On Dead Man's Range

by Lou Cameron

  The doc sighed and said, “Hell, anyone can see that, young man. What we don’t know is the secret the bastard finds so all-fired important. It can’t be anything Pear Owens could have told you if he was still in these parts. He left here mad as a wet hen and had he had any charge to make, he’d have surely made it, loud and clear. For he accused his political enemies of every damn thing he could come up with, some of it sort of silly.”

  Lawyer Addams said, “Aside from that, the one or more who sent Blue Streak after my client, here, had to know there was no way old Pear could betray said secret, even if he knew it.”

  An old gent who’d been leaning back with his eyes shut sat up straighter. “That’s right,” he said. “They couldn’t have been trying to stop this young gent from talking to Owens. Everyone knows Owens and his wife ain’t here in Navajo County no more.”

  The doc growled, “I just said that, damn it. So what’s left?”

  Stringer said, “I was sent here to cover your last election as well, and no offense, my editor thinks it could have been unfair.”

  There was a mutual murmur of outraged innocence. The coroner turned to Lawyer Addams and said, “You tell him, you durned old Democrat.”

  Addams smiled sadly and said, “I’m afraid my old pal Pear was a sore loser, MacKail. He mussed me good too. But as a member of the bipartisan committee overseeing the election results, I had to tell him we got licked fair and square. We did recount the ballots from some outlying districts we’d always been able to count on in the past. We did look into the charges Pear made about the other side counting the votes of gents he’d shot, personal. But the few voters named Grant or Tewksbury who voted Republican were not close kin to those two clans he ran out years ago. He didn’t want to face it. He swore he’d been cheated. But I have to admit the other side simply gathered more votes. It can happen, even in Arizona Territory.”

  The coroner nodded and said, “There you go, son. I was on the committee to make sure the Democrats didn’t vote too many tombstones, and though it pains me to say it, they didn’t. The election returns are a matter of public record. They were already printed in the papers. Some papers were surprised as old Pear was, and you wasn’t the first reporter to come here demanding a recount. So that couldn’t have been why someone sent Blue Streak to run you out of town, right?”

  Stringer said, “I don’t know. They moved in on me before I got to ask many questions. With all due respect, I can see how a long-incumbent and popular sheriff might have found the election returns dismaying. It’s a simple fact of nature that Arizona did vote nearly solid Democrat in that election everywhere else, and that here in Navajo County most of the rural voters and at least a third of the urban voters are, to this date, still registered as Democrats. So, no offense, it don’t add up to me, either, and I vote independent.”

  Lawyer Addams sighed and said, “I’ve already been over that, loud, with old Pear, son. What you both noticed is true. Had everyone voted a straight-party ticket, Pear would have won by a landslide, as he no doubt expected. That’s why we were careful to recount the ballots from some solid Democrat districts when they voted the other way. I don’t know why, any more than Pear did. But the voters just turned against him, Republican and Democrat alike.”

  Stringer asked, “How come? There was no hint of recent scandal or even exciting gun play in the notes my editor gave me.”

  The coroner said, “As a member of the opposing camp I stand ready to say Commodore Perry Owens was an honest, upright gent of the old school. I was surprised, too, albeit delighted, at the way we skunked the infernal Democrats at last.”

  Lawyer Addams said, “As a member of the losing side I think I have the answer. You were all too correct when you said we’d had no recent excitement here in Navajo County, MacKail. I fear the voters forgot who made it possible for things to get so dull of late. I fear they lost respect for a no-longer-young man who wore his hair too long and dressed somewhat antique in fringed buckskin and Mex spurs that made him sound like Santa Claus as he strode about. I fear they wanted to keep up with the times, now that we’re at the dawn of a new century and Geronimo has learned to sip Coca-Cola through a straw behind a stout reservation fence. They forgot who it was who held off the Apache when Geronimo was raising hell out here, and—”

  “They was Navajo,” the coroner cut in, adding, “Geronimo was too sissy to raid us when we was young and pretty, W.R. The redskins Owen shot it out with was Navajo, not Apache.”

