thirty dollars in his pocket when he rode into Victoria. The town was full of activity, and young men, who Kilgore took to be cowboys, scurried around like ants at a picnic. Nearly all of them were armed, and Kilgore was certain it was all for show.

  Dismounting in front of the Last Chance Saloon, Kilgore looped the reins around the hitching post then went inside. He had picked up a copy of the Texana Clarion, because there had been an article in the paper that caught his interest. After buying a whiskey, he found an empty table and sat there to reread it.

  Herds to be Joined for Cattle Drive

  The unwelcome arrival of the hurricane of September past visited coastal Texas with terrible effect. Particularly hard hit was Galveston, where there was great loss of life and property. But Brazora, Matagorda, and Jackson counties were also visited by the storm, and as a consequence, several thousand cows were killed.

  Many of the ranchers have been able to avoid a total economic loss by harvesting the hides of the deceased animals. But, so severe was the reduction in livestock that there was some concern that there would be no cattle drive this year, as in previous shipping seasons. That would have created a serious loss of revenue among the cattle owners, had Colonel Linus Puckett of the LP Ranch not come up with an idea that might prove to be the salvation of the cattlemen of the region.

  It is Colonel Puckett’s idea to have several ranchers combine their herds so that they may share the expenses of the drive. I
t is estimated that there will be as many as twenty-five hundred or more bovines expected to head north. Because of the loss of so many cows in the storm, the price of cattle at the railhead is now thirty-five dollars per head. This is about twice as much as the average cow brought last year, and the inordinately high payment will be a welcome relief to those cattlemen who, so recently faced economic disaster.

  And, as before, Colonel Puckett has hired the contracting company of McCall and Willis to manage the drive.

  Kilgore smiled, as he read the article. “Well, Mr. McCall and Mr. Willis, I’m not through with you yet.” He gave voice to the words, though he spoke quietly, lest someone would hear him.

  “Well I’ll be damn, if it ain’t my old friend, Emil Harmon,” someone said and looking up from his newspaper, Kilgore saw a man he recognized.

  “The name is Kilgore, Amon Kilgore.” He rose and extended his hand. “It’s been a long time, Taylor.”

  “The name is Toombs,” Taylor replied, a broad smile crossing his face. “Fred Toombs.”

  Emil Harmon and Billy Taylor had served together in the 18th Infantry, under Colonel Carrington. But the two men, who were thought to be perennial trouble makers, killed the sergeant who was in charge of their punishment detail, then deserted. They went their separate ways after leaving the Montana Territory, Harmon taking the name Kilgore, and Taylor, the name Toombs.

  “What are you doin’ in Victoria?” Toombs asked.

  “Just passin’ through. What about you? You livin’ here now?”

  “Yeah, I got a job at the stables.”

  “You don’t say? The stables? Do you like your job?”

  “Hell no, I don’t like it. Harmon, you know as well as anybody what it was like pullin’ stable duty in the army. This ain’t no different.”

  “The name’s Kilgore.”

  “Yeah, Kilgore, I’ll remember that.”

  “See that you do.” Kilgore looked back down at the newspaper, then glanced back up at Toombs. “Would you be interested in somethin’ I’m plannin’?”

  “If what you got in mind don’t require shovelin’ shit, I’m all for it.”

  “We’ll need to round up a few more men. But I’m new in these parts. Do you know anyone who might be interested?

  “Yeah,” Toombs said. “Yeah, I’ve got a few ideas.”

  “Bring ‘em around, let me talk to ‘em.”

  “What you plannin’?” Toombs asked. “The reason I ask is, if I know it, it might help me get some others.”

  “There don’t nobody need to know ‘til I’m ready for ‘em to know. It’s like you said, it don’t require shovelin’ shit,” Kilgore replied.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Toombs said.

  Leaving the saloon, Kilgore worked up a good spit of tobacco and squirted it onto the boardwalk. Although he hadn't intended to do so, it got on the boots and pants cuff of a young cowboy who was just passing by. A young woman walking with the cowboy just managed to avoid it.

  “Hey, mister, you just spit on my boots!” the cowboy complained.

  Kilgore looked at the cowboy, then glanced down to the man’s boots. “Yeah,” he said. “It looks like I did do that, don’t it?” He started to untie his horse.

  “Leave your horse be, mister. Least wise ‘till you get this took care of,” the cowboy challenged

  “What do you mean, ‘till I get that took care of’?”

  “What I mean is, I plan for you to come over here ‘n clean your tobacco spit offen my boot.”

  “Just go on your way, boy,” Kilgore said. “Showin’ off for the woman here ain’t worth gettin’ yourself kilt.”

  The girl pulled on the cowboy’s arm. “Come on, Bobby, let’s go. I’ll clean it.”

  “No,” Bobby said. “This scoundrel made the mess, he’s the one who’s gonna clean my boot.”

  “Sonny, why don’t you listen to your whore, and just pass on by?” Kilgore said.

  “Whore?” the young woman gasped.

  “I don’t know where you’re from, you pig-faced son of a bitch, but I’m callin’ you out!” the young cowboy said, his voice cracking in anger.

  “No, wait, Bobby, please!” the young girl pleaded. “It’s all right. Come on, please? Let’s go!”

  Bobby put his hand on the butt of his pistol.

