Bounty of Greed

by Paul Colt

  “That a shootin’ offense?”

  “The man was armed. He fired on my men.”

  “That cut and dried, is it?”

  “That’s how the law sees it.”

  “Then how come your men run off once they killed him?”

  “You mean when you and Tunstall’s hired guns fired on them.”

  “Bullshit, Brady! Pardon me, ladies. We both know John Tun-stall was murdered sure as we’re standin’ here. Once he was dead, your boys did what murderers do. They ran.”

  “You got no proof, Brewer. I got the sworn statements of four duly authorized deputies. Now get the hell out of my office.”

  Brewer leaned across the desk. “You ain’t heard the last of this, Brady.”

  “No, I s’pose not. Now you gonna take the body to the undertaker or should I.”

  The kid stepped up beside Brewer. “I’ll take care of Mr. Tun-stall, Sheriff. Like Dick said, you ain’t heard the last of this. I’ll see to that personal. You and every one of the stinkin’ sons a bitches what killt John Tunstall is gonna hear from Billy Bonney. Count on it.” He turned on his heel and led the way out of the office.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  February 19th

  The Regulators gathered in the Tunstall store with Widenmann and McSween. The kid stood at the window, watching the street.

  “Mathews and Brady is up at the House,” he said. He opened the gate and spun the cylinder of his Colt checking the loads. He holstered the gun and started for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Brewer said.

  “I’m gonna kill ’em.”

  “Look, kid, I want those responsible for Mr. Tunstall’s death as bad as you do, but we have to figure a legal way to make them pay.”

  “Legal? Hell, Brady’s the law. He’s the one ordered the killin’.”

  “You don’t know that. We know who done it. We need to get the law on ’em.”

  “They was Brady’s men. Brady’s the law. He won’t do nothin’. So that leaves me to do the killin’.”

  “Now hold on. Mr. McSween, you’re a lawyer. What should we do?”

  McSween scratched his chin. “Rob is a deputy US marshal, but that’s federal jurisdiction. Maybe you could stretch the fact that John was a foreign national, but even at that, he’d need authorization. It’s best if we handle it as a local matter.”

  “So we’re back to Brady.”

  “Not necessarily. Maybe we can get the justice of the peace to issue warrants and appoint a constable to serve them. Dick, are you and Billy willing to swear out complaints that name the killers?”

  Brewer looked to the kid. He nodded. Brewer nodded.

  “Then we kill them,” the kid said.

  February 20th

  McSween, Widenmann, Brewer and Bonney stood before Justice of the Peace John Wilson. He read the list of those named in the affidavit sworn by Brewer and Bonney. The attestees identified William Mathews, Jesse Evans, William “Buck” Morton, Frank Baker, George Hindman and Andrew “Buckshot” Roberts. Unnamed others were also implicated. He peeled off his spectacles and massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

  “That’s quite a list. How’d you manage to leave Sheriff Brady off?”

  “He’d a had to get off his butt to make the list,” Brewer said.

  Wilson chuckled. “Quite a few of Jimmy Dolan’s boys too.”

  “If Brady planned it, Dolan ordered it,” McSween said.

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No.”

  “Then this is about as good as we can do. I can issue war rants, but who is going to serve them?”

  “You can appoint a constable,” McSween said.

  “That’ll take some balls. You got anyone in mind?”

  “Dick here will do it.”

  Wilson glanced at Brewer. He nodded.

  “Raise your right hand.”

  The House

  Brewer mounted the boardwalk fronting the Dolan store. The kid and Fred Waite followed. The visitor bell announced their arrival. Billy Mathews and Jesse Evans stood at the counter with Jimmy Dolan. Brewer and his men drew their guns.

  “Billy Mathews, Jesse Evans, you’re under arrest for the murder of John Tunstall.”

  “Says who?” Mathews snarled.

  “Says these warrants. Get their guns, Fred.”

