by S. L. Stoner
“That’s just it, Rayburn was the kind of fellow who’d do pretty near anything for money. Lately, he’s been running off homesteaders for the road company. He got caught trying to set fire to Fromm’s hay and turning his cow loose. Fromm came to town to confront him. The wife claims Fromm never found Rayburn. But someone shot the fellow and folks suppose it had to be Fromm. Odd thing though, it seems that Fromm’s homestead isn’t on road company land. Still, the road company wants the land despite Fromm’s valid ownership. So, why would Rayburn go after Fromm’s homestead? Doc Rosenberg thinks it’s for the timber.”
The two men stood silent, both considering the new turn of events. “Sure is a lot of shooting going on lately,” Siringo commented.
“Those fellows you’re riding with know anything about Timothy O’Dea and his dog getting killed up at Gray’s Prairie?” Sage asked Siringo.
“I don’t think they do,” the Dickensen detective responded. “Fact is, they seemed alarmed by the killing since it’s in their territory. One said he’d met the herder and liked him. Really seemed to regret the death. For all their bluster, I don’t think those men have a yen to be murderers.”
“Well, I find that hard to believe. Who else would want to kill a bunch of sheep?”
“Oh, they want to kill sheep alright. Provided there is provocation. But I believe that the group I’m riding with had nothing to do with killing that young Irishman.”
Sage’s bark of laughter was derisive. “Sounds to me like you’ve formed an attachment to your new cowboy friends,” he said.
In the dim light, he saw Siringo’s mouth straight line as his eyes narrowed. “You accusing me of not doing my job?” he asked, anger tightening his voice.
Sage stepped back, widened his stance and stood ready. At least with Siringo, he wouldn’t have to fight American style. “I’m saying there’s maybe a reason why you don’t think those cowboys are cold-blooded murderers. Could be you’re overlooking the clues that say otherwise.”
“And, I’m telling you I’m a professional,” Siringo emphasized the last word. He repeated it again with emphasis, “And, in my professional opinion, the men I have been spending time with aren’t acting like they’ve murdered anyone. Maybe shot a few sheep but so far, there’s no call to think they stepped over the line and killed that young shepherd.”
“His name was Timothy O’Dea. I’d appreciate it if you’d at least use his name, Sage snapped.
Siringo stepped forward quickly, “You damn citified . . .”
Sage shifted his weight to his rear leg and raised his hands. Interrupting, he said, “We’ll just see who’s . . .”
“Stop it!” The command was sharp and female. Both men’s heads snapped toward the voice. Lucinda stood there, her hands on her hips, disgust on her face. “The last thing I need to see after the day I’ve had is two grown men acting like schoolyard fools.”
Sage moved his feet so he stood normally and dropped his hands. He was aware that Siringo had also abandoned his pugilist stance. Just then, shots sounded in the street on the other side of the hotel. Siringo and Sage exchanged looks.
“Just some cowboys letting off a little steam,” Siringo said. “The sheriff will take them in hand if they keep it up.”
“More men acting like darned fool boys,” Lucinda said but this time her voice held a smile.
She stepped toward them. As she did, a shot rang out. A bullet thwacked the privy boards, sending a splinter of wood shooting off. That bullet had passed between himself and Lucinda, missing them by mere inches. Sage dove forward, threw his arms around her and they both hit the ground. As they fell, Siringo jumped between them and the back of the hotel, drawing his gun from its holster. All three froze, waiting for a second shot. It didn’t come. Sage thought he heard a distant door softly close. Siringo slipped his gun back into its holster but kept staring at the hotel.
Sage looked down at Lucinda. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
For one heart stopping moment, her wide eyes simply stared into his. They held the look so long that he became aware of her body warmth beneath his and the satin of remembered places.
She broke the spell. “I’d probably be doing a bit better if you’d set me up on my feet,” she told him, her voice shaking just a bit. “You’re not exactly a feather, you know,” she added dryly but her smile blunted any bite in her words.
He scrambled to his feet, pulling her up with him. Siringo looked at them and said, “Glad the two of you are done rolling around on the ground. We better clear out of here. Whoever fired that shot might decide to come back.”
