BEAR CREEK (SAGE COUNTRY Book 1)

by Dan Arnold

  She was wearing a dress made of light blue satin with long sleeves. There was some sort of black lacey trim on the collar, cuffs, and as a border near the bottom hem. The dress appeared to be draped over many layers of petticoats. Apparently, bustles were going out of style, but clearly, corsets were not! She had on a hat of matching color and style, with a couple of black plumes, set at an angle on her head. She was easily the most beautiful woman in Bear Creek, probably in all of Colorado, maybe even the whole world.

  She was Lora O’Malley, my new fiancée!

  “Oh, John, thank God you’re home!” Lora cried, as she rushed into my arms. I dropped my gear on the platform. I knew it was unseemly, perhaps even vulgar, but I kissed her right there in front of everyone at the station.

  “I missed you so, darling,” she whispered in my ear.

  I held her at arm’s length and looked into her deep brown eyes.

  “I couldn’t stay away from you for one more minute,” I winked.

  I gathered up my saddle bags and my valise and we walked down to where the buggy was parked. As I was putting my gear in the buggy, Hugh Lomax came hurrying toward us.

  “’Evening, Mrs. O’Malley,” he rasped. “John, I hate to bother you the minute you get off the train, but you need to know, William Courtney has been shot.”

  “What…when?”

  I had too many questions whirling through my mind.

  “Today, John. He was shot this morning. It was out at the Bar C. Somebody with a rifle.”

  “Was he killed?”

  “No, but he may not live. Doc Johnson was out there all day. He says the bullet broke a rib and punctured a lung. He was able to remove the bullet, but he fears there may be complications. He gathered up some more supplies and went back out to the ranch.”

  “How did this happen, was it an accident?”

  “Apparently it was deliberate. Glen Corbet, the foreman out there, says the shooter fired from a hideout on the top of a hill, as Mr. Courtney rode by. Corbet says he found Mr. Courtney shortly after hearing the shot. After he got him back to the ranch house, he sent some cowboys to bring back Mr. Courtney’s horse and see what they could find. They found the hiding place and…this.”

  He was holding a spent .44-40 cartridge.

  “Well that’s common enough. I have a Winchester in this caliber. We have three of them in the rack in the Sheriff’s office. It could’ve been a hunter.”

  “No John. It wasn’t accidental. The shot was fired from a distance of only about sixty five yards, in semi-open country, and this shell was deliberately left sitting upright on a rock.”

  That worried me some. A single shell left on display could be a signature. A way of saying “I was here.” It was highly unlikely anyone would mistake a man on horseback as a game animal, especially at a range of only a few hundred feet.

  “Still, maybe some idiot…”

  “John, the whole place is fenced in barbed wire.”

  Yeah, I knew that.

  I told Hugh I would ride out to the Bar C the next morning.

  That night, as I was lying in bed in one of the bunks at the Courthouse, I was thinking about the shooting.

  The Bar C was completely fenced with barbed wire. Nearly 65,000 acres, surrounded by barbed wire. At one time, and not that long ago, I would have been surprised by that. Now, all the open range was nearly gone. The railroads had been fenced with thousands of miles of barbed wire. This was partly to keep wildlife and livestock off the tracks, but mostly it was to delineate railroad property. Most of the larger farms and many of the smaller ones were fenced to prevent livestock from getting into the crops. Ranchers fenced their property to contain their herds and improve feeding and breeding practices. In most of the country the open range was gone, forever. I hated that.

  There was no way a hunter or anyone else could have wandered onto the Bar C. The shooter would have had to get through the wire to gain access, or have been on the ranch already. The hidden blind indicated some planning. The shell left on display was a signature. Someone had planned to kill Bill Courtney, and had celebrated the shooting afterwards.

  The world is not a safe place, I thought. Life is uncertain. Building fences doesn’t make you safer.

  Law enforcement is a calling. It’s about being willing to serve the public as a protector of the innocent and enforcer of the law. The law represents the codified moral beliefs of the people. Ever since God sent the Ten Commandments, people have had written record of the definition of sin, and crime. Sin is the violation of God’s law. Crime is the violation of man’s law. Man’s laws are based on God’s laws.

  I was not going to allow anyone to go around bushwhacking my friends, or any citizen of my county.

  People ask how a Christian can be willing to be in an occupation which might require the use of violence. Jesus never used violence against anyone. He advocated turning the other cheek. He taught forgiveness and gave His life as a sacrifice for others. He didn’t enforce the Law of God, He fulfilled it. He overcame the law of sin and death through self-sacrifice.

  Some say when Jesus plaited a whip, overthrew the money changers tables, and drove the sacrificial livestock out of the Temple courtyard, putting an end to corrupt commerce; He demonstrated righteous anger and just punishment. The fact is He didn’t hurt anyone, not then or ever.

  The Bible says we are to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.

  Justice requires both law enforcement and mercy enforcement.

  Who would not be willing to protect the innocent? Who would not protect their own loved ones? Who would not defend themselves from an attacker? Who would not want to see the guilty punished? Who would not desire mercy when they have failed?

  Jesus was and is, perfect.

