Torture Town

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben nodded. “You may have something there,” he said. “But Bodine?” Ben held his finger up.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The only thing I’m going to want from you is that you keep your eyes open for any trouble or danger. I have no wish to be the instigator of any further problems between Morgan Poindexter and me. I’ll not have you starting anything.”

  “No, sir, we won’t be startin’ nothin’,” Bodine said. “But, if they start somethin’, I hope you ain’t sayin’ that we can’t hit back. Lettin’ ’em get away with causin’ trouble is the biggest way to just have more trouble.”

  “If they start something, you can hit back,” Ben said. “But I hope having you here is all it will take to keep them from starting anything.”

  Less than two hours after Ben Ross hired Bodine, Dooley, and Massey, Bodine and two of his riders were at the extreme north end of the ranch, some distance from any of the other riders of the BR.

  “The Tumbling P is running about five hundred head down just over the rise,” Bodine said. “We can cut through the fence and pull off about fifty head or so with no difficulty at all.”

  “What are we going to do with them?” Massey asked.

  “Ten of ’em, we’re goin’ to turn loose into the BR herd,” Bodine said. “But I’ve got a dead-end canyon picked out about two miles west of either ranch. We’ll put the other forty cows in there.”

  “I get it,” Massey said. “If we put ten head in with the BR cows, when the Tumblin’ P gets to missin’ ’em, well, they’ll show up here.”

  “That’s right. And in a couple of days, Strawn will cut about fifty head away from the BR ranch, run some of ’em in with the Tumblin’ P herd, and put the others into the dead-end canyon.”

  “It’s goin’ to take a long time buildin’ up a herd just by taking forty head at a time,” Dooley said.

  “What we’re doing now is just testing it out,” Bodine said. “Once we get the hang of it, we’ll start takin’ ’em a hunnert to two hunnert at a time.”

  “What about the cows we’re mixin’ in with the BR herd. We ain’t goin’ to just leave ’em there, are we?”

  “Yes, we are. They’re seed cattle.”

  “They’re what?”

  “You ever been around a farm, Dooley?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. When you’re growin’ corn, ever’ year when you take in the harvest, you have to hold some of it back for seed to put in the next crop. What we’re doin’ with the cattle we’re mixin’ in with the BR herd is feedin’ the feud. ’Cause, without the feud, we couldn’t be doin’ none of what we’re a-doin’ now.”

  “Yeah,” Dooley said. “Yeah, I understand that.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go get us fifty cows.”

  Tumbling P Ranch

  Jimmy Patterson was riding fence when he saw that some of the fence was down and a couple of men were herding about several cows through the cut fence. He urged his horse into a gallop to catch up with them.

  “Here, you men!” Jimmy called to them. “What are you doing with them cows?”

  “What does it look like we’re doin’, boy? These cows wandered over there when the fence went down. We’re bringin’ ’em back onto BR land where they belong.”

  Jimmy might have taken their word for it, but he recognized a distinctive scar on the side of one of the steers.

  “Well, you need to be more careful with the ones you’re takin’. I know for a fact that that one don’t belong to you, ’cause I know that cow,” he said, riding toward the animals to point out the one with the scar. That was when he saw the brand, the letter P, which was lying a quarter of the way on its side. That same brand was on all of the cows. “Wait a minute!” he said. “There don’t none of these cows belong to you!”

  “Are you sayin’ we’re stealin’ cows, boy?”

  “I’m just sayin’ these here cows don’t belong to you. Look at the brands. Go on, look at ’em.”

  “What I see is fifty cows eatin’ BR grass. Any cow that comes onto BR land and starts eatin’ BR grass, belongs to Mr. Ross.”

  “No, sir, these cows don’t,” Jimmy said. “These cows wouldn’t be eatin’ BR grass if you didn’t cut the fence and bring ’em through. They belong to Mr. Poindexter, and I’m takin’ ’em back.”