“You think it wasn’t just the cowboys letting off steam again?” Sage asked, though he knew the answer. He just wanted to see if Siringo agreed.
Siringo shook his head. “There’s no way someone raising cane in front of the hotel could send a bullet shooting all the way through to the back of the hotel and into that privy. Besides, that sounded like a sissy pea shooter. Not a cowboy gun, at all.”
Siringo pulled his hat low on his forehead, his eyes narrow glints beneath its wide brim. “Whoever the shooter was, he was aiming at either you or Ms. Lucinda. So, we best get going. Ms. Lucinda, you head for the house. Adair, I’ll meet you in half an hour, behind the Prineville Light generator building.”
“I’ve noticed that you’ve said nothing about the cowboy kid who met with the Dickensen fellow in Portland. Are you thinking now that he’s also a real fine fellow?” Those were Sage’s first words to Siringo when they met up behind the powerhouse. Behind them, the creek was a silent black ribbon beneath overhanging oaks. From the building, the sounds of a huffing steam boiler and squeaking leather belt meant the dynamo was up and running.
Siringo shoved his hat back on his forehead so Sage could see his face clearly. The cowboy eyed him for a minute, before saying, “Look Adair. I’ve obviously done something to offend you. I don’t know what but, whatever it is, I’m right sorry.” The man’s expression was earnest, his smooth cowboy assurance gone.
Sage was glad it was dark because hot shame flushed his face. Siringo was right. He’d done nothing to justify Sage’s hostility. Heaving a sigh, Sage admitted to himself that his treatment of Siringo was nothing more than jealousy. It wasn’t Siringo’s fault if Lucinda had taken a fancy to his long, lean cowboy looks.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Sage said and meant it. “You’ve done nothing to offend me. I’m just out of my element in this situation. Taking it out on you, I guess.”
The cowboy nodded understandingly, “That’s how I feel when I’m in a city,” he told Sage. “I didn’t mention the kid because he’s not working with fellows I’ve been riding with. That’s one reason why I need to head north. See if that’s where the young scoundrel has gone. I’ve checked all the saloons here in town and he’s nowhere to be found. I figure he’s somewheres out on the north Ochoco range.”
Sage cleared his throat. “Umm, I am also sorry I never had a chance to talk with Rayburn. I know it was important but I just never ran into him. I’m hoping that the sheepherder Irishman I told you about, Twill McGinnis, will do just as well as Rayburn. Maybe better. He worked with the shepherd who was murdered last week. And the other shepherds like him. They didn’t like Rayburn.” Sage had deliberately not used Timothy O’Dea’s name by way of making a subtle apology for his earlier jab.
Siringo noted the effort. “You mean McGinnis herded with Mr. Timothy O’Dea?” he asked, then grinned.
Sage grinned back. It was no wonder Lucinda liked the fellow. When he let himself, he liked the cowboy too. Sage continued, “So, I’ve also developed a bit of information that might be related. Besides doing their bookkeeping, the sheep ranchers had me research sections deep in the Ochocos. They are definitely focusing on grazing sheep there. I understand that’s been cattle country for a long time. Sparks will fly if they move into even more sections, I’m thinking. And, the shepherds’ anger is building too. They seem to be nerving themselves up to at
tack the cowboys. This murder of Rayburn might be the very thing that goads them into acting.” Sage went on to tell Siringo the comments he’d overheard in the Rimrock.
Siringo nodded as Sage talked, then said, “Well, I’m not saying a cowboy didn’t kill O’Dea. The only ones I can eliminate are the ones running cattle down south near the Maury Mountains. But there’s another cattle outfit north of the military road. That’s where I’m headed next. Maybe I’ll find Tom Meglit there too.”
Siringo was silent, pondering the situation. His smile was rueful when he said, “Wahl, there’s one good thing. No cattle or cowboys have gone missing or been murdered. So far, at least the sheepmen have kept their heads. What about the sheep ranchers you’re working for? Have you learned whether they’re planning retaliation for the murder, the sheep shooting and the barn burning?”
