“And where did you stand?”
“I am a watcher, sir. I belong neither here nor there. You come at a most auspicious time, my friend. If you are planning to take part in the election, I’d say a most auspicious time.”
“Who is running?”
“Why, the Reverend Moses Finnerly is running for mayor, I believe, opposed by a white-haired old gentleman known as Sampson. A Mr. Pappin is running for justice of peace, and he is opposed, of all things, by a woman.”
“Ruth Macken?”
“Ah? You know the name then? Yes, it is Ruth Macken. The Widow Macken, I believe they call her. It is a new thing for a woman to run for office in this country, a revolutionary thing, one might say.”
“She is an educated, intelligent woman, the widow of an army officer, who was a man of some distinction. She has poise and balance. I would say she would do very well.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Ollie Trotter is up for town marshal, and I thought at first no one would oppose him.
“You see,” the stranger said, “there have been three previous marshals here. One of them was made a laughingstock, run out of town. A second was murdered…mysteriously, as the saying is, and the third was killed in a gun battle, which the witnesses say was a fair fight, by Mr. Candidate Trotter.”
“But someone is running?”
“A man named Cain Shafter…one of that small group who wanted security. I admire Mr. Shafter’s courage, but not his judgment. I hope he is very good with a gun.”
“Possibly,” I said, with irritation, “if there were fewer citizens who were innocent bystanders he might not need to be good with a gun.”
“Undoubtedly…you are, of course, correct. But you see, young man, I am a traveler, an interested traveler but no more than that. My home is in the eastern part of the Territory, where I have but lately come from Denver City and before that from New York.”
“I see.” I stepped down from the saddle, keeping my horse between us. “You seem to have noticed quite a lot.”
“I am interested in towns, and in politics. In the affairs of men, let us say. But I am a reader and an observer rather than a doer, and in this town I see a rather unfortunate spectacle, a town that never should have been, coming to an unpleasant end.”
“Never should have been?”
“Certainly. Consider the position. You have only a very small stream…inadequate water supply. You have no major industry…oh, yes! The gold. But I have seen the gold, and have seen many gold areas. I do not think it is here in any quantity.”
“The town was not built for gold. Nothing was known of it. The town was built as a refuge, some believed it a temporary refuge, some were building for the future.”
“Misguided I said. I am sorry, young man, but the town has no future. As a place to live, perhaps. As a center for a small group of ranchers, perhaps. The soil is not rich enough for farming, and the wagon trains will not need supplies for long. The railroad will come, but not here.”
“Where?”
“Further south. That’s the best trail. In fact the route has been scouted, building will soon begin.”
The man made sense, reluctant as I was to agree. We who built our town had come to love it because it was ours, the work of our hands.
“A mistake is really only a mistake if you persist in it,” I said.
He stopped, looking at me. “Well, now. That’s a rather profound remark. Do you think they will persist?”
I shrugged, and said nothing. I did not know, and besides, we had come to the first buildings. Two ramshackle shacks had been thrown up, undoubtedly since spring, for nobody would live through a winter in South Pass in such shacks.
There was a store that I did not remember, and across the street from it, the saloon. There were four windows and some batwing doors. The evening was cool but pleasant, and the other doors that could be closed against the weather were open. Some kind of a music box was going within, and I heard rough talk, then laughter.
In the light from the door I turned to look at my unknown companion.
His beard was neatly trimmed, he wore a new gray hat and a black broadcloth suit, his pants tucked into his boot tops.
He held out his hand. “Henry Stratton, sir, at your service. I own a bit of property over east of here, near Cheyenne. I have some small interest in the railroad, too.”
“Bendigo Shafter. This is my home. I have been to Oregon after cattle.”
“Oh, yes! I heard something of that. I might say you are looked for. Maybe hoped for is the term. I heard Bud Macken say none of this would have happened had you been here.”
“I’ll be going up to the house now.”
“You won’t come in for a drink? You might give the boys a chance to look you over.”
“They will have their chance. Good night, sir.”
There were no lights in Cain’s house, and I hesitated to approach it at night. Nor was there a light at John Sampson’s…the only one was a light at the Crofts’ and one up at Macken’s.
Turning my horse, I rode up the hill, leading my spare. As I turned into the yard I swung down, calling softly, “Hallo, the house!”
There was silence, and I walked nearer, then tapped lightly on the door. For a moment there was silence, and then Ruth’s voice said, “Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Macken. It’s Bendigo.”
I heard a bar lowered, then the door opened a crack. Ruth Macken was there, a pistol in her hand. “Ben? Oh, Ben! Please come in!”
“If I may I’ll put my horses up first.”
“Please. I’ll put on some tea.”
Stripping the gear from my horses, I turned them into the corral; then rifle, saddlebags, and slicker in hand, my blanket roll thrown over my shoulder, I went back to the house.
She was the same. The same lovely, composed face, the same dark hair…seemed to me there was a strand or two of gray I hadn’t noticed, but they might always have been there.
“Come in, Ben. Let me look at you.” She stood back and looked.
I knew well what she was seeing. I was two inches taller than six feet and weighed right at one hundred and ninety. I needed a haircut and a shave as well as a bath, and my hat was beat up and dirty.