  Jimmy turned toward the cattle, but one of the BR Ranch cowboys threw a rope around him, and jerked him out of his saddle and off his horse. Then, urging his horse to a gallop, he dragged Jimmy behind him back through the open spot in the fence. Jimmy’s horse followed.

  Once they got Jimmy back onto the Tumbling P side of the fence, they cut out a long strand of barbed wire and began wrapping it around him, making certain that the points of the barbs penetrated his skin.

  “Now,” the two men said to him. “Don’t let us catch you over on BR Ranch land again. If we do, we won’t be so gentle with you.”

  Jimmy didn’t hear anything they said, because he was unconscious.

  “Is he dead?” Bodine asked.

  “No,” Dooley answered. “Do you want him to be?”

  “No, it’s better to leave him like this. We want him to tell Poindexter that the BR is stealing their cattle. Remember, the whole idea is to get this feud to heat up.”

  Nate and Gabe were working on the windmill that supplied the watering trough for the horses that were kept in the corral.

  “That’s the problem right there,” Gabe said, pointing to the pump shaft. “That bearing is bone dry. All we have to do is get some grease on it.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right,” Nate said. “There’s some grease in the machine shed—I’ll go get it.”

  “Nate, wait a minute, look there,” Gabe said. “Ain’t that the horse Jimmy Patterson’s been ridin’?”

  Nate, who had already started toward the machine shed for grease, looked back around to see a saddled but rider-less horse come trotting in.

  “Yes, I believe it is,” Nate said. “But where’s Jimmy?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s a good kid. He wouldn’t just let his horse go like that unless something happened.”

  “Where did you have him working today?” Nate asked.

  “I’ve got ’im ridin’ the north fence.”

  “That’s right next to BR Ranch property. I expect we had better go check it out,” Nate said.

  Nate and Gabe saddled their horses, then rode, quickly, toward the area where Gabe said he had sent Jimmy to work today. They saw buzzards making lazy circles in the sky.

  “Whatever happened to him must be pretty bad,” Gabe said. “He’s got buzzards circlin’ around him.”

  “Yeah, but they haven’t gone down yet. I hope that means he’s still alive,” Nate said.

  “More ’n likely he just got hisself throwed,” Gabe suggested.

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen him ride. Jimmy is too good a rider just to get thrown from a horse for no reason,” Nate said.

  “You’re right, now that I think about it. But if he didn’t get throwed, what did happen to him? I don’t know what we’re ridin’ into, but I don’t think I’m goin’ to like it all that much, especially us ridin’ in alone.”

  “If he’s still alive, and we take the time to go get help, he’s likely to be dead by the time we get back,” Nate said. He pulled his pistol. “Looks to me like we got no choice.”

  “Yeah,” Gabe said. He, too, pulled his pistol. “All right, let’s go check it out.”

  They found the young cowboy a few minutes later, all bound up in barbed wire, lying in a gulley. His clothes were soaked with blood from the penetrations of the barbs.

  “Jimmy!” Nate said, dismounting and hurrying to him. “Jimmy, what happened?”

  Jimmy opened his eyes, and the lids fluttered as he tried to make a connection with Gabe and Nate. His lips moved, but neither Nate nor Gabe could hear what he was trying to say.

  “We’ve got to get this wire off him,” Gabe said.

  �
�I’ll take care of that,” Nate said. “Go back as fast as you can, get a buckboard. We need to get him into town. And bring something to use as bandages. Better bring some iodine too.”

  “Right!” Gabe shouted as he leaped onto his horse and started back at a gallop.

  After Gabe left, Jimmy opened his eyes again, and he saw Nate.

  “Some of the fence is down, Mr. Poindexter. And I seen some of our cows over on the other side. I went to bring them back when I seen some men takin’ ’em. I tried to tell ’em, Mr. Poindexter. I tried to tell ’em them was our cows, but they wouldn’t listen.”

  “They knew they were our cattle,” Nate said. “They were stealing them.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what I was thinkin’.” Jimmy looked around. “You seen my horse? I don’t know where my horse got to, but if you see it aroun’, well, I’ll get mounted ’n’ get back to work.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere but to the doctor,” Nate said.

