The Taylor County War

by Ford Fargo

  “I see,” Sam replied. “You’re a visionary.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, visionaries bore me, almost as much as cows do. I’m a practical man, Mister Rogers.”

  “Then I’ll cut to the chase. Before I do any of those things, I have to consolidate my power right here in Taylor County. I need to buy out the competition, and those I can’t buy I need to run out. I’ve been buying up the small places already, here and there, but Breedlove and Hartman are thorns in my side –them, and even more so that old walrus Sparkman. But he’s too big for me to tackle head on just yet. They’re not.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “I’ve been asking around, marshal,” Rogers said. “I’ve been asking, and listening, and watching. And I’ve figured some things out myself, about you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, you’re either in Dab Henry’s pocket, or you’re in Ira Breedlove’s pocket. Or you’re in both.”

  It was Sam’s eyes that narrowed in anger this time. “I don’t take well to talk like that, mister. You’d better tread soft.”

  “The truth hurts,” Rogers said. “From what I’ve seen, you play them, and the other so-called merchants in this town, against one another and get your cut from all of them. That’s your business, and it’s what lawmen do, so it’s of no concern for me. My concern is what I can get from you –because before too long, my money’s going to be worth more than any of theirs. If it’s not already.”

  “You’re making me mad, but at least you’re getting to the point. Go on.”

  “This is where your jurisdiction comes in. Dab Henry may be the mayor, but when you go below South Street, in the part of town they call Dogleg City around here, it’s Ira Breedlove that has most of the power. And he likes to throw it around.”

  “I guess you could put it that way,” Sam said.

  “Well,” Rogers continued, “his old man Tobias is in my way. I’ve tried to buy him out and he won’t hear of it, even though that ranch of his is falling down around his ears. So I’m going to have to remove him, and when I do that I remove people hard. All that is outside the city limits, but it’ll mean Ira Breedlove will be my enemy right here in Wolf Creek. He’d make a powerful enemy, and I can’t afford any of those nipping at my heels.”

  Sam had not been enjoying the conversation from the beginning, but he was beginning to dislike it more. He knew where it was leading.

  “And that’s where I come in, I suppose,” Sam said.

  “Of course,” Rogers said. “I’m not suggesting anything drastic, mind you. But if you were to suddenly take an interest in Breedlove’s illicit activities, crack down on him a little –maybe even show him the inside of the jail for a day or two –he’d be too preoccupied to interfere with my plans for his old man and the T-Bar-B.”

  “I seriously doubt Ira would react well to that kind of behavior from me,” Sam said. “Or from you, for that matter.”

  “At that point,” Rogers said, “I suppose we’d have to do something drastic, after all.”

  Sam shook his head in wonderment.

  “You sure as hell don’t ask for much, do you?” the marshal said.

  “You have to broaden your perspective, Marshal Gardner. Look to the future, make an investment. I’m not coming to you with pipe dreams –I’ve been laying a foundation. I told you I’ve bought up a few places in Taylor County –well, I’ve bought out even more small outfits next-door in Ford County. The Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe is laying track west –and I’m going to be re-selling those properties to them at a huge profit. There’s already talk of building a new town out by Fort Dodge –I’m well off now, this time next year I will be an extremely rich man. I’m offering you a chance to hitch onto my wagon, instead of taking a cut off a bunch of penny-ante saloons and bawdy-houses.”

  “You paint a bright picture of the future, indeed,” Sam said. “But none of that is going to help you much if you wind up with Ira Breedlove’s Arkansas toothpick in your gullet in the here and now.”

  “You let me worry about that. I have some pretty tough hands on my place, and I have a lot more coming. You need to be thinking about yourself. That damned buffalo hunter they call a sheriff isn’t going to cooperate with me in the least, he’s made that clear –imagine how much more authority you’d have, and how much more profit, if you wound up with his job.”

  Sam chuckled. “I assume old G. W. told you to stick your rosy dreams where the sun don’t shine.”

  “We didn’t get very far into the conversation at all, he’s nowhere as reasonable –and as practical –as you.”

  “And what if –and I’m just sort of thinking out loud, here –what if I was to tell you to stick them in the same place?”

  “That would be very unfortunate for you, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you think I’d be scared of your gun thugs, Rogers?”

  “Probably not, though you should be. But I have more in my arsenal than that. Fact is, I could spill everything I know about your part in the illegal goings-on in Dogleg City, all the way up to the statehouse.”

  “That wouldn’t cause me more than a little mild discomfort.”

  “I’m not finished,” Rogers said. “In addition to that, I have several private detectives in my employ. They’ve been backtracking you all the way to before the war –are you willing to gamble they won’t find anything in your past that will make that discomfort a little stiffer? Or that they already haven’t?”

  “You do cover all the angles, don’t you,” Sam said. “I’m almost impressed.”

  “If I’m going to make an investment, I have to cover the angles. I’m not just a gambler anymore, I’m a businessman. I’m buying shares in the Santa Fe railroad, and I’m buying shares in you. Because they’re both for sale.”

  Sam felt the angry heat coloring his cheeks. Rogers noticed it, and laughed loudly.

