CHAPTER 8
“You got some visitors comin’ to see ya,” Sheriff Bragg told his prisoners when he passed the food through the bars of their cell. “I’ll make you some coffee to go with that grub.”
“Who’s the visitors?” Hatcher asked.
“Your boss, and he’s got one of the other men with him,” Bragg answered as he went out the cell room door.
Hatcher looked at Marty and grinned. “I didn’t think he would let us rot here in this damn jail. We might be gettin’ outta here before we thought.” He yelled toward the open cell-room door then, “When’s he comin’?”
“When he finishes eatin’, I reckon,” Bragg yelled back.
While he waited for Dalton and Spade to show up, Bragg opened the door between his office and the cells all the way back against the wall and put a chair in front of it to make sure it stayed open. In about a quarter of an hour, they showed up, and when they walked in, Bragg got up to meet them. “I’ll have to have you both lay your guns on my desk,” he told them. When Dalton looked as if he was insulted, Bragg said, “It’s the same for anybody who visits a prisoner, no sense in takin’ a chance.”
Spade pulled his .44 and laid it on the desk, but Dalton said, “You can see I’m not wearing a gun.” He turned to go into the cell room but stopped when the sheriff dropped his hand on his pistol.
“Your coat looks like it’s hangin’ a little heavy on one side, there. You musta forgot about that pocket pistol you’re carryin’.”
Dalton flushed slightly but recovered quickly. “You’re right, I forgot I had it in my pocket. I’m not sure it’s even loaded.” He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it carefully on Bragg’s desk. “All right?”
“All right,” Bragg echoed and stood aside to let the two men from the Double-D inside the cell room. He had figured the wide-open door would be enough for him to hear most of what conversation was passed between them, but he changed his mind, picked up the shotgun he had propped against the desk, and walked in behind them. Inside the cell room, he went to a chair sitting against the far wall and sat down. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just go on like I ain’t even here.”
It plainly irritated Dalton, but he tried to ignore the intrusion, and turned his attention to the anxiously awaiting pair in the cell. “Hatcher, what in hell happened?”
Extremely conscious of the sheriff sitting against the side wall, listening to every word, Hatcher said, “It was all a mistake, boss. I swear. I challenged that son of the devil that shot Bob to a shoot-out between just me and him. The coward wouldn’t do it. Then he told the sheriff I said I was gonna shoot him whether he faced me or not. It’s just the same old story they always pull against the cowhands from the Double-D.”
Dalton turned to address Sheriff Bragg. “What’s this I hear about dragging one of my men down the street behind a horse?”
Bragg shrugged. “Well, he’s too big to tote, and he refused to go, so we had to get him here the best way we could.”
“Ask him who was the one that done it, boss!” Hatcher blurted. “It wasn’t him. It was that SOB, Ben Savage. He let Savage drag me behind a horse.”
“That’s a fact,” Bragg volunteered before Dalton could ask him if that was true. “Your man, there, was refusin’ to walk. I was glad to get a little help from Ben Savage.”
Dalton could see that he was getting nowhere with an aggressive attitude, so he tried one more approach. “Sheriff, I know these men got a little bit rowdy in here yesterday, but I’m sure Hatcher wasn’t serious when he threatened the owner of the Lost Coyote.” He paused and looked at Hatcher. “That’s right, ain’t it, Hatcher?”
“That’s right, boss, I was just japin’ him,” Hatcher replied. “And Marty didn’t do nothin’. He was just standin’ around.”
Back to the sheriff then, Dalton said. “That’s what I thought. So, as owner of the biggest saloon in town, as well as owner of the biggest cattle ranch doing business here in Buzzard’s Bluff, I’ll ask you to do me the favor of releasing these two in my custody. I’ll see that they are properly disciplined.”
The sheriff was caught in a position he didn’t feel comfortable in. What Dalton said was true. As much trouble as his men caused, his ranch and saloon were still responsible for a lot of business for the merchants of Buzzard’s Bluff. On the other hand, he knew without doubt that Ed Hatcher had come to town with one objective, to kill Ben Savage. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Dalton, let’s you and me go talk to the owner of the Lost Coyote. He’s the one who’s pressin’ charges against your two boys. If he’s satisfied that they’ve been locked up long enough, I’ve got no reason to hold ’em.”