  “What for am I goin’ to a doctor?” Jimmy asked, just before he passed out again.

  It was a good half hour before Gabe came back, driving the team at a gallop, with dust streaming up in a huge rooster tail behind the buckboard. Sliding to a stop, Gabe jumped down and the two men lifted Jimmy into the back of the buckboard. Gabe had put hay in the back, and spread cloth to make a soft bed. Nate poured iodine over the wounds, then bandaged them. He was bothered by the fact that Jimmy didn’t even wince from the application of the iodine.

  “Come on, help me get Jimmy into the back of the buckboard.”

  It was another half hour before Nate and Gabe, driving the buckboard as fast as the team would pull them, reached the doctor’s office at Thirty Four Corners. Dr. V. Scott Taylor’s office was on First Avenue, which formed a T at the end of Central Street and, as such, it was neither north nor south of the street. That was important because by being in the middle of the street the doctor—through a truce arranged between Ross and Poindexter—could tend to all. There was only one bank, one leather-goods store, one feed store, and one livery in town, also on First Avenue. There was one church and one blacksmith shop on Second Avenue, and one school, on Third Avenue. The town consisted only of Central Street, and the three crossing avenues, First Avenue being at the extreme west end, Second Avenue in the middle, and Third Avenue at the east end of Central.

  All the other businesses in town were separated by Central Street. There were four saloons, two hotels, two apothecaries, two grocery stores, and two mercantile stores, evenly divided by the town’s main street, which was the debarkation line between both parties of the feud. There were also two bawdy houses, Diamond Dina’s Pleasure Palace, on the south side, whose ladies serviced the men who rode with, or supported, the BR Ranch, and Sunset Lil’s Parlor of Delight on the north side, servicing the Tumbling P and its supporters.

  “Is he goin’ to make it, Doc?” Nate asked when they brought Jimmy into the doctor’s office.

  “It’s too early to tell. You did well applying the iodine and putting on the bandages,” Dr. Taylor answered. “We’ll just have to see if he comes through it.”

  “Can you wake him up so we can talk to him?” Dr. Taylor held a solution of sal volatile under Jimmy’s nose, and he regained consciousness.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You’re in the doctor’s office, Jimmy.”

  “How’d I get here?”

  “We brought you, when we found you injured.”

  “What happened to me?”

  “You mean you don’t remember?”

  “Last thing I remember is talkin’ to you ’bout where my horse was.”

  “Do you remember anything before that?” Nate asked.

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said, recalling now. “Yeah, I do remember something. I remember some of the BR men drivin’ off some of our cows.”

  “Did you confront them?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Did you talk to them?”

  “Yes, sir, I told ’em that them cows was our’n. Only, I don’t mean our’n like I own any of ’em or anythin’. I hope you don’t think that.”

  “I know exactly what you mean, Jimmy,” Nate said. “After you confronted—that is, after you talked to them—what happened then?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Jimmy replied. “Truth is, I don’t remember nothin’ after that. I figure I must’ve fell off my horse though, ’cause I’m hurtin’ all over.”

  “You know a lot of the BR riders, don’t you, Jimmy?”

  “Yes, sir, I know quite a few of ’em. Some of ’em I went to school with.”

  “Did you recognize any of the men who were driving off the cattle?” Nate asked.

  “No sir, now that you mention it, I don’t reckon I ever seen any one of ’em before. They weren’t any of the BR cowboys I know, that’s for sure.”

  “I didn’t think they would be,” Nate said.

  “You know what I’m a-thinkin’, Mr. Poindexter?” Jimmie asked. “I’m a-beginnin’ to think that maybe I didn’t fall off my horse a’tall. I’m thinkin’ maybe them men I seen done somethin’ to me.”

  “That is exactly what happened to you,” Nate said.

  “Let the boy get some rest now,” Dr. Taylor said. “And I’d feel better if you would let me keep him here for a couple of days.”

  “No problem, Doc. Keep him as long as you need.”