  Waite stepped forward to claim the guns. Dolan cut his eyes to Jasper, the clerk, and tossed his head to the back of the store. The clerk disappeared. Dolan turned to Brewer.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Brewer?”

  “I’m arresting these men for murder.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “Justice Wilson issued the warrants. I’m his appointed constable and these are my deputies.”

  “Wilson knows very well we have a county sheriff.”

  “A sheriff most of whose men are implicated in the murder charges.”

  “What you call murder was a simple case of resisting arrest.”

  “That’s for a court to decide.” He waved his gun at the door. “Come along, boys.”

  Brady and Hindeman appeared in the doorway, guns drawn. “Not so fast, Brewer.”

  Baker, Morton and Roberts emerged from the back of the store, guns leveled.

  “Now let’s see who’s under arrest. Get their guns.”

  Mathews and Evans retrieved their guns and relieved Brewer, Waite and the kid of theirs.

  “Under arrest on what charge?” Brewer said.

  “Impersonating a peace officer.”

  “Lock ’em up, Sheriff,” Dolan said.

  Dolan watched Brady march his prisoners down the street to the jail. Wilson stepping into local law enforcement added to the overall problem. Wilson had made up a legal jurisdiction to interfere with Brady’s control over law and order. He’d need Governor Axtell to fix this little problem. He sent a telegram to Santa Fe that afternoon.

  Tunstall Store

  “He what?” McSween said.

  “He locked ’em up,” Widenmann said.

  “On what charge?”

  “Impersonating a peace officer.”

  “We’ll see about that. Justice Wilson can straighten Brady out.”

  “Maybe he can legally, Alex, but that isn’t likely to change anything. Brady’s version of the law ain’t interested in what’s right and what’s not. This is going to get ugly.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Once we get Dick and the boys out of jail, we’ve still got conflicting jurisdictions respecting John’s murderers. Maybe we should try to get federal jurisdiction based on the fact John was a foreign national.”

  “How do we go about doing that?”

  “Normally you could petition the US attorney. In this case, that’s T. B. Catron. That makes it a waste of time. Ask Marshal Sherman to ask Washington.”

  “That will take time.”

  “Can’t be helped. In the meantime there is one thing we could try.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Brady doesn’t know you need specific authority to assert jurisdiction.”

  “You saying I should bluff?”

  “I’m saying you could try.”

  February 21st

  Blue sky and morning sun colored the chill winter air with the illusion of warmth. The potbellied stove flavored the smell of fresh coffee with a hint of mesquite. Brady poured a fresh cup as the door swung open to a blast of cold air.

  “Morning, Sheriff.”

  “Widenmann. What do you want?”

  “I want you to release Brewer, Bonney and Waite.”

  “On whose authority?”

  “Justice Wilson has the legal authority to issue those warrants and appoint constables. Those men were duly authorized officers of the law and you know it. If anything, you and your men obstructed those officers in the performance of their duties.”

  “What’s that to you? You got no jurisdiction here?”

  “Don’t be too sure. John
Tunstall was a foreign national.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m looking into his murder. Those men are material witnesses. I want them released so that I may use them in the pursuit of my investigation. Now, are you going to release them or do I have to arrest you for obstructing a federal officer? If I have to, I’ll lock you up at Fort Stanton and be very careless with the key.”

  “You . . .”

  Widenmann brushed his coat back and rested his hands on the butts of his guns.

  Brady set his cup on the desk and removed a ring of keys from a peg on the wall.

  February 22nd

  One of those spring-promise thaws showed up for the funeral. Frozen ruts turned to mud. A light cold rain added misery to the mourners gathered at the freshly dug grave beyond the corral in back of the store. Ty stood beside Lucy. She held a parasol over their heads. The McSweens stood on the other side along with Widenmann, Brewer, Bonney and a few of the men.

  Reverend Dr. Ealy, the Presbyterian minister, officiated as he regularly did for the deceased, regardless of religious preference. He bowed his head, his somber black suit dampened by the rain.

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures . . .”