Sage took off his derby and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I can tell you that they seemed really worried about something. I’ll try to find out more tomorrow, just in case. Today, they were fighting and in no mood to talk. I didn’t stay in the office. Instead, I spent the day with the courthouse maps locating fresh water springs in the sections along the military road.”
“So you don’t know what their fight was about? Why they were upset?” Siringo asked, lighting a cigarette after offering one to Sage.
“Well, I saw a guy storm out of Van Ostrand’s office. He looked like an angry creditor. And, it was their sheep that O’Dea was guarding. So, the loss of those sheep has to have cost them. And, I presume O’Dea’s murder also hit them pretty hard.”
“Tell me more about this Twill fellow,” Siringo said.
“A likeable Irishmen. Quick to laugh, friendly, has a way with words. A really fine, smart fellow. But he’s got a temper, too. You saw him. Like I said, he’s the one your friends attacked in the street. Right now, he’s bound and determined he’s going to find out who killed O’Dea. When he does, I don’t think he’s planning on turning him over to the law.”
“Sure is a lot of anger swirling around this town. Sad thing is, it ain’t really these folks’ fault. They had a pretty good balance going around here before the federal government decided to change how the federal range land was used,” Siringo said. “You’d think they’d remember that. These people used to be friends. They used to help each other out—the sheep and cattle ranchers.”
For a while, the two smoked their cigarettes until Sage said quietly, “I promised Mrs. Fromm I’d figure out who shot Rayburn.”
Siringo nodded, as if he understood Sage hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. “You know, two murders of two sheepmen in less than a week seems a tad coincidental,” he said, flipping his cigarette butt into the water.
He turned toward Sage. “Adair, I was thinking on it, riding over here. That shot tonight wasn’t a stray or a coincidence. What I can’t figure out is whether it was you or Ms. Lucinda who was the intended target. Someone might suspicion that the fellow who died, said more to her than he did.”
The shiver that comment sent racing through Sage was far colder than the chilly, dark water flowing past his feet.
SIXTEEN
At seven a.m. there were a few sleepy folks eating breakfast in the Poindexter’s dining room. One of them was Congressman Thomas. He sat alone, his face morose. Sage hesitated in the doorway until Thomas saw him and motioned him over.
“Good morning John. I trust you had a decent night’s sleep?” the Congressman said, but his greeting sounded listless.
“I can’t complain. Once the cowboys stopped their six shooter celebrating, things get pretty quiet around here,” Sage answered before quickly moving on.“You’re looking worried this morning,” he observed and then stayed silent, hoping Thomas would feel the need to talk.
Thomas heaved a sigh. “I received some bad news late yesterday and I’m trying to figure out what to do.”
Sage remained quiet, hoping his face conveyed an open, willing-to-help-in-any-way, look.
It must have, because Thomas kept talking. “You probably heard that we lost our grazing rights along the military road to the Kepler brothers,” Thomas said.
Sage nodded.“I figure the work I did at the courthouse yesterday had something to do with that.”
“It did. There’s a lot of grazing land up there in the Ochocos that the military road builders couldn’t claim. We’ve heard that some entry men are going use the Timber and Stone Act to file claims up there. Once they prove up, we can try buying the parcels from them. In the meantime, we’ll try to lease from them. A piece with a spring on it would be the best grazing land for us. Your research tells us which pieces are the most desirable.”
“I know about the Homestead Act but how does a Timber and Stone entry man prove up his claim?” Sage asked.
“He only has to say he’s going to cut the timber or quarry the stone and publish his claim in the newspaper for sixty days,” Thomas said.
That information set Sage to pondering. It meant land grabs by the timber barons would be even easier because proving a claim was dead simple. Homesteaders like the Fromms had to clear the land and live on it full time. And, it took them three or more years of living on that land before they could prove up—not a mere sixty days of publishing a notice in the newspaper.
Sage considered. He hadn’t been in the Ochoco Mountains and wondered just how many claimed “timber” acres even had trees on them. Though, for certain, there had to be plenty of stones.