  “You know what? You spittin’ on my boot don’t matter no more. Now I’m goin’ to kill you for callin’ my girl a whore. No, I’m goin’ to kill you, just ‘cause I don’t like your looks. I’m going to count to three, then you go for your gun.”

  “Bobby, no!” the young woman said, her words now on the verge of a scream.

  By now, half-a-dozen passers-by had been drawn to the scene by the loud talk.

  “Who’s that feller Bobby Sinclair is bracin’?” one of them asked.

  “I don’t know who the feller is, more ‘n likely he’s new in town ‘n don’t know who it is he’s standin’ up to., Sinclair’s done kilt hisself three men, you know. He’s awfully fast.”

  “He’s murdered three, you mean.”

  “No, they was standin’ up, face to face fights.”

  “It was the same as murder. There warn’t none of ‘em as fast as Sinclair, ‘n he knowed it when he pushed ‘em into the fight.”

  “I don’t know about this man, though. He don’t look none too scared of Bobby.”

  ‘That’s just cause he don’t know who Bobby Sinclair is.”

  Bobby Sinclair and Amon Kilgore were oblivious to the conversations taking place around them.

  “Mary, step on out of the way,” Bobby said.

  “Miss, you better get on over here,” one of the onlookers said. “There’s goin’ to be shootin’ for sure, ‘n you don’t want to be in the way.”

  “What’s it going to be, mister?” Bobby challenged. “Are you going to apologize to the lady? Or do I start counting?”

  “You’re goin’ to die, boy,” Kilgore said, flashing an evil grin.

  This wasn’t going as Bobby had planned. He was good with a gun, but he just realized that he wasn’t going to be good enough. That realization had come too late. It was impossible for him to back out now, without spending the rest of his life in shame, and that, he couldn’t do.

  Bobby licked his lips a couple of times, then, with a voice that was much less authoritative than it had been when he started this confrontation, he began to count.

  “One,” he said. He paused for a long time, praying that, somehow this could all go away, that this man he had challenged would apologize, or at least, turn and walk away. The man continued to look at him with a cold, unblinking stare.

  “Two.”

  Kilgore drew his pistol and fired, the bullet plunging into the center of Bobby’s chest. Bobby looked at him with a shocked expression on his face,

  “I . . . didn’t . . . say . . . three.” He put his hand over the wound, and blood spilled through his fingers.

  “Yeah, well, I got tired of waitin’ around,” Kilgore said. He was talking to a man he had just shot, but the tone of his voice showed neither excitement, nor remorse.

  The young man, his pistol still in his holster, collapsed.

  “Bobby!” Mary shouted, and pulling away from the person who tried to hold her back, she rushed to Bobby’s side, looking down in his face just as he breathed his last.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” an authoritative voice shouted. “Make way, make way, let me through.”

  Kilgore, with the smoking pistol still in his hand, looked up to see a man pushing his way through the crowd. He was wearing a star.

  “You’re too late, Deputy Reynolds,” one of the men said.

  “Is that Sinclair?” Deputy Reynolds asked, pointing to the man laying half on, and half off the board walk.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “It was a fair fight, Deputy,” one of the others said. “Sinclair egged it on.”

  “Are you saying this fella drew his gun faster ‘n Sinclair did?”
r />   There was no immediate response from those who had gathered to watch the fight.

  “The truth is, Deputy, I didn’t give ‘im a chance to draw his gun,” Kilgore said. “He commenced to countin’, ‘n he told me he was goin’ to kill me when he got to three. So I figured ‘bout the only chance I had was to shoot him before he got to three.”

  “Yeah,” one of the onlookers said. “Yeah, Deputy, that’s exactly the way it happened.

  “What about you, Miss Webster?” Reynolds asked the young woman who was now sitting on the boardwalk crying quietly. “Did Sinclair bring on this fight?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes,” she said, speaking so quietly that she could barely be heard.

  “Come with me to see the judge,” Deputy Reynolds said. “I’ll tell ‘im what folks is sayin’, ‘n I expect he’ll say there won’t be any charges. Hell, he’ll prob’ly thank you for killin’ Sinclair. He ain’t been nothin’ but trouble since he was a sprout.”

  True to Deputy Reynolds’ prediction, Judge Broome declared that it was a case of minari mortem alicui, meaning the “threat of death”. This was validated by the witnesses therefore there was no cause to ask the grand jury for indictment. As a result Amon Kilgore was released, with no charges.

  7

  As Amon Kilgore stepped up to the bar in the Last Chance Saloon, the bar tender spoke to him.

  “I done heard that the judge said you wasn’t at fault for killin’ Sinclair and to tell you the truth, Sinclair ain’t no big loss anyhow. But I’d appreciate it if somebody comes in here to brace you, you’d take it outside into the street. It ain’t good for business to have gunfights in here.”

  Kilgore responded to the admonition by glaring at the bartender. He spoke not a word, but no words were needed, and the bartender, made uneasy by the scowl, hurried down to the other end of the bar.

  Using the mirror behind the bar, he perused the rest of the saloon. There were three young bar-girls working the customers, inveigling them to buy drinks with the promise of more than just conversation, a promise that would be unfulfilled unless the men were inclined to part with more money. One of the girls, seeing that Kilgore was watching her in the mirror, approached him with a practiced grin.