  Lawyer Addams shrugged and said, “Just the same, Pear kept them away from our stock and womenfolk. He kept the Mexican raiders at bay too. I was there when he shot it out with old Martin Blevins and his five fire-eating sons, too, and no man here can tell me Blevins wasn’t tougher than any damned Geronimo!”

  The coroner said, “Simmer down, W.R. I never called this hearing to prove your old pal was a sissy. Pear Owens is gone. The election that sent him packing was as fair as elections ever can be in this imperfect world. So let’s stick to guilty secrets in the here and now.”

  Adams thought, shrugged, then said, “I’m stumped. Nobody I know of is missing any stock. Nobody has died mysterious recent, save for the late Blue Streak Bendix. Do we have any important court cases pending, Judge?”

  The sleepy-looking but common-sense old cuss seated farther along the table opened his eyes again to say, “Nope. A nester called Riggins swore out a complaint about a Mex sheepherder a few weeks back. I told the fool Mex to keep his fool sheep out of the Riggins corn patch and he said he’d try. Neither one has the kind of money it would take to hire a gun. All I got on the docket at the moment is a divorce case, sort of. A Mormon gal holds—and I tend to agree—that it just ain’t right for her husband to sleep with more than one woman at a time in Arizona Territory, no matter what their temple in Utah says.”

  He shot a sharp look at Stringer to ask, “Did you come here to write things about the Latter Day Saints, son?”

  Stringer said, “Not hardly. That gal who claims to be one of Brigham Young’s wives has already milked that angle, for all it’s worth, in the book she published about her dreadful experience. Another Mormon gal I know says it’s pure bull. I wouldn’t know and I don’t care. Besides, I wasn’t talking about Mormons when Blue Streak advised me to leave town. I was talking about Sheriff Owens, and I still think that made someone tense as hell.”

  The coroner said, “This is getting us nowhere. As coroner of Navajo County I find the late Blue Streak Bendix was murdered in bed by a person or persons unknown, and the hell with it. It’s up to the law to figure out who done it. So unless I hear some objection, and I’d better not, this hearing is over.”

  There was a murmur of agreement and a scraping of chairs as everyone but one old gent, sound asleep, got up. Stringer did the same and turned to see where Patty might be. She wasn’t anywhere. That accounted for the coarse lingo, at least.

  Lawyer Addams came over to join him, smiling, as he said, “I didn’t think you had anything to worry about. Your paper owes us fifty bucks. I’ll trust you for it if you’re anxious to be on your way, MacKail.”

  Stringer said, “I’m not. I’ll wire my boss for your fee. It sounds fair. But I mean to stick around until I get some answers.”

  Addams looked mildly surprised, but said, “I don’t blame you. I’d want to know why someone pegged a shot at me too. But where on earth do you mean to start, son? The gents you were just talking to are the most important gents around here, and as you just heard, they can’t figure it either.”

  Stringer said, “So they said. I don’t reckon I’d blab any guilty secrets while I was sitting on a coroner’s jury either.”

  The portly lawyer gasped and said, “Good Lord, I hope you’re not suggesting that someone in this very room could be behind all this recent trouble!”

  Stringer said, “I don’t know. Someone has to be. I suspect the mastermind was, and is, afraid I’ll stumble over something. I don’t know what. Maybe Sheriff Owens or some of
his other pals can tell me.”

  Addams said, “I’ll see if I can locate him, then. I can’t say I tried everything when all I was worried about was his wife’s credit at the dry goods store. But even if we can locate him, what could he possibly tell us? He was and still is an honest lawman. He’d have never just left, pissed off or not, had he known anything crooked was going on around here!”

  Stringer nodded and said, “He might not have known what he was looking at. Patrolling so much territory, he might have heard or seen things he never added up. I suspect the rascal behind all this otherwise stupid gun play heaved one hell of a sigh of relief when Owens and his lady drove off, too sore to even think straight about a county that had turned on them. Since I can’t ask them, I’ll ask you what Owens was working on when he suddenly found himself out of office and off any cases he was covering. Would you know of any?”

  Addams said, “Let’s go next door for some brain tonic while I ponder that. Right now I’ll be damned if I can recall any important cases within a year or more of the election.”