  I’m not perfect. I’m a work in progress.

  Progress has been slow.

  The next morning I walked to the Livery stable to saddle up Dusty.

  We trotted east on Omaha Street, across the tracks and out through the east side of town. We crossed the bridge over Bear Creek, and continued on out to the Bar C, the home of William and Annabelle Courtney, and their daughter Lacey.

  I stopped Dusty at the top of a hill and looked down on the ranch headquarters. As always, it was a beautiful sight, marred only by the presence of several armed men.

  Bear Creek, lined with giant cottonwoods, wandered along below a bluff. On this side of the creek down by the stone bunkhouse, there were a couple of men with rifles standing out in the open.

  On the other side of the stone bridge that spanned the creek, I could see two more men with rifles, standing on the porch of the big house.

  Glen Corbet met me as I rode close to the bunkhouse.

  “Howdy John, I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

  I stepped down from the saddle and shook his hand.

  “Glen, can you tell me what happened?”

  He looked down at the ground, his hat brim hiding his face.

  “We were out to the west pastures, rounding up the mamma cows with new calves, for branding and culling. Bill was on his way out to the roundup. We heard a shot. At first we didn’t think much of it, but I decided to go check it out. I thought maybe somebody was sending a signal of some kind.”

  Glen was still looking at the ground. When he looked up at me, meeting my eye, he looked like hell.

  “I found Bill lying on the ground with his horse grazing nearby. Bill was kind of squirming and gasping,” he choked. “I could tell right away he’d been shot. His shirt was soaked with blood. I jumped off my horse and ran to him. He couldn’t talk. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t get air.”

  Glen took a deep breath.

  “I don’t even know how I got him up on my horse and brought him back here. I sent a rider to Bear Creek to get the doctor. Doc Johnson has been in there all yesterday and all last night,” he concluded.

  “Tell me what you think happened.”

  “I sent a couple of the boys back ou
t to the place where I found him, to bring in his horse. They found a hidey hole on the top of a hill, with a single rifle shell set on a rock. Somebody shot him from hiding. I pulled all the men back here. Your deputy, the old guy, came out here. The deputy told us he thought it was a deliberate ambush. That’s all I know, John.”

  I handed him Dusty’s bridle reins.

  “I’m going up to the house,” I said.

  Glen nodded.

  I walked across the stone bridge over the creek and up the hill, to the big house.

  I nodded at the men on the porch, and turned the bell crank by the enormous front door. After a few moments it was opened by Fred, in his tuxedo.

  “Sheriff Sage, we were not expecting you,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here, do come in.”

  I stepped into the foyer. Fred, the butler, left me there, as he walked over to the big double doors and knocked. I heard some sort of answer from within. As I now knew was his habit, he slid the doors open just enough to allow his entry, then turned and closed them behind himself.

  “Sheriff Sage, I’m sure glad to see you,” Doctor Johnson said, as he came out into the foyer.

  He ushered me into the sitting room through the double doors, closing them behind us.

  I loved this room.

  “Let’s have a seat, Sheriff Sage,” Doc Johnson said, with a motion toward the furniture.

  When we were seated, Fred once again appeared from somewhere to offer refreshments.

  “Would either of you gentlemen care for tea or perhaps some coffee?” he inquired.

  We both declined.

  “Bill seems to be stable for now,” Doc Johnson began, without preamble. “He was unconscious when I got here yesterday. He still is. I’ve been giving him laudanum, to keep him under. I got the bullet out, but he had lost a lot of blood. He has a collapsed lung. It’s possible that it will become functional again, now that I’ve sealed the wound. I am worried about infection though.”

  “Was the bullet a 44-40 round?

  Doctor Johnson nodded.

  “I’d say so.”

  “Will he live Doc?”

  “I don’t know, Sheriff. It could go either way. His color is much better and he doesn’t have a fever, yet. If he gets pneumonia…We’ll just have to wait and see. It’s in God’s hands, now”

  We heard the doors slide open.

  “Hello, Sheriff Sage,” said Lacey Courtney.

  Doctor Johnson and I both rose to our feet.

  “Mom is upstairs with Dad. She won’t be joining us. She asked me to speak with you.”

  “I’m going to go check on him,” Doctor Johnson said.

  He excused himself and left us alone.

  “Lacey, do you have any idea who might have wanted to do something like this.”

  “No, Sheriff, I don’t. Mom told me to ask you to find whoever did this. I know you will.”

  “Yes ma’am. First, I’m going to have to get some kind of a lead. Are you sure you don’t know anyone with a grudge against your dad?”

  She shook her head.

  “Dad handles all the business. Mom and I don’t have any idea why this happened.” She choked up, tears welling in her eyes.

  I opened my arms and she dropped her face against my shoulder. I held her for a moment, as she cried.

  Shortly she straightened up, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff. We Courtney’s don’t break down in adversity. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me”

  “Of course, Lacey. Do you think Glen might have some idea about your dad’s contacts and business associates?”

  “Oh, yes! He might at that. He and Dad are very close.”

  I saw her blush. It dawned on me that she always blushed, whenever Glen was part of the equation.

  I suspected she and Glen might be very close as well.

