Border Lords and Armstrong's War

by Lee Pierce

  All the men said their howdys to Charley and Chris, some even calling Chris ‘boss’. The young man enjoyed the attention. He was ready for bigger things and he didn’t intend to let Mr. Quarry down. When his boss found out he could get the job done, Chris thought he might just set his eyes on that ­good-looking Melissa Quarry. A man could do a lot worse than marry the beautiful daughter of the richest man in the panhandle. Chris couldn’t help but smile.

  “Looks like you’re feelin’ a heap better, Chris.” Dude strolled over and patted the boy on the back. “You up to some hard ridin’ tonight? When we pull this deal off, it will only be a matter of time before you’re sittin’ in your daddy’s big old easy chair out at the Double-A-Slash.”

  “What’s the plan, Dude?”

  “No time to talk now, I’ll fill you in on the way. Pete’s got your horse saddled and ready to go, so let’s vamoose.”

  Dude took off leading the six men down a faint trail, headed in the direction of the Armstrong ranch. Despite the lack of light, the seven riders made good time in getting to where the Double-A-Slash herd was bedded down. Upon reaching the herd, Charley rode ahead while the remaining men stayed back in the trees. He cupped his hands and let out a long, low whistle.

  Val Rose, riding night guard, heard the whistle coming from the trees. He nudged his pony’s sides and walked him in the direction of the sound. As he neared the trees, Charley called out to him.

  “Val, it’s me, Charley Pratt. Is everything hunky-dory?”

  “As well as it’s gonna be,” answered Val. “There’s a new man on the other side of the herd named Bonner. He looks like a tough hombre, might cause us some trouble.”

  “If he tries anything we’ll make him wish he stayed on the farm,” said Charley.

  “Now, Charley. Dude gave me his word there wouldn’t be no killin’ done here tonight. I can’t be no part of somebody’s death.”

  “Gave you his word, huh? Well, I reckon that’s about as good as gold… fool’s gold.”

  At that moment, Dude and Chris rode up to the two men. Dude had informed Chris of the plan along the way. They were to stampede the big herd of his father’s cattle that were grazing down closest to the ranch house. The plan wasn’t to steal the cattle, but to spook them enough to wake up the ­Double-A-Slash crew and get them out on the range. Mr. Quarry figured that if they did something every night, always at different times, the Armstrong punchers would eventually give up and leave the old man in a position where he had to sell because no one would ride for him.

  The plan sort of made sense to Chris, but he knew all of those punchers. Most had been there a long time; they had watched him grow up. These men were all friends, and he knew they wouldn’t quit and leave his father high and dry. All at once, Chris knew what he had to do. He was angry with his father, but they were still blood. He was an Armstrong and this was his home. He could not let Mort Quarry, Dude Miller, or anyone stam­pede this herd. When his brother had left so long ago, the last thing he told Chris was to take care of the old man. He had to act and he had to do it now. Chris urged his horse up to where Dude, Charley, and Val Rose were talking.

  “Dude,” said Chris, “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure, Chris, you ready to get this fandango goin’?”

  “No, Dude, I’m not.” Chris pulled his pistol and pointed it at Dude.

  “Hey kid—what gives here? You changin’ sides?”

  “No, I’m just staying on the side I was always on. It just took me awhile to realize it, Dude. You and Charley and that other fella bunch up here where I can see all of you. Come on, do it. I will shoot the first one who even looks at me funny.”

  The three men moved their horses close together.

  “Chris, thank God, you’re here,” said Val. “I was out here ridin’ night herd when these fellers rode up on me. They was tryin’ to persuade me to join in with ’em when you showed up just in time. They might’ve killed me.”

  “Val Rose, is that you?”

  “Yes, sir, boss. In the flesh. What are we gonna do with these here cattle rustlers?”

  Chris was confused. He had known and trusted Valentine Rose for over five years, and had considered the man his best friend. He had to be telling the truth. Chris wasn’t sure what to do, and he made a snap decision.