  The kid listened. He hadn’t heard the familiar words in some time. He didn’t hold much with religion. His mother had done the prayin’ in the family. It wouldn’t do Mr. Tunstall’s memory no good. He wouldn’t rest until the men responsible got what they deserved. He let the minister’s words come to him.

  “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me . . .”

  Rod and staff,he fingered his gun butt. He remembered another passage, something about an eye for an eye. He bowed his head about as close to prayer as he could come.

  The reverend doctor passed a shovel to Alex McSween. He handed it across to Lucy. She took the shovel and stepped it into the dirt mounded beside the freshly dug grave. She lifted a small shovelful and poured it onto the coffin lid. The clods of wet dirt thumped hollow on the raw pine. She handed the shovel back and buried her face in Ty’s chest.

  “Earth to earth, dust to dust, into Thy hands we commend this spirit.”

  The small crowd drifted away in silence. The kid stood beside the grave. Brewer, Brown and Waite fanned out behind him. He stared into the hole for a spell, listening to the rain patter on the brim of his sombrero.

  Brewer stepped up beside him. “Com’on, kid, let’s get out of this rain.”

  “John Tunstall was the only man ever treated me like I was free-born white. I swear on his grave, I’ll get every last one of them sons a bitches that killt him if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Ty led Lucy down the street to the widow O’Hara’s. They walked in silence save the sucking sounds of mud under their shoes as they skirted puddles. She paused on the front porch out of the rain and lowered the parasol. She lifted red eyes to his.

  “Come in?”

  He nodded.

  She opened the green door and stepped into a darkened foyer. Faint gray light seeped into the hall from the parlor and kitchen beyond.

  “Is that you, dear?” Mrs. O’Hara appeared in the kitchen doorway, a backlit silhouette at the end of the hall. She nodded in greeting. “Marshal Ledger. Go on into the parlor. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee. I’ll bring you both a cup. You must be chilled to the bone.”

  Lucy hung her shawl on a peg in the foyer. She hung Ty’s hat over it and led the way to the parlor. Gray light filtered through lace curtains gave the room a somber air that seemed to fit the occasion. The patter of rain on the roof accompanied the soft sounds of Lucy’s skirts. Dishes clattered in the kitchen, the sounds of life going on. She settled on the settee, making room for him beside her. She folded her hands in her lap. Ty took his seat. Mrs. O’Hara bustled into the parlor carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. She handed one to each of them.

  “Now, drink a little of that. It’ll put some warmth back in you before you both catch your death.” She watched them each take a sip. Satisfied she’d accomplished her purpose, she flounced back to the kitchen.

  They sat for a time. Lucy lost in thought and Ty uncertain what to say. He shrugged into the silence.

  “You know I’m sorry about all this, Lucy.”

  She tilted her chin. Her eyes met his. “All covers a lot.”

  He nodded. “I figure you loved him.”

  “I s’pose I did in a way. Not like . . .” She bit her lip, not sure what to say. “John was safe. Sometimes that means a lot to a girl. ’Specially when she’s alone. I’ve been on my own ever since I lost my folks. It’s been a long time. You get used to it. You think you don’t need anybody, but that’s not really how things are supposed to be. It’s tempting to settle for something like safe.”

  He nodded again.

  She drew a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her nose with a little sniff. “He wouldn’t listen. I tried to warn him. Alex tried to tell him. Marshal Widenmann warned him too. He just wouldn’t listen. He had it in his head how things were done a certain way. He gave no account to the notion that men like Dolan might not do things his way.”

  “Poor reason to kill a man.”

  “Most reasons are.”

  “What’ll you do now?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Alex was part owner in the bank and the store. I guess he owns it all now. It’ll sort of depend on what he decides to do.”

  “So you plan to stay in Lincoln.”

  “For a time at least, I got no place else to go.”

  “Good.”

  She tilted her chin. “That mean something to you?”

  “It does. I never felt right about the way we left things last fall. Maybe a little time will give me a chance to make that right by you.”

