Vigilance Committee War

by Bill Sheehy

  ‘Yes,’ he said sitting down, ‘I’m Buck Armstrong and this is my partner, Louie Lewis. And yes, we’re the men they hired. Guess if anyone in town can tell us anything about this Vigilance Committee it’d be you.’

  ‘Naw, there’s not much I can tell you. Except they’ve been damn busy. Whoever they are, there’s been six or seven men stretched and left hanging. Now mostly people wouldn’t care too much, if all of them were really rustlers. But in at least one case it don’t seem likely.’

  ‘What made that one questionable?’

  ‘The fella hung up had come into town a few days earlier. Got hisself a room at the hotel even. Didn’t say much to anyone, was last seen riding out. Minding his own business. Didn’t come back and when a couple kids came busting in yelling and carrying on it was clear why. They had spotted him hanging from a tree limb beside the road. Scared ’em a mite, I’d say.’

  ‘And the Committee had pinned a sign on him?’

  ‘Sure did. Don’t know how they came by the idea, but it didn’t seem to matter.’

  Buck sipped the coffee. The sheriff was right, it was drinkable, but only barely. ‘And the others? Were they all for sure rustlers?’

  ‘No way of knowing, is there? Unless you catch them in the act of changing brands or running off someone’s cattle there ain’t too many ways to prove they’re outlaws. But in each case, excepting the one, the hanging took place close by where cattle were.’

  ‘We’ve been told there are two big ranches and a few smaller spreads in this part of the territory. Could anyone from these places be part of this Committee?’

  ‘Again, don’t know for sure. It’s likely. I mean not everyone is against what that bunch is doing. Some folks think it’s a good thing. The ranches are what keeps Auburn alive so anything that hurts the ranches, hurts the town.’

  Buck tried to think of questions he could ask in order to get a place to start.

  ‘What caused this Vigilance Committee to start in? Has there been an increase in rustling in this area?’

  ‘Can’t say what’s behind it. And from what I hear not all the ranches are suffering from any rustling, either. I’d guess the Frying Pan and Runkle’s are the big losers but then most of their cattle are spread out on the open range. Seems to me with only a few roving hands to protect them they’d be most likely the ones to show up missing stock. But I’m just a small-town lawman. I don’t know too much about such things.’

  Louie had been listening. ‘Yes, your mayor warned us not everyone wants to see the Committee stopped. But having the hangings reported in the newspapers is not good for the territory. Something to do with statehood.’

  ‘Uh huh. That there’s something fairly new for Auburn, and for the territory itself. The push to become a state. Both the idea of statehood and the Vigilance Committee. All coming at about the same time. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

  Chapter 6

  Buck’s first opinion on the town lawman was slowly changing. Sheriff McDonald wasn’t the sleepy, bluff kind of man simply holding down a do-nothing job as he first appeared to be.

  Sitting behind the desk it was difficult to see much about him, except for the rounded shoulders and broad chest. Buck figured him to be about fifty and probably overweight. Again it was hard to tell, the sheriff’s black leather vest worn over a denim blue shirt pretty well hid things. The skin from his neck up looked evenly tanned, and being mostly bald, there was a lot of skin to see. A frizzy hedge of thin grey hair circled above his ears.

  It was the man’s eyes that told the most; clear, blue eyes with a steady gaze as he talked about the vigilantes.

  ‘One of the most vocal of the ranchers is Fitzwalter. Henry Raymond Fitzwalter. He’s a funny duck. Has a piece of range out at the foot of the Waller Mountains. That’s what the mountains over east of here are called. The Wallers aren’t all that high but they make a clear boundary between our side of the territory and the more populated side. Now over there is where folks have more problems. That’s the main reason, I’d say, we don’t see much of the federal marshal; he’s busy trying to keep the peace.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Louie. ‘How come there’s so much law trouble over there?’

  ‘Well, first off the territorial governor is there and that means all the territorial government. But the real problem is caused by outlaws and other low-class baddies escaping Texas and Oklahoma. Too many running for safety in the territory after committing crimes. We haven’t the big banks carrying lots of money like in those places. Now here, in our little town, I’m able to keep a pretty good handle on things, but that only makes it possible for gangs like this Vigilance Committee to be possible. Or as some think, necessary.’