  “Okay, Val, I believe you,” said Chris. “You gather up these two galoot’s guns, right now. Dude, you tell the rest of the boys to just stay put back in the trees. Tell them we are working this thing out and it will take a little while. Do it now.”

  Chris rode up next to Dude and jabbed his pistol in the man’s side. Dude did as he was told, and Val rounded up Dude and Charley’s guns.

  “Val, keep a sharp eye on these boys. I’m going to ride to the bunkhouse and roust out some men. On my way, I will tell the other night guard to ride over and help you. Can I trust you to do that?”

  “Yes, sir, boss. Why, I can’t hardly wait to watch these hardcases kicking and choking on the end of a rope.”

  Chris nodded and started to ride in the direction of Hack Bonner. As soon as Chris turned his back, Dude Miller’s hand shot out and grabbed his six-gun from the loose fingers of Val Rose. Before Val could shout a warning, Dude raised the pistol and fired one shot. The back of Chris Armstrong’s head burst open like a dropped watermelon. His startled horse jumped and Chris’s lifeless body leaned over sideways and slid to the ground. Val Rose came out of his stupor and tried to lift one of the guns in his hand. Another loud pop rang out. Val leaned back, and then fell forward, slumped over his saddle. Charley Pratt rode over and grasped his pistol from the dead puncher’s hand. The shots had upset the cattle and they were getting ready to run. The sound of gunfire brought the rest of the Quarry men out of the trees.

  “Quick, Pete, you and Cavanaugh pick up the kid’s body and tie it to his horse. We’ll run the cayuse with the boy’s body on its back into the cattle when they stampede.”

  The two men did as they were told and within minutes Chris’s corpse was sitting more or less upright on his frightened mount.

  “Yeehaw!’ yelled Dude Miller. “Turn ’em loose, boys, and let’s get the heck out of here.” He whipped his hat into the rump of the horse carrying Chris’s body. The animal took off like a scalded hog straight in amongst the jittery livestock. The rest of the Quarry bunch emptied their pistols into the air with whoops and hollers. Some of the cattle started to bolt and, within seconds, the whole herd was running blindly into the darkness.

  “This ought to stir the old man up!’ Dude yelled above the thunderous sound of thousands of hoofs pounding into the hard pack prairie soil. “Come on, boys! Let’s make tracks. The whiskey’s on Mort Quarry.”

  Chapter 14

  Shank Halsey wiped the sweat off his brow, shaking his head. “Sweet Mary and Joseph,” he said. “I ain’t never been a part of somethin’ like that. How many of them chowder-headed cows did we lose?”

  “Rusty and a couple of the boys are still out checking.” It was Hack Bonner, who had just ridden up with a bunch of the hands. “They ought to be in shortly.”

  “Well, daylight ain’t too far away,” said Shank. “You fellers go on over to the cook shack. I’m sure Cookie has got the coffee goin’. Hack, what happened out there?”

  “I heard two shots, right together. The beeves started milling, and I had my hands full tryin’ to calm ’em down. Then, all of a sudden you’d a thought there was a war goin’ on. Somebody started shootin’ and yellin’ to beat the band. Them jughead cows took off and I was ridin’ for my life. The shots were echoin’, but they sounded like they came from Valentine’s side of the herd. Say, have you seen that runt since this all started?”

  “Naw, come to think of it, I haven’t. Let’s ride out and see what Rusty’s found.”

  In ten minutes the two men were at the site where the stampede had begun. Rusty was on h
is knees in the scrambled dirt. Something lay on the ground in front of him, but Hack and Shank couldn’t make out what it was.

  “What in tarnation is that thing you got there, Rusty?” said Shank, squinting to try and make out the mess on the ground. It looked like a pile of old dirty rags. As he moved closer, he realized the rags were covered in blood. “What is it, Rusty?” he said again.

  Rusty Puckett raised his head. Tears cascaded down his cheeks and splat­tered onto the dirt. “It’s Chris. This pile of rags is Chris Armstrong.”