  She met his eyes level. “I’d like that, Ty Ledger.”

  McSween House

  They gathered in the parlor fighting the effects of the rain for warmth. McSween and Widenmann sat in wing chairs. Brewer and his band of deputized Regulators stood, hats in hand.

  “So what’s to be done about it?” Brewer’s question hung in the air.

  “It’s plain enough Brady won’t do nothin’,” the kid said.

  “Rob, any word from Marshal Sherman on your jurisdiction?” McSween asked.

  He shook his head.

  The lawyer glanced around the room. “Well, Dick is still a duly sworn constable and we know who the killers are.”

  Brewer met his eyes. “So you’re sayin’ we finish the job Brady stopped us from doin’.”

  “That’s an option. Any of the rest of you see another?”

  The men responded with silence.

  “Brady and Dolan must have had twenty men come after us that day. We don’t have that kind of firepower,” Brewer said.

  “Ask Chisum for help,” McSween said. “He’s got as much at stake in this as we do.”

  “What do we do with the ones we catch?” Brewer asked. “Brady sure as hell won’t lock ’em up.”

  “If Marshal Sherman gives me jurisdiction, we can lock them up at Fort Stanton,” Widenmann said.

  “What happens if he don’t?” Brewer asked.

  “I expect we could bluff our way there for a spell.”

  The kid spoke softly. “Lockin’ ’em up won’t be no trouble. Count on it.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  February 23rd

  The rain cleared out overnight, taking the brief thaw with it. Clear morning skies turned sunny and cold. A wintery glow gave the parlor an illusion of warmth. A rap sounded at the door. Susan’s heels clicked the polished wood floor to the foyer. The visitor’s silhouette darkened the lace window curtain. She opened the door, unprepared for the visitor that awaited her.

  Dolan smiled and tipped his hat. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Mc-Sween. Is Alex in?”

  “Who is it, Susan?” He appeared at the study door across the parlor.

  She stepped back. Dolan crossed the threshold.


  “Jimmy Dolan, Alex, I wonder if I might have a word with you.”

  McSween knit his brow. “You picked a hell of a day for a social call, Dolan.”

  “Yes, well it’s not purely social, and it’s not unrelated to Tunstall’s, shall we say, untimely demise.”

  “Untimely demise, murder you mean. But of course you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Dolan reddened. He glanced at Susan and checked himself. “See here, McSween, I’ve come with a serious business proposition for you. Do you want to hear it or would you rather go on making wild accusations?”

  “Very well then, right this way.” He stepped into the study he used as an office, leaving Dolan to find his way across the parlor. A single lamp lit the desktop. He took his seat and waved Dolan to the visitor chair.

  “All right, what’s on your mind?”

  Dolan took his seat. “Right to the point, I see.”

  “We’ve never had all that much to talk about, Dolan. Under the circumstance, I find the timing of your visit in poor taste at the least.”

  “I can’t say I had any fondness for Tunstall, but you can’t possibly blame me for what happened to him.”

  “Not so anyone could ever prove it. You do hold the lien on the Flying H herd. Who in their right mind would have put a hothead like Billy Mathews in charge of a posse made up of suspected rustlers to serve your court order? A sheriff who can’t go to the privy without your permission, that’s who. Proof is a matter of law. Circumstance and common sense indict you, Dolan.”

  Dolan sat back with a sour smirk. “Very imaginative, counselor, just the sort of wild raving Tunstall was so fond of.” He let the comparison drip threat. “As you well know, the wheels of justice don’t turn on circumstance and opinion. Now let’s get down to business, shall we? I believe you have a minority interest in Tunstall’s bank and store. Is that right?”

  “I did.”

  “What do you mean you did?”

  “We were partners. I had a minority position, but now, in the absence of a will, I own it all.”

  Dolan arched a brow, recalculating his position. “Then I’m talking to the right man. I’d like to buy both businesses. I’m prepared to make a fair offer following an examination of the books.”