  ‘The Vigilance Committee,’ said Buck, wanting to get back to it, ‘who else would you say are supporting them? Other ranchers than this Fitzwalter you mentioned?’

  ‘Well, Runkle says he has the men to protect his interests and don’t need or want any bunch of vigilantes running around. Jacobson, he isn’t so sure the Committee isn’t a good thing. He don’t talk much and I don’t know if he’s losing stock to rustlers. No, the main one applauding the vigilantes would be Fitz.’

  ‘What kind of spread does he have?’ asked Buck.

  ‘Well, he supplies horses for the big boys. Got himself a section when the homesteader who filed on the land was shot. Nate Price was his name. Set himself up, built a pretty good little operation raising horses and breaking them to saddle. About a year, or maybe two, um, yeah, two years ago his body was found. He’d been shot in the back. I went out and looked around. Couldn’t find anything and nobody was ever charged. Anyway a short time later Fitz came in, looked the place over and bought the 160 acres from the government. Paid twenty dollars an acre, he did.

  ‘Hired himself a foreman and a couple hands and went back to dealing with horses. Stays pretty much to himself out there. Don’t come into town much. But has made his feelings about the vigilantes clear.’

  Thinking about it, Buck finally nodded. Standing up, he reached across to shake the sheriff’s hand. ‘Well, Sheriff,’ he said, ‘I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us. I do thank you for your time and we’ll keep you informed if we do find anything worthwhile.’

  Starting for the door, he stopped and turned back. ‘You say the federal marshal doesn’t come over very often. How often is that?’

  Sheriff McDonald chuckled. ‘Only as often as I telegraph him, yelling for help. Which means not often.’

  Buck smiled and went out. Thinking about what the sheriff had told them, Buck and Louie decided to go have a beer and talk.

  The same bartender was behind the long bar, still polishing glasses. Looking up as the two men came through the doors, he frowned.

  ‘There ain’t no one in here today for you to chase out. I certainly hope that isn’t going to happen often. It ain’t like there’s so many customers coming in I can afford to lose even one.’

  Buck laughed. ‘Nope. We’re here this afternoon as customers. Just a nice quiet beer nearing the end of a hard working day.’

  Sitting at one of the smaller tables with a pitcher of beer in front of them, they relaxed.

  ‘Guess the next thing,’ said Buck after sipping his beer, ‘is to go over to the hotel and get a room. I don’t know what we’ve accomplished since riding into town but I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep.’

  Louie nodded. ‘And another meal one of us don’t have to cook. But do you think we learned anything worthwhile today? I mean other than having that beautiful young woman try to run us down out in the street?’

  Buck chuckled. ‘I don’t know. Nobody seems to have any idea who is part of this so-called Committee. What interests me is how there are folks against them and others in favour of what they’re doing. You’d think everybody would be up in arms about a gang going around hanging men, without having a trial even. And apparently, in a couple cases, possibly not actual rustlers.’

  Their talk halted wh
en a man came striding into the long room. Looking over at the newcomer, Buck frowned. There was something familiar about the man.

  For a moment the man stood letting his eyes adjust as he scanned the room. Not giving the bartender more than a glance, he focused directly on the two sitting to one side. There was no expression on his face as he seemed to study Buck and Louie. Then nodding as if in agreement he strode with almost military precision to their table.

  ‘Buck Armstrong and Louie Lewis. You’re just who I’m looking for,’ said the man, standing unsmiling, looking down at the pair. ‘My name is Yarberry, Harry Yarberry. I’ve been hired to stop you.’ Holding up a hand to halt either man from reacting he quickly went on. ‘Understand me, there is nothing personal in this. Just like you I’m merely doing what I am paid to do. About the vigilantes, I don’t care one way or another. Probably best to just let things work themselves out. And I’ve got nothing against either of you. My job is to stop you from meddling. Now this is the only warning you’ll get. Ride out now and that’ll be the end of it. Go on with what you’re doing and I’ll kill you. Both of you.’

