by Mason, Zack
On top of my other blessings, I didn't find any rustler tracks when I got back, which meant they'd left my herd alone while I'd been gone. Things were looking better and better.
I rode into Cottonwood to see about hiring a team of hands to help me with branding my newly purchased herd. In any town, there will always be a couple of drifters, men waiting around to see what kind of work would fall their way.
There were actually quite a few men like that in Cottonwood, but none of them would accept my offers. I soon ran out of people to ask. They all turned me down.
Frustrated, I decided to grab something to eat over at the hotel dining room and ponder my situation. Never in a million years had I expected to be unable to find help.
Something was wrong, for sure. I’d offered the last man nearly double a month's normal wages. He’d still refused. Several of them had seemed downright hostile as they turned me down. One even spat at my feet.
I didn’t believe I owed this warm reception to the killing of Tom Logan alone. There was no explanation other than somebody had spread some rumor about me around town. Whatever that rumor was, it must have been a doozy.
Looked like I’d have to go as far as Rio Perdido or some other town in search of hands. The fact of the matter was I could not manage a herd of that size by myself. Somebody wanted me out of business.
When I entered the dining room, I felt like I’d been hit in the stomach with a pile of bricks.
Elizabeth Miller was seated at a table in the center of the room by herself. The sight of her swept my breath away. My heart pounded. The sheer, unexpected strength of my feelings surprised even me.
The tresses of her long, raven hair shone like silk in the sunlight streaming through the front window. Her cheeks glowed like pink roses just beginning to bud. The pastel green dress draped over her slender frame had transformed the woman from the dusty trail partner I knew into a distinctly delicate, feminine version of Elizabeth.
I definitely liked the change.
As she lifted a bite of potatoes to her lips, she noticed me. Her hand froze in mid-air. After a moment of hesitation, she continued to eat, but did not withdraw her eyes from me as I seated myself two tables away.
At first, that familiar and seemingly undiminished hatred blazed in her eyes, but it soon dissipated into a forlorn gaze.
The waiter neared and I ordered my lunch.
I looked at her again. Surprisingly, she returned my stare without flinching, or anger now. She stood and walked toward me. She was so beautiful, I couldn't stop watching her. My heart leapt at the realization her attention was riveted solely on me.
Her lips were red and full.
"Jake, I...I want to apologize. I shouldn't have..."
"So, you like to rape your women and murder little girls, do you!"
Someone grabbed me roughly from behind by the shoulder and whirled my chair around. I'd been so focused on Elizabeth, I hadn't realized anyone was behind me. It took me a few seconds to come out of my stupor.
A dirty, unkempt man stood before me who looked like he hadn't shaven or taken a bath in weeks. He was a roper, you could tell from his duds. I'd offered him work just a few hours before.
His face burned beet red in anger. It took a minute for the words he’d spat to register. When they did, my face grew hot in embarrassment. Elizabeth was behind me. She'd heard what he'd said as well as I, though I didn't understand it.
"What did you say?" I asked incredulously.
"I said, you like to rape your women and murder little girls, huh? Well, stand up, you coward, so I can show you what I think about a man who does stuff like that!"
The hotel clerk had materialized as soon as the commotion began.
"Please, gentlemen, take this quarrel outside."
No one paid him any attention. I was too focused on the buffoon spoutin' lies about me in front of Elizabeth. I stayed seated for the moment, but didn't know how long I’d be able to control myself. Once I stood, there’d be a fight. If I could help it, I wanted to avoid that as long as possible.
"Listen, pal, I don't know what in the world you're talking about, but those are some pretty serious accusations you're making. You better be able to back them up."
"Don't play dumb, Talbot! It's all over town about how you're wanted in Kansas for raping some woman up that way, and then murdering her and her little five year-old girl. Came in on the telegraph yesterday. We oughta string you up right now," he growled.
So, that was why I'd received such hostile treatment in town today. I had no idea where these accusations had come from, but I’d be wise to be careful. If people got incensed enough, a mob would not be out of the question.
I looked to Elizabeth and saw that whatever had been softening in her spirit toward me was gone, replaced by an even harder animosity than before, if that were possible. She seemed to be buying into what this cowboy was saying, hook, line, and sinker.
I had to convince her that he was wrong, that this was all a big fat lie. I stood and pled with her, "Elizabeth, you have to believe me. I don't know who started this rumor, but it isn't true."
She looked confused, but the dirty ranch hand struck me hard in my lower back, right in the kidney. It hurt like the dickens. Self-preservation took over, and I laid into him with both fists, knocking him flat on the floor. He started to get up, wanting more, but I drew and covered him with one of my Colts. Nothing less would have frozen him in place.
"Look at you, Jake! You're despicable! Even if it's not true, look at you! You're so violent! I hate you, just get away from me!" Big, wet tears rolled down her anguished face as she fled the hotel.
I had half a mind to take my frustration out on the jerk on the floor by shooting him where he lay, but that would only confirm in Elizabeth's mind what she already thought about me. I had to show her I was different somehow.
I had to.
"Name’s Jake Halfbreed…"
"Yes sir, I know who you are." The telegraph agent looked up nervously from the papers on his desk.