Her eyes studied me, shadowed a little, I thought. “Ben, you’ve grown up. You’re a man.”
“I reckoned I always was, ma’am. I’m just a year or two older.”
She poured tea into a cup, and put out a plate of cold meat and bread. “You’ve come at a bad time.”
As we ate she laid it out for me. The town had grown…there were nearly two hundred people in it now, many of them men of the rougher sort, and some women, but there were some good people, too. Many of them.
Drake Morrell was still teaching, and the rough lot who had come in had left him strictly alone. John Sampson was still conducting his church, which now held more than sixty members. In fact, the town had functioned as if it were two towns except for the occasional sound of gunshots and the killings.
Ollie Trotter had killed a man, a stranger who had come into town. The stories of just what happened were various. The man had been armed.
“Webb?”
“He spends most of his time at the saloon. He speaks to the rest of us, no more than that, but his son runs with the rest of that trash. Foss has taken up with Trotter, follows him everywhere. Trotter calls him his ‘deputy’ and you can imagine how Foss feels about that. He simply struts. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.”
“How about your trading post?”
“It’s been doing very well. I bought some more stock…Mr. Trask freighted it in for me at first, then Mr. Filleen. We still get a lot of business from the Mormons, although fewer and fewer of them are coming around because of the situation in the town. They wish to avoid trouble, and that is becoming more difficult with every day.”
“How is this man Filleen?”
“He’s a good man, Ben. Born in the old
country but brought over here as a child. He lived in the east…Boston, I believe, and in New York. We talked a few times. He’s a law and order man, Ben, and he has friends around town.”
“Election is tomorrow?”
“If it happens. Ben, I think they are planning to kill Cain.”
“What?” My cup came down hard, spilling some tea. “Sorry. What do you mean?”
“Bud heard some talk at school, one of the boys was bragging. He’d been teasing Foss…Webb’s boy…asking him how much of a deputy he’d be after Mr. Shafter was elected, and Foss got very angry and said he’d still be deputy because there was only going to be one candidate…nobody would be running against Ollie Trotter.”
“Might be just talk.”
“Ben, I’m worried. Every day for several weeks Ollie has had Foss out in the hills, teaching him how to shoot and how to draw fast. Bud watched them several times.
“Bud saw something that worried him. You know, Bud is a listener, and he often listened while you and Drake Morrell talked about gunfights and gunfighters. He said that several times Foss would walk right up to Ollie, speaking softly, a gun in his holster. Then when right up close he would suddenly draw another gun from under his coat.”
Well, I just looked at her. Then I got up. “I think I’ll go have a talk with Webb.”
“Be careful, Ben. Webb has been running with that crowd.”
I shrugged. “Mrs. Macken, you know as well as I do that no matter what anybody says, Webb’s his own man. He’s a maverick.”
“He was. For months now he has been trailing with them, spending his time around Dad Jenn’s and rarely more than speaking to any of us. He’s grown even more surly, if you can imagine it.”
I took up my cup and drank the rest of the tea. “Do you think they’re putting Foss up to killing Cain?”
“It would be like them, Ben. They are men without conscience, thinking of their own ends. Foss is a foolish boy, making a hero of Ollie Trotter. They tell him what a big man he’ll be, that they will make him an official deputy with a badge and everything…and Foss has always resented Cain because Cain seems so unmoved by things. If Foss does it they are blameless, whereas if they do it there’d be resentment and possibly enough reaction to lose the election for them.”
The more I thought about it the more I thought it best to wait until morning. Webb would be touchy if awakened in the middle of the night, and Foss might be home.
I sat down again and listened to Ruth Macken tell about the town, and I told her about the drive and who was bringing the cattle up. I said nothing about the outlaw who had died near the barn. The killing of a man was nothing of which to be proud. We lived in a hard time, and if men took guns in their hands to force others to their will, they had to expect to be killed. And they always were…sooner or later.
That night I slept under the trees, listening to the trickle of the water from Mrs. Macken’s spring. I remembered when I had cut the logs for her house, drunk at that spring, and how simple our lives had been then.
We had only to think of shelter, of hunting game, keeping a wary eye for Indians.
What of the Indians? What of that surly young brave whom I had once laid out, then protected against those who would kill him?
Day was breaking when I awakened, and tugging on boots and slinging on my gunbelt, I saddled up and headed down to Cain’s. He had just come out with his milk pail when I rode up.
His broad face broke into a smile. “Bendigo! Well, of all the…!” He started to turn toward the door, but I stopped him.
First, I told him about the herd. We’d had some additions along the way, and we had one hundred and seventy head coming up the country. I explained briefly about the Indians and Stacy Follett. Lastly, I told him what Bud Macken heard, and what we suspected. He listened gravely, nodding a bit.
“It’s to be expected.” He led the way on to the barn and leaning his head against the side of the cow, he began to milk. I listened to the changing sound of the milk in the bucket as it filled, thinking about the day.
“Cain,” I said quietly, “I want to run for office.”
He looked up. “What office?”
“The one you’re up for. Town marshal.”
“Taking the monkey off my back, Bendigo? You needn’t.”