  “I’ll give you a little while to think about it, marshal,” Rogers said, and rose from his chair. “But not very long. I trust you’ll figure out what’s best for you.”

  The cattleman walked out of the office, with neither man offering any goodbyes.

  Sam tilted his chair back and put a booted foot on his desk. His siesta would have to wait. As Rogers had said, he needed to think long and hard and figure out which course was in his best interest.

  And he had to figure out if he was for sale, after all –and if not, why everyone assumed he was.

  ***

  The shadows had begun to lengthen, and Sheriff G. W. Satterlee was about to call it a day. He was sitting on the front porch of the sheriff’s office, his chair tipped back against the wall.

  Sam Gardner approached him. “Evening, G. W.”

  “Howdy, Sam. Pull up a chair.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Sam said, and soon he was leaning back against the wall beside the sheriff.

  Sam fished in his pocket and pulled out a smoke. “Care for a cigar, G. W.?”

  “I would, Sam, but I’m workin’ on a chaw.”

  Sam bit the end off his cigar, then struck a lucifer and puffed deeply until the tip glowed deep red.

  “Smells like a good one,” G. W. said.

  “I do like my smokes.”

  “I hear that Irish deputy of yours clobbered old Dace good today.”

  Sam chuckled. “He did that, all right. Seamus is a good hand, I like him. I still miss Fred, though.”

  “I know what you mean. I miss poor old Spence, too –those Danby bastards robbed us both.”

  “How’s your new boy working out?”

  “Laban? He’ll do, I suppose. He takes some gettin’ used to. A real old-fashioned fire-breathin’ Kansas Free Soiler. He’s worse than that damned Methodist preacher sometimes.”

  Sam snickered. “I always thought Free Soiler was an unfortunate name. Sounds like people with bowel problems.”

  “I never thought about it that way,” G.W. said. “It figures you would, though.”

&nbs
p; “I have a creative mind.”

  “Somethin’ like that.”

  Sam took another deep puff. He tried to blow a smoke ring, but it came out crooked.

  “I got a visit from Taylor County’s newest upstanding citizen today,” the marshal said.

  “Oh? Who’s that?” G. W. asked.

  “Andrew Rogers.”

  “Oh. That weaselly son of a bitch.”

  “You know him.”

  “Just well enough. What did he want with you?”

  “Nothing much. He just asked me to lean on Ira Breedlove, maybe throw him in jail. Maybe shoot him if he gets too froggy –by implication I guess that means I’d also be shooting Preston Vance, Wes Quaid, Rattlesnake Jake, and all the other Wolf’s Den regulars.”

  “Oh,” the sheriff said. “Is that all?”

  “For a start. Then he aims to take over the greater United States, once he gets you out of the way.”

  “I was startin’ to get jealous, I thought he’d forgot about me.”

  “Nope, he has you down solid on his calendar. And of course, if I don’t sign on, he has all manner of nasty things in store for me.” Sam chuckled. “You know, the more I think about it the more I suspect that John Doe who took all week dying from a stab wound under Doc Munro’s care must have been one of Rogers’ gunnies, showing up early. I guess no one told him it pays to be polite to Soo Chow’s boys when you’re in their part of town late at night.”

  “What did you tell Rogers?”

  This time Sam’s smoke ring was perfect. “He very generously gave me some time to think it over. Which I have done.”

  “And?”

  “And, the first thing I thought about was, it chaps my ass that someone would think I’d be a part of such a venture. And chaps it further, to the bleeding point, that they’d believe they could force me to do so if I didn’t come along of my own free will.”

  “That sounds as bad as Free Soiling.”

  Sam didn’t laugh. “I’m serious, George Washington. Sure, I take a cut from the gambling and the whoring. Show me a town marshal that doesn’t. That doesn’t mean my gun is for hire to whoever has the greenbacks to pay me. Hell, I make it plain and clear to Ira, and Dab, and everybody else –I’m here to keep this town running smooth and safe for honest folks. Just because I take a percentage doesn’t mean they own me. For petesake, I take a percentage from Abby Potter, but I that doesn’t mean she can make me service her customers.”

  “Hellfire, Sam, that comment about made me swallow my chaw.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  G. W. nodded. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. Question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Andrew Rogers needs to be taken down a few notches. You need to watch him, and watch him close- he’s doing all he can to stoke up a range war, and he doesn’t care how many people die for him to get what he wants.”

  “That much is plain.”

  “You’re going to have to go after him soon, G. W. And when you do, I’ll be right there with you. Guaranteed.”

  The sheriff nodded. Then he spat out his tobacco.

  “I might take you up on that smoke, Sam,” he said. “And I’ve got a bottle in my desk to wash it down with.”

  “I wondered how damn long I was going to have to sit here, dazzling you with my wit, before it occurred to you to be neighborly.”

  “Go to hell,” G. W. said.

  “I’ll race you,” the marshal replied.

  Sam was a little late starting his rounds that night.

  Chapter Five

  Wesley Quaid leaned the chair back and put his boots on the railing of the Breedlove porch, pushing his hat back on his head. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he took out the makings and began rolling a smoke. This time of the morning just before dawn was his favorite time of the day. Everything was still fresh and unspoiled.