  “I can’t miss work,” Jimmy said.

  Nate smiled, and ruffled Jimmy’s hair. “Don’t worry about it, Jimmy. You won’t lose any pay.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Poindexter. I’m sorry I put you to all this trouble.”

  “No trouble. We’ll come get you day after tomorrow.”

  “How’s the boy?” Morgan Poindexter asked when Nate and Gabe returned to the big house.

  “He’s hurt pretty bad,” Nate said. “He’s got holes poked all in him from the barbed wire.”

  “That’s a hell of a thing to do to anyone, especially to someone who’s no more than a boy,” Morgan said.

  Gabe chuckled. “Don’t let Jimmy hear you call him a boy.”

  “I know. He does a man’s work, and he does it well,” Morgan said. “But say what you want, he is still just a boy. And I don’t know what kind of men Ben Ross has working for him now, that he would let them do something like that. Truth is, I know a lot of his riders. I never thought any of them would do anything like that, either.”

  “I don’t think it was any of Ross’s regular riders. Jimmy said he didn’t recognize any of them,” Nate said.

  “Then who was it?”

  “I think it was some of those men that Strawn was talking about. You remember, he said that Ross had hired some riders who were supposed to cause trouble for us. Well, I think we’ve just run into some of them.”

  “You may be right. I was hoping that hiring Strawn would prevent anything like this from happening.”

  There was a knock at the door and Gabe went over to open it. It was Dr. Taylor, and there was a troubled expression on his face.

  “Doc, what is it?” Nate asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Taylor said.

  “Sorry? Sorry about what? Jimmy? Is it the boy?”

  “Terrible infection set in,” Dr. Taylor said. “And once that started, there was nothing I could do. There’s no way to fight it. The boy died about an hour ago.”

  Morgan lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you told the boy’s mother?”

  “Yes, I went to see her before I came out here.”

  “Damn, how did all this get started?” Morgan asked, shaking his head.

  “What do you mean, how did this all get started? Pop, you and Ben Ross have been going at it with each other from before I was born. You’ve never spoken of the reason, but I’ve known about it since I was twelve years old. Did you think that neither Sylvia nor I would ever find out? The whole town knew what happened, and they couldn’t wait to tell us. Mom was supposed to marry Mr. Ross, but you and
she ran off on the day of the wedding. How did you expect him to react?”

  “Boy, I swear to you, if I had known then that all this was going to happen, I would never have done it. But even with all that, nothing like this has ever happened before. I almost wish that I hadn’t sent for Sylvia. I hate to bring her here now, under the circumstances.”

  “It’s a little late now, isn’t it, Pop?”

  “Yes, I’ve already sent the letter.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thirty Four Corners

  Once again, there was a funeral in Thirty Four Corners. The funeral cortege moved slowly down Central Street, headed toward the cemetery that was just north of town. The hearse, its black lacquer and brass fittings highly polished and flashing brilliantly in the sun, led the way, pulled by a team of matching black horses. Jimmy Patterson’s coffin, made of polished mahogany and trimmed in glistening silver, could be seen through the glass.

  Because the victim was a fourteen-year-old boy, and especially because of the brutal way he had been killed, practically the entire town had turned out for the funeral.

  Mrs. Patterson, dressed all in black, and with her face covered by a long black veil, rode in Morgan Poindexter’s elegant Victoria carriage, which was being driven by Jimmy’s friend, Jake. Morgan, wearing a black suit, was sitting in the carriage beside Jimmy’s mother, holding her hand.

  Diamond Dina watched from Diamond Dina’s Pleasure Palace. She wanted to go to the funeral but knew that she wouldn’t be welcome. She knew, also, that even if she stood out on the balcony of her establishment to watch as the funeral cortege passed by, that it would be unwelcome, so she watched from behind the curtained windows of her bedroom, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “What a sweet, sweet young boy he was,” she said aloud.

  As the hearse turned into the cemetery, it was followed by hundreds of people, some on horseback, some in carriages, surreys, buckboards, or wagons, but most on foot.