Lawmaster (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 5)

by Jack Martin

  ‘No,’ Jessie shook her head and looked up and down the street. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Clem Bowden’s in town.’

  Jessie nodded. ‘I know.’ Even now she could see several of his men milling about outside the jailhouse. They didn’t appear to be taking any notice of the old man and schoolteacher and simply slouched against the wall, seemingly in their own little world.

  ‘He’s up to something,’ Em said. ‘He’s holed himself up in the jailhouse and I just saw two of the big shots from the cattle company go in there. Don’t like the smell of this one little bit.’

  ‘What do you think it all means?’ Jessie asked, leaning closer to the old man, she cast her eyes across the street but Bowden’s men were still in their own world.

  ‘Don’t rightly know,’ Em said. ‘I’m not kin to the mind of a rattlesnake. But I wager it ain’t going to be good news.’

  Jessie didn’t know what the purpose of this conversation was but she trusted the old man. He and Cole had been close friends for a many years and he had stood beside him, been willing to fight by his side against the Bowden crew, which counted for a lot.

  Especially as he was the only one in town who had offered a single iota of support to the sheriff.

  ‘I’ve got to go back inside,’ Jessie said, hearing the children start up again. The more bold of her students had their noses pressed up against the window, trying to see what was going on.

  ‘Come over to my place after school. We’ll talk then.’ She said.

  That seemed to please the old man. He nodded. ‘Reckon I’ll hang around outside here for now,’ he said. ‘Make sure none of Bowden’s lot come over and bother you.’

  Jessie smiled. ‘Thank you.’ She went back inside to calm the children who having taken advantage of her absence were now making more noise than a buffalo stampede.

  ~*~

  Sam Bowden was seething.

  He had arrived in town over an hour ago and had gone straight into the jailhouse to see his father. But the old man had been busy with two men from the cattle company and had promptly ordered him to wait outside, he would be summoned when he was ready for him.

  Sam hated the way the old man would often belittle him like that in front of others, treating him like he was still a buck toothed kid.

  ‘Treats me like I was five years old sometimes.’ Sam complained but none of the men, being more than a little customary to his rants, paid him any notice. He jumped off the boardwalk and kicked up dust.

  One of these days he was going to show his father what kind of a man he really was.

  A further hour passed before the two businessmen left the jailhouse and Sam was summoned in to see his father. He watched the two men cross the street, annoyed that they had ignored him as they left, and then went inside and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Father I—’ Sam but his words trailed off to nothing as his father tossed a tin star at him. He caught it and turned it over and over in his hand as if it were hot to the touch.

  ‘Put it on.’ The old man said.

  Sam looked first at the badge and then at his father. ‘What?’

  ‘You think you’re a man, son?’

  Sam looked at his father. ‘I’m nigh on thirty, pa.’

  ‘I don’t mean in years, son.’ Clem Bowden reclined in his chair and smiled. ‘I mean in here.’ He tapped a hand against his chest. ‘Where it counts.’

  Sam stared at the badge, unsure of what was going on . ‘I’m a man.’ He said.

  ‘I don’t think you are. I think you’re somewhere between grass and hay.’ Clem said and stood up, hands behind his head, he arched his back to work out a few kinks. ‘But now the time to become a man so put the badge on. Or are you deaf as well as stupid?’

  Sam pinned the star to his chest. ‘What’s this mean?’

  ‘It means you’re now sheriff.’ Clem said.

  ‘Sheriff!’ Sam grinned. He didn’t know what kind of joke the old man was trying to pull. ‘You’re sassing me.’

  ‘No sass.’ Clem said, his voice firmer. ‘You’ve been voted and seconded by two highly respected members of the cattle company. This is an emergency situation and it is within the town’s powers to elect a lawman without the usual rigmarole.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘There’s no better choice.’ Clem said, ignoring his son’s protests. ‘Cole Masters framed you for cutting up that whore and when things didn’t go his own way he shot the man who replaced him as sheriff. You’re going to bring him in, dead,’ a long pause before Clem added: ‘Not alive.’