  Making eye contact with each man one at a time, Yarberry nodded, turned and as if on a parade ground, marched out the door.

  Chapter 7

  There was a silence, somehow thick and still, in the saloon after the man had gone. Finally after a long moment, Louie broke the quiet.

  ‘Did that really happen? We just sat there and let him tell us he was going to kill us?’

  Buck nodded. ‘Yeah. I guess he did. Kinda caught us unexpectedly, didn’t he?’

  ‘I’ll say. Yarberry. You know, I somehow . . . it’s almost like I’d heard it before. Yarberry.’

  ‘Harry Yarberry,’ said Buck, frowning. ‘It was probably before you joined the Rangers. I’d only been wearing the star myself a short time. But even then, stories of Harry Yarberry was being told. Likely that’s why the name is almost familiar to you.’

  ‘Maybe so. He’s a cold-looking dude, isn’t he?’

  ‘A killer. Got him kicked out of the Rangers, his willingness to kill people. Not much was ever proved, though. Even though most everybody knew what’d happened.’

  ‘What did happen?’ asked the bartender standing as close as he could but still remain behind the bar. ‘That fella didn’t look one way or the other, just came in and walked over to you and, bang. Said his piece and walked out. Not a care in the world. You knew him?’

  Buck glanced over at the barkeep and nodded. ‘I probably met him at one time or another. It’d be when I was pretty new and was still learning about being a Texas Ranger. The stories floating around later were everywhere. Seemed everyone had something to say about the man. I don’t know. I was busy thinking about other things. That’d be about when the war with Mexico ended. Or soon after. About that time the US government was making Texas a full and official state. There was some rush to get it done. Probably had something to do with the slave issue. I wasn’t paying much attention.’

  ‘He got kicked out, though?’ the bartender asked.

  ‘Yeah. He was formally discharged from the Rangers after being suspected of shooting another fellow, Thomas Wilton by name. Yarberry had been taken into custody but the judge had to release him when the only witness to the shooting, Wilton’s wife, declined to testify. As soon as Yarberry was let go he left that part of the state. That’d be down in Jack County, Texas. Yup, left behind the widow Wilton he did. Boy, was she mad. When she heard he was gone the widow hurried down to the marshal and claimed she’d been wrong. Said Yarberry had shot her husband and she wanted him arrested and retried in court.’

  ‘Well, was he?’ asked Louie, taken up by the story.

  ‘No. As the man was gone from Texas nothing was done.’

  ‘And now,’ said Louie, ‘he’s here in Auburn, threatening to kill us.’

  ‘Uh huh. Seems that’s what he’s become, a paid killer.’

  The bartender, wiping one spot on the bar, didn’t want the story to end. ‘He must have some history. What’d he do after leaving the Rangers?’

  ‘Well, from what I heard he settled for a time up in Texarkana, Arkansas. Killed a man there. Guess he thought the fellow was a bounty hunter.’

  ‘Was there a bounty on him?’ asked Louie.

  Buck chuckled. ‘Uh huh. Two hundred dollars. It’d been put up by Marie Wilton, widow of Thomas Wilton. After shooting the man in Arkansas, Yarberry was next heard of in Decatur, Texas. He bought into a saloon there. However when a bounty hunter came to Decatur and started asking questions, Yarberry sold out and left town. It was a couple days later the bounty hunter’s body was found just outside of town, shot dead.

  ‘Story goes Yarberry went north and met up with a fellow named Johnny Preston. They opened a saloon in Las Vegas, New Mexico. About a year later the bartender shot and wounded Preston. Yarberry, said to be handy with a pistol, shot and killed the bartender. Well, he figured he’d better travel so he sold out to his partner, Preston, who was healing. Moving on he ran a brothel for a while, I forget where exactly, but left when they suspected he’d killed a man named John Morgan. That shooting was over a prostitute, according to the story I heard.’

  ‘A killer for sure,’ said the bartender, still wiping the bar.