  They went downstairs and into the Bucket of Blood, where, to no great surprise, they found half the old gents from upstairs enjoying a chance to stay out a mite late for married men on a weeknight.

  As Stringer and Lawyer Addams bellied up to the bar, Addams said, “Nope. It was like I said. I fear poor Pear lost because he just hadn’t been up to anything interesting for a good many years. Civilization caught up with an old-style sheriff even before old age could. Pear would only be about fity right now, wherever the hell he may be tonight.”

  An even older gent from upstairs, standing on the far side of Addams, chimed in with, “Fifty-one. I know because when he was courting that pretty Miss Lizzie a year ago, the womenfolk said it was a scandal for a fifty-year-old man to chase after a gal so young.” He inhaled some more suds before he added, “Womenfolk are like that. When they got their own sights set on such a gent, he’s distinguished. When another gal is getting a gent of substance and property, he’s an old goat.”

  Stringer asked Addams, “What was the last important case your old pal worked on, no matter how far back?”

  Addams frowned and said, “I can’t think of one within the last ten years or more.”

  The windy older man volunteered, “I can. What about the killing of Tom Graham, down Pleasant Valley way?”

  Addams snorted in disgust and said, “Oh, for God’s sake, that was back in ’92, and outside Pear’s jurisdiction to begin with.”

  The older man said, “It was still mysterious as hell, and you know Pear never worried about jurisdiction. Didn’t he stop the Hash Knife War that time, county lines be damned?”

  Addams rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered, “Now we’re really talking ancient history, Pete. That labor dispute was way back in ’87. I know because I rode with old Pear against more damned drunken Texas cowhands than I ever want to see in one place again! There was nothing mysterious about the Hash Knife War, damn it. The Aztec Land and Cattle Company wanted to cut down on overhead, when the beef boom busted, by laying off some riders. Said riders took the position that if they were out of work, the outfit was out of business. Most of the raiding and bushwacking took place south of the county line. When some of it spilled over into Pear’s county, we saddled up and rode down to put a stop to the nonsense. That’s all there was to it. We just busted a few heads and mayhaps strung a few cow thieves up, unofficial, and things got peaceful as hell. The outfit is still in business, down in the Tonto Basin. Any purloined beef we let get away has long since arrived in the heavenly pastures of long-dead cows.”

  Stringer caught the barkeep’s eye and held up two fingers as he said, “I know all about the Hash Knife War. I once wrote a feature on it. Let’s get back to that more recent killing of… what did you say his name was?”

  Old Pete, if that was his name, said, “Tom Graham. Some said at the time it was Pear hisself who blew old Tom away. But I never bought that. Pear was too decent a lawman to do a thing like that, even if I did vote against him last time.”

  The barkeep slid two shot glasses of rye with beer chasers across the bar to Stringer. He didn’t care. It was obvious Addams drank here more often. Stringer took a polite sip of unasked-for rye, washed it down with beer, and asked old Pete how come anyone might have suspected Sheriff Owens of gunning a suspect so informal.

  Addams protested, “He never, and it was way back in ’92, damn it!”

  Old Pete said, “Was it that long ago? Lord have mercy, how time do fly once a man gets my age. I never said Pear done it. The reason some said he might have was that even earlier he’d run Tom Graham and all the others out of Pleasant Valley. You’ve heard of the Pleasant Valley War, haven’t you, Son?”

  Stringer nodded and said, “The name rings a bell. I can’t say I was there. You say Sheriff Owens was mixed up in that one as well?”

  Old Pete cackled and declared, “Mixed up in it, hell, he put an end to it by running off both sides.”

  Addams said, “I told him I’d just sit that one out when he tore off across county lines again. So I don’t know much about that fuss.”