  Sam could see what his father was getting at and he had to agree it sounded a solid plan. With Masters dead they could paint events any which way they wanted. With enough witnesses the judge would think Masters had been a rogue sheriff. But how the hell he was supposed to take Cole Masters down was beyond him. Each and every time they had clashed heads in the past it had been he that had ended up behind bars, cooling it off in the jailhouse.

  Cole Masters was many things but he was no pushover.

  ‘You’ll raise a posse and go after Masters.’ Clem said. ‘I’ve sent for two men to go with you and ensure Master’s dies.’

  ‘Men? What men?’

  ‘Let’s just say they help me out from time to time.’ Clem said. ‘I’ve used them before when I’ve found myself in a tricky situation. They’ll be here by dawn and you’ll leave directly.’

  Sam nodded. He knew of the men his father spoke. He’d never met them as such but he was well aware of how his father dealt with his enemies. In the past he had seen men ride into the ranch and spend hours in the office with his father before vanishing to carry out whatever orders they had received. Nothing would ever be mentioned of their visits and this was the first time he had ever heard his father actually talk of them.

  ‘I’ll get Masters.’ Sam said, bravado evident in his voice.

  The plan was simple but beautiful in its brilliance. When the judge arrived for Sam’s trial he would find the accused now the sheriff. And not only that but the hero who had gunned down the mad dog Masters, a man who had not only shot Steve McCraw, the man who had replaced him as sheriff, in cold blood but also the real perpetrator of the whore killing.

  Cole Masters had slaughtered the whore and had tried to set him (Sam) up for the fall.

  ‘You’ll be there at least.’ Clem said.

  Sam ignored the implication in his father’s words and he looked at the badge on his chest. He paced the office and stared at the cells where only a day ago he had been imprisoned awaiting the arrival of the judge.

  Funny how things worked out.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Clem said, shortly, his voice taking on a harder edge. ‘You make sure you pay mind to these men. Do what they tell you.’

  ‘I’ll be leading the posse?’ Sam said, his inflection making it a question.

  Clem ignored him and said: ‘They won’t take orders from you but they’ll do what I tell them. They’ll kill Masters and you can take the credit.’

  ‘I’m the sheriff, though.’ Sam reminded his father. ‘Surely I’ll be leading any posse that goes after Masters.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Clem said. ‘For once use the brains you were born with. You’re sheriff in name only because it suits our purpose. But when this is all over, when the judge has gone satisfied that justice has been done, we’ll have a long overdue talk.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Sam said. At that moment he resented his father more than ever but he was smart enough to know that he had to go along with the plan. And he had to give the old man credit; it was a good plan.

  A damn good plan.

  Chapter Eight

  Cole was careful not to skyline himself as he steered his horse up into the mountains. He felt sure that by now Bowden would have men out looking for him and he was determined to find somewhere safe to hide while he perfected each and every detail of his plan of attack.

  He needed to stay hidden for a few days before the stage carrying
the judge arrived. And he was hoping the Bowden’s would think he had skipped town with his tail between his legs after their showdown. They were in for a shock and Cole had justified to himself the reasons for his lack of any fight yesterday afternoon. He’d had other people to consider before himself and all shame of removing his badge had been replaced by a fiercely burning anger.

  Riding back into Squaw with the stagecoach would be risky, and possible could provoke a further gunfight, but it was the only way Cole could think of bringing things to a head and seeing justice done.

  Cole of course had killed the sheriff. The fact that the man had been rotten and only wore the star to serve Bowden’s purpose and ensure his son got away with a murder charge would be neither here nor there. Technically he was an outlaw, wanted for the murder of a lawman, a hanging offence. The fact that only hours before he himself had been sheriff would count for nothing. No doubt Bowden would tell it so it looked like he (Cole) had been bitter at losing his job to the other man and had sought revenge with the gun.