  “Naw, that can’t be. Quarry’s got Chris hid out up in the hills. Rusty, you’re wrong.” Even as he said it, Shank knew Rusty was right. Although it was almost stomped to pieces by the rampaging cows, he could still recog­nize the hand-tooled English leather gun belt lying in the pile before him. Bale Armstrong had given the rig to his son on the boy’s eighteenth birthday, and Chris never let the holster out of his sight. The pile on the ground had been a man, but now his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

  Hack Bonner sat astride his horse, his jaw muscles clenched tight. He never knew this boy—only saw him once, and didn’t like what he saw. But nobody deserved to die like this. When Jim found out, there wouldn’t be a rock in Texas big enough to hide the snake that did this. Hack rolled his neck to loosen the fatigue he felt. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, and he didn’t expect to get any more for a long time. Turning his horse, he patted the animal on the neck and nudged his heels into the big bay’s ribs.

  “That wasn’t the plan, but as long as it worked, I’ll take the results.” Mort Quarry was enjoying a rasher of bacon with scrambled eggs and potatoes. He usually took breakfast at home, but this morning he ate in the hotel restaurant. Pleased with the report Dude had delivered, he dismissed his segundo, and leaned back to enjoy his second cup of coffee. In a few minutes he would stroll down to his office and put the final touches on the last proposal he would present to Bale Armstrong for purchase of the Double-A-Slash ranch. With his son dead, his hands spooked, and his gunfighter run out of town, even a stubborn old fool like Armstrong would see that it was futile to continue fighting.

  Quarry wiped his lips and rose from his table. He felt better today than he had felt in a long time. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, his thoughts turned to Melissa and how he would explain why Mr. Jim Butler had to leave Two Bucks City in such a hurry. He smiled at the thought of his child falling for a two-bit gunfighter, and a yellow one at that. “No, my dear, I have much bigger plans for you,” he said, “whether you like it or not.”

  Stepping into his office, he watched Hack Bonner ride up to the hotel. “I may have to turn the Irish Kid loose on that one, too,” he said to himself, a little too loud.

  “What did you say, Father?”

  “Melissa, what are you doing in my office, so early?” She had caught him by surprise, so much like her mother used to. He regained his composure and smiled at his daughter. “Melissa, I have something to tell you. Please, sit down.”

  Jim Butler sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. He needed to get to the ranch and try talking to his father again. This time he would have Rusty and Shank to vouch for him. He stood up and had just buckled on his gun belt when someone began banging on his door. His .44 Colt jumped into his hand. “Who is it?” he said, eyes narrowed on the door.

  “It’s me, Hack. Let me in, Jimmy.” Jim crossed the room and, gun in hand, opened the door. Hack hurried inside. Jim locked the door behind the huge gunfighter. Something in Jim’s boot hurt his foot. He motioned Hack to the chair, and he sat back down onto the bed and began removing the boot. Hack stood in the middle of the room, not moving toward the offered chair.

  “Jimmy,” he said, as he removed his hat, “there ain’t no easy way to tell you this, but your brother has been killed.”

  Jim dropped the boot he had been fiddling with. Mouth agape, his eyes rose to meet Hack’s. He read the pain there and knew Hack was telling the truth. Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What happened, Hack?”

  While Hack Bonner told him the story, Jim sat and looked at the floor. The part about how they recognized Chris caused Jim to drop his head to his hands and weep. When Hack finished, Jim stood and wobbled over to the wash stand. Hands shaking, he poured some tepid water into the basin. He lowered his head and splashed his face. Done, he toweled off and faced Hack. His eyes were red and bloodshot, but his tears were gone.

  “The last time I cried was when mama died. I cried today, but I’m not gonna shed another tear as long as Mort Quarry and his bunch walk the earth.”

  Hack nodded his head.

  “Hack, did they find Chris’s horse?” It hurt him to even say his brother’s name.

  “Nobody had found it when I left to ride into here.”

  “Hack, one thing Chris could do better than any man I ever saw, even when he was a kid: that rascal could ride like he was stuck to the horse. I never saw him fall off. He was dead when that herd started, or they killed him while the cows were stampeded.”

  “Let’s go get them Quarry men right now, Jimmy.”