  ‘Yeah. He sold his share in the brothel and moved back to New Mexico. That’s where his former partner, John Preston, still lived. Well, as it turned out Johnny caught Yarberry in bed with his wife, Sadie. Both men fired but Johnny missed. Yarberry didn’t and Johnny was wounded again. The town sheriff tried to arrest Yarberry over that shooting but he’d disappeared leaving behind Sadie and Johnny, who died a short time later.’

  ‘Lordy me,’ said the bartender, ‘is that when he started selling his gun?’

  ‘I guess. Seems I heard he was hiring himself out for as little as $150.’

  ‘Damn,’ exclaimed Louie, ‘I’d like to think either one of us was worth more than that.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem enough, does it? Someone certainly got a bargain. I got to wonder though, who hired him? Who don’t want us doing what we’re supposed to do?’

  The bartender shook his head in disgust. ‘You fellas live too dangerous a life for me. Think I’ll just go on pouring whiskey and beer for y’all. A lot safer. Want another beer?’

  ‘Well, barkeep,’ said Louie, chuckling, ‘I for one like all the fresh air I get doing what we do. It’s what keeps us healthy. OK, Buck,’ he turned to his partner, ‘where do you reckon we go from here?’

  ‘We have to know more about things. Let’s go get that room, then have supper. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to go asking questions. I suspect the best thing to do will be to find the mayor, see what he can tell us.’

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs washed down with a pot of fresh boiled coffee, the two men set out to find more information about the local Vigilance Committee.

  ‘I reckon the place to start,’ said Buck, dropping a few coins on the table in the restaurant, ‘will be with the mayor. He’s the one who’s going to end up paying us.’

  Louie carefully wiped his hands on a napkin before using them to settle his Stetson just so. ‘Seems likely,’ he said, ‘being mayor he’d know more what’s going on than the barber or even the bartender.’

  Buck started to nod in agreement but stopped. ‘You know, there is one person who might know even more than anyone. I plumb forgot about the owner of the local newspaper.’

  The newspaper office was around the corner from the hotel. Stepping in, the two were assailed by the odd odour.

  ‘What’s that? Something crawled under the floor and died?’ Louie asked, turning up his nose.

  ‘No sir,’ came an answer from behind the counter that ran across the room. A young man wearing an ink-stained apron over an equally ink-stained shirt came up like a child’s jack-in-the-box toy. ‘It’s just carbon black and a little linseed oil,’ explained the man, his face lit by a big
smile. ‘Got a smell but hang around a while and you’ll get used to it. Now then, what can I do for you two gentlemen?’

  Standing next to him was another young man. In contrast he was clean and well-scrubbed.

  ‘We’re looking for the newspaper editor,’ said Buck. ‘Would like to ask him a few questions.’

  ‘Yes sir, you’re looking at him. Name’s Toby Sinclair. Been editor, printer, paper deliver boy, floor sweeper and all-round answer man for the town of Auburn for the past nine months. This here is my friend, Jacob Bass. Doctor Jacob Bass. If I can’t come up with an answer to your questions, old Jacob here can. So ask away.’

  Buck laughed. ‘Doctor Bass? Are you the town doctor?’

  The two men looked to be about the same age. Buck’s first thought was they might be brothers, the same build and the same intelligent look in their eyes. The major difference was one was dressed in clean and pressed shirt and pants and the other’s clothes were blackened with ink.

  ‘Yes,’ answered the doctor, ‘at least I’m the only one in town.’

  ‘Well, it’s good to know there is one somewhere close by. But Mr Sinclair, why only nine months?’

  Sinclair’s smile grew even bigger. ‘First off, it’s Toby, not mister anything. And nine months? Well, nine months is time enough to have a baby, if you’re a woman in the family way. Or the time it took for me to get things organized after Pa died. He’d come out here to the territories a few years ago to set up the paper. It’s a growing place, he said. Wanted to be in on that growth. I, on the other hand, stayed back in college. I started there at the end of the War, in Little Rock, Arkansas. I was quite happy, I’ll tell you, until he died leaving me the paper and all its bills. So here I am, trying to make enough to feed me, my dog and the folks Pa owed money to. Now, what are your questions?’

  ‘Well,’ said Louie, ‘after all that there ain’t much we don’t know, is there?’