Dalton hesitated. He hadn’t expected that and it didn’t seem like there was much use to meet with Savage. After thinking about the prospect of meeting this mysterious new owner of his competition for a few minutes, he changed his mind and decided it might be to his advantage to meet his adversary. “I think that’s a good idea,” he said, to Bragg’s surprise.
“You want me to stay here and make sure your prisoners don’t escape?” Spade Gunter couldn’t resist japing.
“I expect you’d best go with us,” Bragg told him and they walked outside while Bragg locked the cell-room door and the front door to the office.
* * *
“If I tell you who’s come to see you, you ain’t gonna believe it,” Tiny Davis said when he stuck his head inside the door of the office behind the bar.
“Who?” Ben asked.
“Mr. Daniel Dalton,” Tiny said. “He’s out here with Sheriff Bragg and one of the Double-D hands, Spade Gunter, I think. They said they came to see you. Rachel’s talkin’ to ’em now.”
“Well, you’re right,” Ben responded. “I find that damn hard to believe.” He got up from the desk, where he had been trying to familiarize himself with the books Rachel gave him to study, and followed Tiny back to the bar.
When the two saloon owners confronted each other for the first time, both men studied the other carefully. “Ben,” Sheriff Bragg opened the meeting, “this is Daniel Dalton. He came to see me about the two men I’ve got in jail. And since you’re the one pressin’ the charges against ’em, he’s wantin’ to see if you might see fit to withdraw ’em, so he can take his boys back to the ranch. He says he’ll punish ’em there.”
The two adversaries continued to stare at each other for a long moment before Ben broke the heavy silence hanging between them. “Well, Mr. Dalton, I’ve heard a lot about you in the short time I’ve been in Buzzard’s Bluff. I’m glad to finally meet you in person.”
“I have to say I haven’t heard much about you at all,” Dalton responded. “Matter of fact, I heard you sorta popped up out of the prairie, like a cactus, surprising Miss Baskin, here, and everybody else in town. Where did you come from, anyway?”
“Like you said, I just popped up outta the prairie,” Ben answered. “I never figured I’d meet the owner of my competition right away. I reckon you sent a couple of your employees to deliver your regards.”
Dalton’s eyes sparked at that. “You can’t think I had anything to do with that business with Bob Wills or this thing with Ed Hatcher. I don’t need to result to underhanded tricks to beat my competition.”
“Well, let me put your mind at ease, Mr. Dalton. Miss Baskin and I intend to run Lost Coyote just the way it’s always been run—the way Jim Vickers started it. We ain’t interested in stealin’ any of the business from the Golden Rail. You’re welcome to it. We’ll just continue to operate kinda quiet-like. And I might suggest you should come in sometime when you’re lookin’ for a quiet place for a drink.” He waited for Dalton to smirk, then went on. “As for the question you came in here with, I don’t give a damn if Sheriff Bragg lets your boys outta jail right now or keeps ’em another day or two. Just so you know, though, you’d best make sure they understand I won’t be so easy on ’em next time.”
Dalton found it impossible to sneer in the face of Ben’s implied threat. “M
y men will do what I say,” he declared. “But I should point out to you that a big man, making big talk, might find himself looking at the business end of a Winchester rifle. And I ain’t responsible for what alcohol does to a man’s brain.”
“I thought you just said your men will do what you tell ’em,” Ben replied.
“I’m just sayin’ nobody can talk sense to a damn drunk, and I won’t be responsible for anybody who drowns in a bottle of whiskey,” Dalton said.
“So’s I don’t misunderstand what you’re sayin’,” Ben countered. “You can control your men as long as they’re sober, but you can’t control them if they get drunk. If that’s the case, you’ve got a helluva problem.”
Dalton had held onto his temper for as long as he could stand it. His words were getting twisted around when they came back out of Ben’s mouth. “You’re a cocksure one, aren’t you? I shouldn’t have wasted my time trying to talk sense with you.” He turned, preparing to walk out.
“Least I can do is offer you a drink, since you went to the trouble to come to see me,” Ben said. “Might be a chance for you to enjoy a quiet drink for a change.” He couldn’t resist saying it.