  Old Pete said, “I do. It was a feud between the Tewksbury clan and the Grahams. The Tewksbury clan was half-bred sheep men. The Grahams was cow, and just as ornery. They shot hell out of each other and everyone else they could get a bead on until old Pear decided that if the sissy Mormon sheriff down that way wouldn’t stop ’em, somebody had to. So he did. I was one of the very few deputies he took along, and Lord did we have fun. Old Pear read the riot act to both sides, and then we was free to gun anyone on either side who broke the peace after that. It was in all the papers. There was some stink about Pear’s rough and ready views on simple justice. But he just went ahead and done what was just, until both outlaw clans had been wiped out or drove off. Some of the wiping took place right here in Holbrook. So I reckon that shows whether Pear had jurisdiction or not. He shot it out with the Blevins boys just outside of town. He’d already shot their old man, and so they was sore at him as well as fighting for the Graham faction. Lord, what a mess old Pear made of that cabin they was holed up in. He nailed four of ’em. One lived to go straight. Old Pear was good at reforming wayward boys.”

  The old timer wet his whistle with more beer and continued, “That was about the end of the Pleasant Valley War. The disputed range stood empty quite a spell. Then Tom Graham wandered back to round up the herd he’d left behind in his haste to get out of Pear’s range, and six weeks later he was found dead as a cow turd down in Pleasant Valley. Lord have mercy, was it really back in ‘92? Seems like yesterday.”

  Lawyer Addams said, “Speak for yourself, Pete. Like I said, that’s ancient history. I helped Pear win many an election after that, and not even the infernal Republicans ever brought the old fuss up again.”

  Stringer asked, “Who wound up with all that range, if both the sheep men and cow men were run off by Sheriff Owens?”

  Addams signaled the barkeep for another round, including old Pete, before he said, “I’ve no idea. I guess we could look it up at the courthouse tomorrow, if you think it’s important.”

  Old Pete said, “I know who owns Pleasant Valley now. Nobody. Neither side never claimed Pleasant Valley formal. They wasn’t formal types. Old John Tewksbury never really married that squaw he bred all them ferocious sheepherding sons with, and the Graham brothers wasn’t ones of formal papers neither. That was what made things so lively down that way. Both clans held their land, overlapping, by old fashioned gun law. Or they did before more regular law, in the person of Pear Owens, caught up with ’em.”

  Stringer frowned and said, “You mean all that range, a range worth fighting over, is still just there, unclaimed?”

  Old Pete nodded and said, “Some say it’s haunted too. I takes that with a grain of salt though. It wasn’t no haunt as put that rifle ball in old Tom Graham. The stories about spooky lights and such are likely just superstition. You know how Indians and Mexic
ans are about places where blood’s been spilt.”

  Addams snorted in disgust and said, “I can tell you why that old battleground lies empty today. Most of Arizona is still empty and unclaimed. Speaking as a lawyer, I’d advise anyone out to settle in these parts to avoid parts that have been settled in the past by anyone. Why risk a disputed claim when there’s so much wide open space to file on, starting fresh?”

  Stringer said, “I wouldn’t know. What’s that deserted range like?”

  Addams said, “Ride a mile outside of town in the morning. This whole area is marginal range, where it isn’t pure desert.”

  Old Pete shook his head and said, “You wasn’t riding with us, W.R. They never named that valley Pleasant because it was ugly. There’s plenty of grass, and even firewood, along Cherry Creek. That’s a creek as runs the whole length of the valley all year. It was and is good range. But your point that it ain’t the only such range is well taken. I reckon between its distance from the rail line and its nasty reputation, it’s just been left the way it was because nobody’s been ambitious enough to bother.”

  Stringer said, “I’d like to take a look at that old battleground. Is it far from here?”

  They both nodded and Addams said, “Too far for a casual stroll. I make it a good fifty miles, wouldn’t you, Pete?”

  The older man nodded and said, “Fifty at least, with a lot of mighty rugged country between. Nobody could walk her this time of the year. A man would have enough of a chore getting down there with a pony and pack mule in, say, three or more days of mighty serious riding. The trail winds about, getting over some rimrock and a hell of a lot of white-hot sand. I’d forget it if I was you, son. It’s a long rugged ride at any time of the year, and a total bitch in high summer. Worse yet, there’s nothing much there when you get there, unless you believe in haunts.”

  Stringer smiled thinly and said, “I used to like to explore haunted houses when I was a kid.”