“It isn’t that.” Suddenly I knew I meant exactly what I was saying. “I want to go into politics. This would be the best chance for me. I’m good with a gun, and I think I know when not to use it. I could be marshal here, maybe go on to something else. You don’t want it, I know. You never did. And before I left they were asking me to take the job, even though I wasn’t ready for it then.”
“You are now?”
“Yes, Cain. I’m ready.” He finished his milking. “Let’s go see Helen and the girls.”
Lorna came running. “Ben! Oh, Ben! I saw the horse and I just knew!” She was excited. “You’re so big, Ben! You’ve taken on weight!”
“It isn’t fat,” I protested. “You don’t get fat on the trails I’ve followed.”
Suddenly there was a voice behind me. “Ben?”
Neely Stuart was standing there, and Neely had changed, too. His features were drawn and his eyes hollow as though he’d had no sleep. “Ben, you’ve got to help me.”
“What is it, Neely?”
“Those two…Pappin and Trotter. They’ve taken my claim.”
“Let’s all go in and sit down. Helen’s got breakfast on,” Cain said. “I’m hungry even if you aren’t.”
“And I am,” I said. “Come along, Neely. You can tell us about it.”
When the greetings were over, we sat down. The warm, friendly room brought back memories with a rush, but the face I missed was Ninon’s. It just wasn’t there.
Would it ever be?
“They’ve been stealing from me,” Neely said. “I’ve known it for some time, but well…well, I was afraid to brace them with it. I thought they’d kill me. Lately, I’ve got to figuring they intend to, anyway. I figured they were just waiting until Ollie was marshal or sheriff or whatever he’s going to be, then they’d kill me, have their own inquest, and he’d go scot-free.”
“So what happened?”
He hesitated. “Well, last night I closed the door. We’ve got a door on the mine. They put it up themselves, and they had the key. This time I switched locks when they weren’t about, closed the mine, and hung a sign on it, ‘Closed until further notice.’ ”
“A likely move,” Cain said. “I think you were wise.”
Neely shifted his feet under the table. “Yes, that’s what I figured. Then this morning they came up to me. Pappin did, with Ollie right behind him. They handed me a bill-of-sale for the mine, and suggested I sign it.
“Pappin, he said, ‘We’ve not been paid. We want you to give us the mine in payment. You just sign that there paper and there won’t be any trouble. Ollie an’ me, we don’t want no trouble, do we, Ollie?’ That’s what he said.
“I told him I’d have to think about it. And he said I had until noon to do my thinking. Then I should bring the paper to them as they’d be busy with the election. If I didn’t bring it to them…signed…they’d come after it.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I can’t face them, Ben. You’re good with a gun. Ethan said you were the fastest he’d ever seen.”
Cain looked at me, then nodded. “All right.” He turned his eyes to Neely. “Ben wants to run for marshal, in my place, Neely. Would you vote for him?”
Neely glanced from Cain to me. “Yes, I would. I’d vote for either of you.”
Cain sat back in his chair. He was a heavy, powerful man that might be considered fat by those who did not take a second look. He was large-boned and heavy with muscle that showed not at all. I watched him, wondering. Long as I’d known my brother I had never been able to judge his strength. What he took hold of moved…he was in his own way a phenomenon, but he was not cut out to be marshal. He knew it, an
d I did.
He was a retiring man, a quiet man, with no wish for authority, and no compulsion to command, yet I had seen him pick up a five hundred pound barrel and set it on a wagon, and without seeming effort. He had always been strong, born with it. Strong as I was myself, I wasn’t a patch on what he could do, and knew it. Yet he was gentle and not the man to deal with what was down there in town.
“Don’t sign anything, Neely.” I cut into the meat on my plate. “I’ll handle it.
“Cain? Would you step out of the marshal’s race if I agreed to run?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I didn’t want it, but there was nobody else. I’ll tell them all that you’re the man.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “You’ve come a long way these last months, Bendigo, a long way. But you were always quick and sure. You’re a man who knows his mind.”
“All right,” I said, “I won’t see our town going to hell in a hand basket. I’ll run, and I’ll straighten it out. And don’t you worry about Trotter or Pappin.”
Pappin…I thought about him. We knew very little about him. He had seemed the brainy one, the shrewd one, but what was he like in a tight spot? I had an idea I’d better think about Pappin. Ollie Trotter would use a gun, and he fancied himself that way.
Webb worried me. He was good, very good…but where did he stand?
And there was his boy to think of, Foss, who we believed was to kill Cain.
Or me.
Well, he’d never do it with me. Suddenly I wished the cattle would get in. At this moment it would be a good thing to have Stacy Follett at my side.
A thought came to me. “Where’s Ethan?”
Lorna had come in. “He’s not around much, Bendigo. I think the only reason he stays around at all is waiting for you to come back. He told me he didn’t favor leaving the town without you to look out for Ruth Macken.”
“Is he up at the dugout?”
“I don’t know. He’s not a trouble-wishing man, and I think he lives up in the Wind Rivers most of the time. But he’ll be around, once he knows you’re back.”
Helen came from the door.
Bendigo Shafter (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 20