“Thanks just the same,” Dalton snapped. “Come on, Spade, let’s get out of this dump.” He headed for the door.
Ben called after him, “I’m tellin’ Sheriff Bragg to go ahead and let those two outta jail. Just tell ’em next time I’ll shoot ’em down instead of takin ’em to jail.”
Hurrying out the door after Dalton, Bragg asked, “Did you hear what he said? He says he’s droppin’ the charges against ’em, so I ain’t got no more reason to hold ’em. Sounds like he’s tryin’ to be reasonable about workin’ with you.”
“Let’s just get it done,” Dalton replied. “We’re wasting time here.” He was still fuming after what he could only see as an unsuccessful visit to the Lost Coyote Saloon. His purpose in agreeing to go and talk to Ben Savage was to intimidate him by a show of command over a crew of dangerous men. He was long accustomed to respect for his commanding persona and he saw no evidence that this crude drifter realized who he was dealing with. He was more determined than before to do anything he could to make sure that saloon run by a woman and an ex-Ranger failed. He thought it a miracle that the saloon had survived as long as it had under Jim Vickers’s ownership.
“They’re back,” Marty Jackson sang out when he heard the rattle of the padlock on the front door of the sheriff’s office. “They sure weren’t gone very long.”
“Don’t surprise me,” Ed Hatcher said. “I bet ol’ Daniel Dalton gave ’em hell for lockin’ us up in here. You wait and see. I’ll bet we’re gettin’ outta here now.” They both got up and walked to the front of the cell and stood at the bars, in anticipation of the news. In a few minutes, they heard Sheriff Bragg unlocking the cell room door.
Bragg walked into the cell room. “I’m lettin’ you boys outta there now. Ben Savage dropped his complaint against you.” He unlocked the cell door and held it open while they filed out.
“What’d I tell ya, Marty?” Hatcher brayed. “I knew the boss wasn’t gonna let ’em keep us in here.” They hustled into the office to retrieve their weapons and found Dalton and Spade waiting for them. “I knew we wouldn’t be in here long after you showed up, boss,” Hatcher said.
“Shut up and put your gun on,” Spade told him. He could sense how angry Dalton was with Hatcher for not doing the job he had sent him into town to do.
Mack Bragg walked outside with them while Hatcher and Jackson were strapping on their gun belts. “You’ll have to pay Henry Barnes for boardin’ your horses overnight, but at least you won’t have to pay any fines,” Bragg said. “You boys try to stay outta trouble when you come into town from now on.” He got a grin and a grunt from Hatcher in return.
Dalton saw fit to make one final remark to the sheriff before leaving. “You know, Bragg, when a man gets elected sheriff, he’s expected to serve the interest of all the citizens and merchants in the town.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Dalton,” Bragg replied, respectfully. “You’re right, and I’m very much aware of that.” His response was met with nothing more than an accusing glare before Dalton turned and headed back up the street. Spade followed, leading their two horses, followed by Hatcher and Marty.
When the four Double-D men were comfortably out of range for the sheriff to hear him, Dalton paused to address Ed Hatcher. “How in hell can you not call a man out to fight?”
“I called him out, clear and simple, but he wouldn’t face me.” He turned to Jackson for verification. “Didn’t I, Marty?”
“He sure did, boss, called him out to settle it with six-guns, and Savage said he didn’t want to. Said he already had a gun drawn on Ed.”
They recounted the entire episode in the Lost Coyote once again, but Dalton saw no excuse for Hatcher’s failure. They continued up the street toward the stable then. When they passed the Lost Coyote again, Dalton didn’t even glance in that direction, but a thought occurred to him. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it was a good idea. “Spade,” he said, “I think the men ought to spread their business to the competition a little more. The Lost Coyote deserves a chance to take care of Double-D cowhands a little more than they do now. It’ll give the boys a chance to see what entertainment they have to offer.”
“Whaddaya want me to do about this Ben Savage jasper?” Hatcher asked.
“I want you to kill him,” Dalton answered. “He’s going to be trouble from now on.”
“It’s gonna have to be from a distance,” Hatcher said, “’cause he’s afraid to face me in the street. But I ain’t too anxious to get my name on a wanted list. I druther call the dirty rat out for a shoot-out.”