“You might know me as Jacob Talbot.”
“Yes, sir.”
"Heard somebody received a telegraph here accusing me of some crimes I supposedly committed up in Kansas last year. I want to know who sent that telegraph, who received it, and when it came through."
The agent looked slightly perplexed, unsure of how to proceed. He wiped a line of sweat from his temple with the back of his hand.
"I am familiar with the rumors you're referring to, Mr. Halfbreed."
"Well, boy, don't waste time. Out with it. Where did that telegraph originate?"
"I don’t know what to tell you, sir. I have received no telegraph regarding you at any time." His gaze dropped back to the desk. It took a minute for his answer to sink in.
"You mean…there was no telegraph? Somebody invented this out of thin air?"
"That would be my guess, sir."
This guy had called me sir so many times I was beginning to wonder if he thought I was his superior officer.
Somebody had a lot of guts to come up with such a bald-faced lie about me and spread it around town. Sometimes, the bigger the lie, the easier it was for people to believe. I eyed the agent with a glare designed to burn.
"If you know that, why don't you set everybody straight?"
"Sir, it would seem to me that somebody is out to get you, and I don't want them out to get me as well. I hope you can understand."
The agent's hands were shaking. He obviously didn't expect me to understand. I seriously considered yanking him outside, bouncing him off a few posts, and then forcing him to tell everybody I could find the rumors were false, but with most people’s current frame of mind, they'd probably be unable to look past the fact that I was physically assaulting the guy. Plus, there was no guarantee he'd tell the same story to anybody else.
Tension solidified in my shoulder and neck muscles, twisting them into something akin to hardened bricks. Anxiety fought to take over my mind, but I wouldn'
t let it win. I'd have to find another way. I left the clerk peacefully in his chair. A small sigh escaped his lips as I walked out the door.
***
I was in a fix. I'd impulsively bought a thousand head of cattle with the gold I’d found, but no amount of money seemed to buy me help in running them. The rumors had been too viciously spread and too easily believed.
The forces allied against me showed no mercy, starting with the very first night after I returned to camp from Cottonwood. In the darkness, a group of rustlers grabbed about twenty head of my cattle. I was halfway expecting it. Around midnight, they came back. I spied a small group of them riding single file up on a ridge, their black figures outlined by the pale, full moon.
I spurred my horse to intercept them at full speed, whooping and hollering. They led me on a chase, but it didn't take long to realize they were only acting as a diversion. I raced back to the west side of the ranch just in time to catch sight of another group driving off some more of my cattle. The morning light revealed they’d gotten off with a total of about fifty head. These rustlers were more sophisticated than I’d originally thought.
I spent all the next day trying to brand as many cattle as I could, but working by myself, it went mighty slow. By sundown, I was beat and had only managed to brand a total of about thirty-five head. My mood worsened as I realized my efforts were probably for nothing. Around these parts, not many people would respect my brand if they came across it. Still, I had to do it if I wanted to be considered a legitimate rancher and not a rustler of other men's cattle.
I was not looking forward to riding the range all night, shivering in the cool air. I had it to do, though. The rustlers might come back. If they did, I wouldn't fall for their tactics again.
Again, around midnight, a group rode in from the west. I waited them out, suspecting another diversionary trick. Then, a second group came in from the northeast. The unmistakable sound of shod hooves clipping rocks told me there was a third group behind me to the south.
How many of them were there?
I couldn't decide which group to pursue first. Then, just as quickly as they’d appeared, all three groups faded into the blackness, and I saw no more sign of them for the rest of the night.
In the morning, I located their tracks. Each group had gotten off with about ten head of cattle or so, totaling another thirty. Clearly, my improvised strategy hadn't worked.
This war was certain to put me on the losing end very shortly if I didn't get help soon. So, I decided to head for Rio Perdido. There was always a fair supply of rough hands and other vagabonds there who could be hired for any kind of work for the right price.
Somebody obviously felt threatened by my newly enlarged herd and wanted me broken. It didn't take much in the way of brains to see that whoever it was, they were probably the same person, or persons for that matter, who had killed my brother. That person apparently had a strong relationship with the rustlers. Of everyone I knew, only Jim Dunagan and Bill Hartford seemed like they would be in a position to gain if this land became available again. I didn't think Jim would be capable, but I wouldn't put it past Hartford. Still, who knew for sure? I needed proof before I could accuse anyone.
Rio Perdido was a waste of time. Word had already reached there about my supposed "exploits" in Kansas. There weren't as many men to choose from as I’d hoped anyway. I headed back alone.
That night, I positioned myself atop a ridge with a good view of most of the vale and waited with my rifle. I was through playing games with these men.
Around eleven o’clock, the first group of rustlers came in from the east. As soon as they were within range, I squeezed off a shot and was rewarded with a shout of surprise. The dark outline of a man tumbled from his saddle.
Two other groups rushed to the aid of the first from different directions, and I shot a second man off his mount. Seeing they were sitting ducks, the rustlers turned tail and raced out of range as fast as they could, disappearing into the dark.