  The shindig at the line shack had soured his stomach. Not that he hadn’t seen his share of violence. He’d fought through the Late Unpleasantness with Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry and was no stranger to bloodletting. Yet when a youngster like Obie Wilkins was killed over something as senseless as the trouble that seemed to be brewing in this country, it left a bad taste behind.

  From all appearances, someone was trying to stir up a range war. And for what?

  Sticking the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, Wesley popped a match into life with his thumbnail and took a deep drag on the smoke.

  Billy Below strode gingerly around the corner from the bunkhouse and nodded as he stepped onto the porch. “Morning, Quaid.”

  “How’s the wound?”

  “Hurts like the blazes, but I’ll be all right.”

  “Should a man need a behind for target practice, would you turn the other cheek?”

  “Ha. Real funny, Quaid.” Billy shook his head and grinned.

  “I like to make folks laugh. What can I say?”

  “I wasn’t laughing.”

  “Seemed to me like you were.”

  Billy grimaced as he eased himself into a chair. “Anyone up yet in there?”

  “I heard Sen Yung moving about in the kitchen, but the food’s not ready yet.” Wesley’s stomach growled.

  “A mite anxious for some grub, ain’t we?” Billy asked.

  “I reckon. I couldn’t eat much last night thinking about that kid.”

  “Obie?”

  “Yeah. Something about this mess don’t set right with me.” Wesley dropped his boots from the railing and ground the cigarette out with the toe of the right one. “I still can’t figure what Eddie Benton’s angle in this is.”

  Billy leaned forward. “Did you hear anything last night?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Something woke me in the middle of the night. Did you get up?”

  “No. I had trouble going to sleep but once I dropped off, I slept like a dead man.”

  “I think it was Benton, but I can’t prove it. When I opened my eyes, he was in his bunk.”

  Wesley frowned and began twirling his long goatee with a thumb and forefinger. “You think he’s going somewhere? Meeting someone?”

  “Could be.” Billy leaned back and cleared his throat.

  “Could be what?” Eddie Benton asked as he stepped around the corner of the house.

  Wesley felt his stomach give a little quiver. How long had the man been standing there? “Billy was just telling me that next time he gets shot in the behind, he might not be so quick to turn the other cheek.”

  “Haw. Haw.”

  Billy rolled his eyes.

  Sen Yung opened the door. “Come eat.”

  “You got coffee?” Wesley asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Have I told you what a fine cook you are?”

  “You get same food everyone else do, Quad.”

  “That’s Quaid, but my friends call me Wes. And anyone that cooks like you is a friend of mine.”

  The Chinaman flashed his pearly white teeth at Wesley and spun on his heel, heading for the kitchen.

  Tobias stood up from his position at the head of the table when the men tromped into the dining room. After everyone was seated, the old man said grace.

  Without a word, Wesley dug into the piles of food. Sitting down to a spread like this was something he could get used to. Not that he’d wanted to punch cows for a living.

  He lost count of the bacon strips he consumed, but he ate six fried eggs and mopped up the yoke with sourdough biscuits, washing it all down with scalding black coffee.

  Finally, he pushed his chair back from the table. “That’s some mighty fine eating, Mr. Breedlove.”

  The old man had shaved off his growth of white chin whiskers and appeared several years younger as a result. He cleared his throat and glanced around the table, eyeing each man in turn. “We’re riding over to the east range today.”

  Wesley raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. The eastern section of the Breedlove T-Bar-B ranch butted up right next to the
Rolling R of Andrew Rogers. The schoolteacher, Marcus Sublette, had filled everyone in on what Rogers had said just before he and his men had vacated the premises at the line shack as the Breedlove riders were arriving.

  Eddie Benton swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “You sure that’s wise?”

  “What do you know about my range, Eddie? Seeing as how you’re new in these parts.”

  Eddie lowered his eyes to the table. “I just hear talk on the grub line, is all.”

  “Well, you’re riding for me now, so you’ll ride where I tell you.” He cast his iron gaze at Wesley. “You got any problem with that?”

  “No, sir.” Wesley sipped at his coffee but held Breedlove’s gaze over the rim of his cup. “You take a man’s money for a job, you do what he tells you.”

  The old man nodded and looked at Billy. “Get the horses saddled. We’ll ride as soon as I visit the outhouse.”

  “Yes, sir.” Billy shoved his chair away from the table and clamped his hat down onto his head.

  “I’ll give you a hand, Billy,” Wesley said.

  They strode away, leaving Eddie at the table stuffing his face.

  ***

  The sun was just edging up over the horizon when they rode away from the ranch. Something akin to worry settled itself in Wesley’s gut. In the light of the morning sun, he studied Eddie Benton’s face. Something about the man seemed to strike a chord in his memory, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Where had he seen the man before?

  “Any critters we come across, start them back toward the house,” Tobias said. “We’ll push them toward the west range later on.”

  “Billy was telling me last night that range has been grazed down,” Eddie said.

  Tobias eyed Eddie for a time before speaking. “You let me worry about that.”

  “Yes, sir.” Eddie slowed his horse, dropping to the rear.