Sage’s silence evidently made Thomas uneasy because he changed the subject. “So, Miner, where are you from originally?” he asked.
“Pennsylvania. After that, here and there,” Sage answered truthfully. “Did some gold panning up in the Klondike a few years back. I sure didn’t like the cold. And, by the time I got there, all the good claims were gone,” he added untruthfully.
“Timing is everything,” Thomas mused, more to himself than to Sage. Then he straightened and said, “Me, I was raised within forty miles of Prineville. My father was an original settler hereabouts. He began running cattle early on. He’s gone now and my older brother is running the ranch. It’s a very big ranch.”
Thomas looked pensive, adding, “I’m not much like my father. I don’t like ranching. Dad said I lacked the gumption to make it work. Fact is, being a congressman is the first thing I’ve accomplished on my own.”
“You and Van Ostrand seemed to have made a go of sheep ranching, at least until you lost the grazing rights.”
Thomas shrugged. “It’s mostly my money that’s being lost. Van Ostrand put in less money, but then, he had a lot less to invest. Still, he’s the driving force behind the business. He makes all the decisions, oversees things. I just agree with what he wants. And sometimes, I grease the wheels here and in Washington D.C. For awhile, it looked like we’d succeed but now I don’t know.” His voice trailed off.
“I take it you just got some bad news,” Sage prodded.
“It’s that damn Roosevelt,” Thomas said, anger in his voice for the first time.“He’s so hell-bent on making forest reserves that he’s blind to the fact he’s being manipulated.”
“What do you mean?”
“The timber barons want Roosevelt to declare the Ochoco’s a reserve and it looks like they’re going to get their way. Once that happens, those entry men won’t get their claims and we won’t get our grazing leases. We’ll be out of business.”
This time, Sage didn’t have to feign ignorance. “I don’t understand. How will declaring the Ochocos a reserve end up lining the pockets of the timber barons? Seems like they’d be kept off the land too.”
“It’s damn complicated,” Thomas said, “but I’ll try to explain.” He leaned forward, his forehead already wrinkling with effort. “Every state is divided into what is known as townships. Each township contains 36 sections and each section contains 640 acres. You saw that when you looked at the maps.” Sage nodded.
“When a state is created, all land in that state th
at is still unclaimed by individuals, belongs to the federal government. The exception is the 16th and the 36th sections of every township. Those two sections belong to the State. The proceeds from that land’s sale or taxation, is meant to pay for the education of the State’s citizens.”
Thomas waited for that information to sink in. Sage nodded his understanding so Thomas continued, “When the federal government creates a forest reserve or an Indian reservation, it takes back the 16th and 36th sections of every township located in that reserve or reservation. In exchange, the federal government lets the State claim an equal amount of federally owned, unclaimed acreage anywhere else in the State. Those replacement sections are called ‘in-lieu-of-lands.’ The State can then sell those sections to private individuals—like our friends, the timber companies. There’s no need to file claims. It’s an outright sale.
Thomas raised a questioning eyebrow. When Sage again nodded he understood, Thomas explained further, “So, what the timber barons do is get the federal government to declare a forest reserve. That’s what happened in the Cascades. The minute the federal government declares a reserve, the timber barons’ flunkies run to the State land office and pay for unclaimed federal land they’ve targeted elsewhere in the state. Since they have money in their hot little hands, the State is more than willing to sell. And, at an extremely low price. Of course, because of their Washington D.C. connections, the timber men know in advance when and where to make their move. They always beat everybody else to the best timber land.”
The wrinkle in Sage’s forehead was genuine. The scheme sounded too complicated.
Thomas saw Sage’s confusion. “So, if Roosevelt declares the Ochocos a reserve, then all the open land is withdrawn from public use. That eliminates the open grazing lands now used by homesteaders and ranchers. At the same time, the acres in the 16th and 36th sections become the basis for an equal number in-lieu-of acres elsewhere in the state. Right now, I guarantee, the timber cruisers know exactly what unclaimed acres they want to buy as in-lieu-of land when the Ochocos turn into a reserve. The minute that reserve is declared, they will be at the State land office making their purchase.