  24.

  When I walked back down to the bunkhouse, I found Glen holding two horses. He was waiting for me with Dusty and his own horse, saddled and ready to go. I appreciated his anticipating my next move. I noted he was wearing a handgun and had his rifle in the scabbard.

  “I’ll take you over to where Bill was shot.”

  “Thanks, Glen,” I said, as I tightened the cinch on Dusty.

  We mounted and headed west along the edge of the creek. As we rode, I asked Glen if he had any idea who might have had a grudge against Bill Courtney.

  “We’ve had some trouble over in Chaparral County, nothing to kill anybody over though.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “We’ve got a little over a section of land, along both sides of the creek over there. That area is home to the Thorndyke Ranch.”

  “Is that the same Thorndyke, as the town is named for?” I interrupted.

  “Yep, the Thorndyke’s have the biggest ranch in Chaparral County. There is pretty much nothing over there in Chaparral County except ranches and farms. It’s virtually still all open range. There are no clear boundaries for the Thorndyke spread. That’s the cause of the conflict. Old man Thorndyke resents our land being in ‘his’ county and he wants it for himself. He also wants the access to that part of the creek. When we fenced our land it cut his herds off from the water along that part of the creek. Mr. Thorndyke claims it was a deliberate move to cripple his operation in the western part of the county.”

  “Was it?”

  “Hell, no! We fenced our entire ranch. It just so happens, part of our ranch is in ‘his’ county. Mr. Thorndyke tried to buy it for pennies on the dollar. Bill told him he wasn’t interested in selling. The next day our wire was torn down and our cattle scattered. Our cowboys were turned back when they went to go gather the cows. They said they were told they were trespassing on Thorndyke land and they better stay clear.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Bill said to let things cool off for a little while. He went out to see Joe Holden, the Sheriff of Chaparral County. The Sheriff told Bill he would look into it. Bill told him he expected our cattle to be returned, or he would file a rustling charge against whoever had the cattle.”

  “Were they returned?”

  “No. Bill thinks they were probably driven to Kansas and sold.”

  “That’s rustling. In Texas we consider it a hanging offense.”

  “Yep, here too, but we couldn’t prove it happened that way. The Sheriff of Chaparral County won’t do anything, so Bill said to just write it off.”

  We rode along in silence for a moment.

  “It was only about fifty head, but it hurt us. Bill said he didn’t want to get crossways with the Thorndykes. In the old days, we used to do our roundups together, back when there weren’t any fences between here and Canada. This was all open range. I miss those days,” he said, wistfully.

  I nodded In agreement.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  After a while, we pulled up where Bill had fallen. The signs were all messed up from too many horses having been over this ground. I studied the surrounding hills and spotted the best place for an ambush shooting.

  I pointed it out to Glen.

  “Is that the place?”

  I don’t know. When I found Bill, I wasn’t really looking around. Seems about right though. Jose and Junior found the spot, later, when they brought Bill’s horse back.”

  I got off Dusty and handed the reins to Glen.

  “You stay here and I’ll go have a look,” I said.

  I worked my way around the edge of the hill until I found the two sets of tracks left by the Bar C cowboys. I followed them up to the spot they had found. Sure enough, the ground had been smoothed out and the brush chopped and crushed down to give a clear sight picture of the ground below. There was a rock placed to make an excellent rest for the rifle. I expected the shell had been left carefully placed on that rock. I eased down and crawled up into a shooting position. It was perfect.

  I went back down to Glen.

  “Yeah, that was the bushwhacker�
��s shooting spot. I could see you, but I’ll bet you didn’t see me, even though you knew where to look.”

  He shook his head.

  “The thing that bothers me is how the bushwhacker knew Bill would be riding through here.”

  Glen shook his head again.

  “I don’t know either, except this would be the best route to get to the roundup. We all rode through here, back and forth from the ranch headquarters the last couple of days, before the shooting.”

  I thought about that.

  “Yeah, you know this is the best route, but the shooter would have had to scout around, watching and figuring it out. Then he had to find the best place to shoot from. This was no spur of the moment thing. He lay up there waiting and watching for Bill. This was planned by a professional.”

  “Who would do a thing like that?” Glen asked.

  “I don’t know, but I plan to find out. Glen, I have to see your rifle.”

  “What for, oh, do you think I did this?”

  “No, Glen, but I have to check it anyway.”

  He pulled his rifle out of the scabbard and handed it to me. It was a .30/30, not the rifle that had been used to shoot Bill.

  “You’re in the clear, Glen. Sorry, but I had to know.”

  “Yeah, I reckon you know what you’re doing. What’ll you do now?”

  “I’m going to try to track the shooter back out of here.”

  “I’m going with you,” he said.

  “No. I need to do this alone. If he’s watching his back trail, he might shoot one or both of us. The Bar C needs you alive. I think maybe Lacey does too.”

  Glen blushed red as a beet.

  “You can’t go after him alone. He might shoot you,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “No, alone I won’t be distracted. I know what to watch for. I’ve done this before. Besides, the shooter probably high tailed it out of here, before you or your cowboys could catch him.”

  I could see he didn’t like it. He nodded though.