  “No, Hack. As much as I would like to do that, we can’t. I don’t want to kill Quarry. I want to break him, take away everything he has worked for and stolen. I want him to see it coming and know in his heart that he is powerless to do anything about it. Hack, I want you to go get Chris’s remains and take them to Doc Withers. Tell Doc to see if he can find anything that would prove Chris was dead before the stampede. I was goin’ to the ranch, but I believe I will stay in town for a while. Maybe I can learn something. Let me know as soon as the doc finds anything. I’ll be around town.”

  Hack nodded and was out the door. Jim walked out right behind him. He had to keep a poker face. He didn’t want anyone to know that he knew about Chris’s death. He wasn’t hungry but he went downstairs into the hotel dining room anyway.

  Sitting at his usual table, his back against the corner wall, Jim ordered bacon, eggs, and coffee. When the food came he tried to eat, but couldn’t. He drank the coffee, though, four cups: hot, black, and strong. His thoughts centered on his dead brother. Why would anyone want Chris dead? He was brash and wild, but he was harmless, just an overgrown kid trying to be a man and not knowing how to do it. The only thing Jim could come up with was that Mort Quarry must have wanted Chris dead. He didn’t do the deed, but he gave the order. An idea popped into Jim’s head and he sprang up, laid some money on the table, and stepped outside.

  Jim pushed his hat back on his head and strolled across the street to the bank like he didn’t have a care in the world. When he got there he hopped up onto the plank sidewalk and stepped inside. Melissa Quarry was alone at the teller’s cage. When Jim walked in, she looked up to issue a greeting. Upon recognizing who it was, she dropped her head and went back to her counting. Jim thought it strange that her attitude toward him had changed overnight.

  “Howdy, Miss Melissa,” said Jim, smiling. “How are you today?”

  “I am fine, under the circumstances, Mr. Butler. I assume you are here to withdraw your money. I will get the form for you to sign. It will only take a moment, and then you can be on your way.”

  “On my way? Just where am I going, Melissa?”

  “Why back to New Mexico, or Arizona, or wherever it is you come from, Mr. Butler. My father said—”

  Jim interrupted her in mid-sentence. “Oh, that thing with your father and the Irish Kid, why, that was all just a big misunderstanding. Heck, Cormac, uh, that’s the Kid’s name, Cormac McCafferty, and I have been saddle pals for a coon’s age. We was just sort of play actin’ last night. All that stuff don’t amount to a hill of beans.”

  Melissa looked dazed. “Well, Mr. Butler.” She smiled up at him. “In that case, I am glad that you decided to stay.”

  “Yes, ma’am, me too, I kinda like it here. I might even decide to settle around these parts. There are an awful
lot of pretty things to look at here in this country, and I reckon I’m lookin’ at the most beautiful one of all right now.”

  Melissa slapped her hand to her bosom. Her face glowed a striking crimson.

  “As a matter of fact, Melissa, the reason I stopped by was to ask you if you would take a buckboard ride with me this evening. I thought we might drive up on one of these hills around here and watch the sunset. Will you go with me?”

  “Yes, I will! I mean, of course. I have to work in the bank until four o’clock. After that I will be free for the rest of the evening.”

  “Good,” Jim said, putting his hat back on his head. “I will pick you up at seven. I’m looking forward to our evening together.” He turned and headed toward the door.

  “I’ll see you later… Jim,” said Melissa.

  Chapter 15

  Doc Withers drained the lukewarm coffee from his cup, and poured himself a fresh one. “In all my years of practice, I’ve never seen a body so torn up. Hold out your hand, son.”

  Hack Bonner offered his left hand. The doctor dropped a small chunk of lead into Hack’s open palm. The gunfighter gazed down at the bullet, and squeezed it.

  “Found it lodged in the boy’s lower jaw. Someone shot him in the back of the head. It must have exploded his brain. He had to have died instantly—never knew what hit him.”

  “At least that’s something,” said Stretch Cassidy from the next room. He had one more day and the Doc was going to let him go back home.

  “Yeah, ain’t it, though?” Hack opened his palm and stared down at the slug.