  That wasn’t how it had been and Cole was going to make the law see that. As far as he was concerned he was still the sheriff of Squaw and he had killed the pretender in a fair fight. He never enjoyed killing and wouldn’t unless there was no other way.

  Steve McCraw had gone for his gun first, it was he who had pushed the situation the way it had gone.

  He thumbed tobacco into his pipe as he rode and soon had a smoke burning away nicely. It still smarted to hold the pipe between his teeth but he ignored the pain, figured it was a minor inconvenience given that the man who had almost shattered his jaw was in a whole worse state. He guessed he could put up with his aches and pains, which were far preferable to pushing up daisies in Boot Hill.

  Cole knew the country well and he enjoyed the irony in the fact that the land he now rode upon and planned to hide out in was part of the sprawling Bowden ranch. He continued to push the horse higher into the mountains, knowing the further he went the less likelihood there would be of him being found. He was careful to keep out of view of anyone in the plains below that stretched out to an impossibly distant horizon. He guessed he was being overcautious but it was clear that Clem Bowden would want him out of the way before he could contest whatever version of events he had dreamed up. And now with Cole, effectively on the run, the rancher had his best opportunity to kill him without fear of legal reprisals.

  Cole cursed the day he had first set eyes on the Bowdens.

  Sam Bowden had been a thorn in Cole’s side ever since he had arrived in Squaw and took up the post of sheriff. That had been over three years ago and during that time the younger Bowden had come up against him for offences ranging from rowdy behavior to willful damage of public property. Usually as fine would be paid and nothing more said. But this time it had been different. This time there was a body involved, a whore cut up and mutilated. Sam Bowden had been the last one with her and when Cole had tracked him down his shirt was blood stained and his face was scratched and torn where the poor girl had fought back.

  It would have been a simple case, open and closed immediately, were it not for the fact that Clem Bowden was a powerful man with friends in high places, people he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate if it served his purpose.

  This was cattle country and the old man owned most of the water rights for miles around and pretty much had all the big business in town beholden to him in one way or another. He owned a controlling interest in the Squaw Cattle Company, a prosperous firm that held a lucrative contract with the army nearby at Fort Brenner, and the bank he fronted held the papers on a lot of property in both the private and business sector. His power was such that a proposal was currently up before the town council to have Main Street renamed Bowden Avenue. It was a proposal that everyone expected to go through the town committee with no problems. Clem Bowden had, after all, supplied a great deal of the funds to build the town hall and schoolhouse and it was he, above all others, who largely drove the local economy.

  Clem Bowden, it was said, could be a ruthless man. This was a trait he shared with most truly successful businessmen, but he rarely came into town and went about his affairs in a quiet efficient way.

  Samuel Bowden, on the other hand, was a different critter.

  The son hadn’t worked for any of the family wealth, had been born into it, had been over indulged by both his father and late mother, things had come too easy for him. He was used to having life to his own liking and he treated anyone who stood in the way of his enjoyment with contempt. He didn’t care who he stepped on or hurt, just so long as he got what he wanted.

  He relied on his father’s importance to ward off any trouble he found himself in.

  And there had been troubles a ‘plenty.

  Cole had a reached a flat area, a valley between two towering peaks. There was running water and shelter from the sun and so he dismounted and allowed his horse to go over and drink. He had a sack of coffee in his saddlebags, having taken provisions from Jessie’s place before leaving, and he decided that it was safe to set up a fire and camp here for a few hours.

  Nightfall was still some way off and it was now entering the hottest part of the day.

  An expert outdoors man, having spent hard years in the war between the states and longer still as an Indian fighter, he had a fire going within minutes. There was plenty of dead wood around, branches that had snapped from the tress during the storms of winter and now died, the moisture sapped from them, making them perfect for fuel. And the water he had collected from the stream was soon boiling away.

  He poured the coffee into a tin cup and carefully sipped at the bitter liquid.