“Then I guess next time you’ll have to get the jump on him, and you be the one with a gun already out. Then you can give him a choice, fight or die. He’ll have to try to save his life.”
“How do you know how fast he is?” Spade asked.
“I don’t,” Hatcher answered, “but I know how fast I am. I ain’t worried about it,” he boasted as they reached the stable.
“He’s sitting pretty right now,” Dalton remarked, after the bill was paid and they were mounted and started up the street, “king of the town, now that he’s faced you down. Not only laughed at you when you dared to think he would duel with you, then dragged you down the middle of town, so everybody could see him throw you in jail.” Dalton watched Hatcher’s reactions to his taunting words. He knew the man was too prideful about his reputation as a fast gun to ignore much provocation to prove his skill. “I’m wondering why we’ve never heard his name before, but I suspect we’ll hear about it in the future,” Dalton continued. Hatcher made no verbal response, but Dalton was satisfied to see his eyes narrow and his teeth clenched. “After this thing with you today, I doubt anyone else will have the guts to face him. I expect one of the boys will have to take him down at long range. Deacon Moss comes to mind. He’s pretty accurate with a rifle.”
“Hold on, boss,” Hatcher blurted. The seed was planted. “I’m the one that rattlesnake dragged through town, so I claim first call on settlin’ up with him.” He reined his horse sharply to a stop.
“What are you gonna do?” Dalton asked when he pulled up beside him.
“I ain’t leavin’ town till I settle with him for what he done to me,” Hatcher declared.
“Well, we can’t deny you the right to take your vengeance out on this man,” Dalton said. “God knows he’s insulted you enough to give you that right. I just wasn’t sure you’d want to tangle with him again.”
“You boys go on back to the ranch,” Hatcher said, knowing now what he had to do. “I’m goin’ huntin’. I’ll bring you back that tin star he pulled out of his pocket yesterday.”
“I respect your decision,” Dalton said, “good hunting.” He felt satisfied that Hatcher would flush Savage out somehow—face-to-face, or in the back, it didn’t matter to him. And it was not his con
cern if Hatcher was arrested and hanged, as long as he got rid of Ben Savage.
* * *
“Well, you managed to get a visit from his majesty, Daniel Dalton, king of the Double-D,” Rachel said as she set a cup of coffee down on the table before him. “That’s something neither Jim nor I have ever accomplished. Must make you feel kinda special.”
“Ought to make you feel like you’ve got a target on your back,” Tiny Davis suggested. “What’d you let those two outta jail for?”
“It didn’t make a whole lot of difference,” Ben answered. “Bragg was only gonna keep ’em another night, anyway. Might as well let ’em get on out and let’s see what they’re gonna do.”
“Best be sure you don’t set down nowhere with your back to the door,” Tiny advised.
While they were sitting there talking, Ham Greeley came in. Seeing Ben and Rachel, he walked over to join them. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said before anyone asked.
“We’re drinking coffee,” Rachel said with a wide smile.
Ham pretended to shudder. “I’m gonna need somethin’ with a little more bite than that.” He looked back at the bar. “Tiny, how ’bout a shot of that rye whiskey you’ve got? I might need somethin’ strong if I’m gonna have to talk business.” He looked back at Ben and explained. “You said you needed some carpentry work done. Said to come talk to you about it.”
“That’s a fact,” Ben said. “I want you to take a look at the north side of the front porch where that mule tried to jump up on it and tell me how much you want to fix it. There’s about six floorboards that need replacin’, and I expect you might need a new joist.”
“Dang,” Ham responded, “you sound like you could fix it yourself. Thank you, Tiny,” he said when the bartender set his drink on the table.
Ben smiled. “I reckon I could, if I had to, but you’d most likely do a better job.”
“I’ll take a look,” Ham said and tossed his drink down. “Damn, that’s nasty stuff. Wish I had a barrel of it.” Then he got around to something he was more interested in. “I was across the street at Howard’s and I saw ol’ Daniel Dalton and three of his hands walkin’ toward the stable. Two of ’em were those fellers Mack Bragg had in jail.” He looked directly at Ben. “Did you know that damn Ed Hatcher was loose again?”
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