I didn't know if I'd killed any of them, but at least I'd made them think twice about raiding me. I figured it was probably a safe bet they wouldn't return the same night, so I turned in for some desperately needed sleep, content with my first small victory over the invading forces.
In the morning, I searched for sign of the riders, and found blood stains on the ground in two places. There wasn’t a lot of it though. It could mean anything, but I'd bet I'd only winged them.
My body was still giving me some loud complaints concerning exhaustion, so I decided to sleep most of the afternoon in order to be rested for the long night that awaited me, because I knew they'd be back in force.
I woke in a fog, but some strong, black coffee helped pull me out of my grogginess. I took a quick cursory ride around the immediate area and to my dismay found the rustlers had come while I'd been napping and gotten off with another twenty head — in broad daylight, no less.
This revelation depressed me more than anything else up to that point. They were apparently watching me night and day. They knew what I was doing and when. My hopes for maintaining my herd were running out fast.
These were the most brazen rustlers I'd ever heard of. Obviously emboldened by a knowledge of my social situation in town, they knew no one would come to help me. It was more evidence that somebody local was behind all the rustling in the valley.
I would not give up. I wouldn't quit till they killed me. I’m like a bulldog sometimes. When I get my teeth sunk in something, I don’t let go.
I dug in for the night on another high point overlooking the vale, a different one from the ridge I'd been on the night before.
Almost immediately after the darkness had grown complete, they started firing. Somehow, they knew exactly where I'd positioned myself, in spite of my attempts at stealth. Several rifles from different directions pinned me in my hiding place behind some large rocks.
They couldn't quite get at me from their vantage points, but neither could I do much of anything, except stay as low and hidden as possible. The shooting continued sporadically for hours, keeping me trapped behind cover. In the meantime, other rustlers whooped and hawed down in the vale, and I understood their game for the night.
The group armed with rifles was keeping me holed up while another bunch raided my herd and did as they pleased — and I was powerless to stop it.
Nothing I could do until they gave up for the night. Come morning, I was astounded to see they'd stolen about two hundred and fifty cows.
I had to find some way to beat them at their own game and fast. They'd successfully taken about a third of my herd, and I didn't even know who they were.
It wouldn’t be long before they'd robbed me of everything. I was no fool. With that many cattle leaving a trail, I could track them without much problem, but it would be awfully risky. As well organized as they were, I didn't think I'd get very far going that route. They'd probably wait on their back trail and ambush me before I even knew what hit me.
No, my best bet was to try and get them when they came back. I didn't know how, but there had to be some way. There had to be.
My whole body was taught as a bowstring. Tension could be fatal out west. A man had to remain calm in situations like this if he wanted to keep his head. I built a fire and boiled myself some rich-smelling joe to take my mind off things for a spell. The air didn't seem so cold today at least, more of a cool breeze, which I relished and breathed in deeply. As I began to relax, a plan formed in my mind…
Don't you draw the queen of diamonds, boy.
She'll beat you if she's able.
You know the queen of hearts is always your best bet.
"Desperado"
-The Eagles
Pick Johnson had been more than happy to give me what I'd asked for. Especially since I’d paid cash. He'd bitten down on the gold eagle I handed him just to make sure I wasn't cheating him. Feisty old bugger, but at least he didn't ‘give a dad-blamed hoot what the townsfolk said,’ as he put it. Pick
said he didn't put much stock in rumors anyway and had no problem helping me out.
I carried the packages back to my ranch with a smile on my face for the first time in days. I even dared to whistle a bit. If everything went my way, these rustlers would see just what one man could do to defend what was his.
Pick had sold me several packages of dynamite and a plunger switch to set them off. My plan had been vague up till the moment, but now, I had to be very precise. If I miscalculated or planned badly, I might blow my one chance to stop them. They wouldn't fall for this twice.
I took care to conceal my actions in case I was still being watched.
Riding quickly around the interior of the ranch, I scouted for a location I could use. Finally, I saw the perfect place.
It was a little box canyon with two narrow entrances, one on each end, tall enough and secluded enough to be able to set the trap successfully. I could wire all my dynamite bundles without running out of wire.
I set one bundle at the northern entrance to the canyon. I hid it between two rocks right in the entranceway. Then, I ran a wire from it up to a position on the eastern canyon wall, where I hoped to be overlooking everything.
The second and third bundles, I squeezed underneath a huge mass of piled boulders and other debris perched on the edge of the eastern canyon wall, right at the southern entrance. When those exploded, it would rain down a small avalanche on whoever was moving through the narrow passage below. Then, I ran wire from those up to my lookout position.
I had chosen my lookout to be purposely deceptive. It held a good view of the entire canyon, so I could easily watch whatever happened below. It was also surrounded by large rocks, so if the rustlers repeated their trick of the night before, I would have cover from any fusillade they might want to send my way.
The deceptive aspect was that I had purposely chosen a spot which was overlooked by several others higher up on the rocky slopes behind me.
I doubted the rustlers would be able to resist locating themselves in those places in order to take potshots at me. Let them, because that was exactly what I wanted them to do. I'd be protected by the surrounding rocks and still be able to observe what was happening in the canyon while under fire.