  Cole suddenly felt hungry and he supposed it made sense to eat now before he rested. He threw a few handfuls of beans into a pot and chewed on a piece of jerky while he waited for the beans to soften.

  Afterwards he felt the need for a little sleep and he judged by the sun’s position that it was somewhere around early evening He’d allow himself a couple of hours and then move on, find a more secure hideout in the caves at the top of Squaw Ridge. He knew the caves well and there was no way anyone would have been able to approach without him seeing them. From the highest peak, near the caves, he would be able to see forever in all directions.

  The Squaw Mountains extended for miles, running clean into the next territory. Many years ago geological pressure had created the continental folds now known as Squaw Mountains. In some areas heat from geological forces had created formations of crystal and novaculite. The latter being a rock that was only ever found here and in the mountains of Northern Arkansas and had a ethereal greenish tinge when the sun struck it in a certain way. Deep cavernous caves, like arteries, ran through the mountains, many too deep to be explored.

  The horse was chewing on grass and Cole tethered it to a tree before removing his bedroll and lying down, his gun in his hand and almost instantly went into a deep sleep.

  Long ago during his army days Cole had learned to sleep whenever and wherever he got the chance. Sometimes a man never knew when the next opportunity would come and it was important to catch what a man could. A rested mind stayed alert and in certain situations a wandering concentration, dimmed from fatigue, could prove fatal.

  ~*~

  Em mouthed the last of the potatoes and used a large piece of bread to mop at the gravy. By the time he had finished and sat back in his chair his plate looked as if it had been licked clean by a ravenous dog.

  ‘Thank you, most kindly.’ He said and rubbed his stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time had had eaten so well. Or, for that matter, the last time he had eaten a woman’s cooking, a real home cooked meal. He tended to fend for himself a lot and the most extravagant dish he could manage was beef stew. And that usually turned out runny and left a person hungry even after consuming gallons of the tasteless liquid. Not like this stuff that stuck to a person’s ribs and filled the belly.

  ‘You’re very welcome.’ Jessie said and collected the dishes and t
ook them over to the stone sink. She placed a large pan of water on the stove to boil and started about preparing some coffee.

  ‘You can smoke if you so wish.’ She said.

  ‘Don’t partake in that particular vice,’ Em said and bit off a chunk of chewing tobacco from his ever present plug.

  Jessie considered chewing tobacco, which turned a person’s teeth yellow and gave their breath an unpleasant earthy scent, an equally undesirable vice but she said nothing. It was funny but Cole’s pipe smoke had always annoyed her and yet she would have given anything right now to smell the pungent pipe smoke drifting through the room. She smiled and for a moment closed her eyes as she remembered Cole’s customary after dinner smoke.

  ‘Never thought I’d miss a man smoking?’ She said as much to herself as the old man.

  ‘You worried about Cole?’ Em asked and leaned back in his chair. He patted his stomach in contentment.

  Jessie was surprised at how perceptive the old man could be and she nodded while she took the now boiling pan from the stove and made the coffee. She took a cup over to the old man and handed it to him.

  ‘Yes.’ She said, sitting herself down in the soft chair besides the stove. ‘I can’t think of anything else. I’m worrying myself sick.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Em said. ‘He’s doing the right thing. If I know Cole he’s got every single detail worked out. It’s in his nature to be careful. Never did know a man so careful.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes,’ Em said. ‘If he stayed in town then the Bowden’s would keep on pushing him until he snapped. With the judge coming to town they’d want Cole out of the way. Cole is the one man who could still put Sam Bowden behind bars and Clem’ll do anything to save his rotten son.’

  ‘If that was the case,’ Jessie said. ‘Then why didn’t they just shoot him the other day instead of humiliating him so? They had him hopelessly outnumbered as well as outgunned.’

  ‘Too many folk about to see it,’ Em said. He had no doubt that Clem Bowden would want Cole dead before the judge arrived and would have liked nothing better than shooting him dead. ‘They’ll try to get him on his own. When there was no-one about to contradict whatever wild story they came up with.’