Six Gun Justice
Page 3
“I got the message you sent to me yesterday Killman,” Murdock said. “A bit inhospitable, since it came from a squatter.”
“I sent the squatters back to you Murdock. They were on my ranch uninvited, and they were warned against pulling their guns. The message was meant to be a warning to anyone coming on my property with intent to do harm to it, or me and my family.”
“What family is that Killman? Last I heard, your wife left the ranch and moved on. That means the ranch was abandoned. I just took it on myself to move in and claim it,” Murdock sneered.
“You know the law of abandonment. A place has to be vacant for three years, before it is considered by law to be abandoned. When you sent your men in, there was still furniture, and personal belongings there. I hear you had been hassling my wife for quite a while before she left, prodding her to sell out to you or leave.”
I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but that’s a lie,” he replied, placing the rifle in his right hand as he finished speaking.
“You know better Murdock. You have always been a lying snake, and I see you still are. If you come around my place looking for trouble, you’ll sure find it. If you raise that rifle, I’ll be forced to gun you, so set it against the wall real easy. I came here to check brands, and drive any cattle with my brand on them home. I’ll run your cattle back onto your range and mend my fences. If they get cut again, I’ll look to you Mister.”
Harvey Murdock stood his ground for a short spell, then slowly placed the rifle he was holding against the front wall of the house. He had seen the fire in Killman’s eyes, and knew he would not stand a chance against him in a showdown.
“Get your cattle and get off my range Killman.,” he said with bravado. “My men will be here soon, and if you’re still here then, I’ll have them escort you off, alive or dead.”
Jake said nothing, just smiled cruelly at his antagonist for a moment, then turned his mount and rode out into the group of cattle that were grazing some distance to the northwest. Reaching them, he quickly and efficiently cut out the cows that wore his brand, and gathering them in a bunch, drove them toward his own range.
When he reached the fence line, there was a half-mile or more of the fence down. The posts were still in place, but the wire had been cut and rolled to one side. He shook his head, and then dropped from the saddle. Taking his fencing tools from one of the saddlebags, he unrolled the barbed wire, pulled a few staples from the still standing posts, pulled the wire tight and re-nailed it, then twisted the ends of the wire together, on the top strand and was half finished with the second strand when the light began to fade. He stood back, checking his handiwork, thinking that it would have to do until the next day. At least it would hold the cattle for the night
He herded the cattle nearer his own ranch house, leaving them at the stock pond that was fed by a spring in the north section of his land, and rode on to the house. It was getting dark as he rode up to the corral and put his horse away. He lit a lantern and took the light to the small barn set some distance in back of the house. Inside he took stock of the gear and harness that was still there, just as he had left it, when he had ridden away. Sitting in the center of the barn was the springboard wagon, still with some hay in the bed.
He spent the next hour checking over the fittings, wheels, and tongue of the wagon, and the harness that was hanging on a post nearby. When he was satisfied that all was in good condition, he took the lantern and went back to the house. He hung the lantern on the post at the corner of the porch, and went inside. Lighting a lamp, he looked around, wondering where to start cleaning.
He finally took a broom and starting in the bedroom, he began cleaning out the dirt that had piled up while Murdock’s men were in residence, stripped the curtains from the windows, took the mattress out to the porch and beat it with the broom, till he thought it was clean, then took it back into the bedroom. He would wash the curtains in the morning, before he rode out to finish repairing the fence. He continued cleaning and putting things in place for two hours, then fixed himself a meal of beans, and fatback he found in the pantry.
He was tired when he finished eating, so he off his boots and pants, found some clean sheets in the top of the closet to make the bed, and lay down, hanging his Colt from the metal poster of the headboard, his rifle propped nearby. He slept lightly that night, just as he had the night before, awakening at dawn, when the sun was barely visible on the horizon.
The night had passed uneventful, the morning presenting itself with its usual grandeur that was the hallmark of the sunrises above the Mogolin Rim, surrounding the tips of the loblolly, and pinons with a halo of gold, the rays from its warmth filtering through the branches, to shimmer in the light vapor of fog that clung to the branches. He stood on the stoop enjoying then dawning of the new day, rolling a cigarette from his sack of tobacco. He felt good to be back home.
He struck a phosphorus match on the porch support, touching fire to the tip, and took a deep drag into his lungs, letting the smoke drift into the still morning air. His eyes picked up the smallest glint of sun on metal, directly in front of him some distance out along the open land that stretched to the edge of the forest. An alarm sounded in his mind and he dove through the open doorway, landing on his stomach, as the crack of a rifle sounded, and a slug ploughed into the heavy logs of the front of the house.
Crawling quickly to his rifle, he jacked a shell into the chamber, he moved quickly to the back door. Gathering himself, he made a dash out the door, around the side of the house to the water trough at the back side of the corral. Sticking his head around one end of the trough, peering at the spot among the trees, where he had spotted the glint of sun on steel. He could see nothing through all the trees, and no further glint showed itself.
Staying low, he worked his way through the trees in a large arc, until he figured he was just beyond where his attacker had tire to ambush him. Keeping his rifle ready, he silently worked his way to the spot, but still found no sign of life, other than a couple of jays, scolding each other from the branches of a short pinon. He searched the terrain near the site of attack, finally spotting the gleam of a shell casing lying among the pine needles.
He picked it up, noting that it came from a .50 caliber Henry. That was a hell of a piece of firepower, he thought. If the slug had hit him, it could have done a lot of damage. A hit in the arm would have probably taken his arm off. His anger built with the passing moments, as he thought of who was probably behind this attack. He would pay another visit to Murdock later, and this time he would leave a lasting impression on him about staying off his range. For the time being, he would take care of putting his fences in order, and any other repairs he deemed necessary, on the hopes that Sarah would return soon.
He walked back to the corral, threw a saddle on his horse, gathered the tools he would need from the shed, placed them on the spring wagon, hooked two horses to it, and tied his horse to the tailgate. He drove out to the fence he had worked on before, took out the comealong, hooked it to a post, and went to work re-stretching the wire he had worked on the day before. He watched the land near him, looking for another attack to come at any time, but he had no visitors.
By late evening, he had finished the break. He mounted his horse and leaving the wagon under a tall pine, rode along the fence looking for any other breaks, finding nothing between his repairs and the south gate, that bordered on the land that still belonged to his neighbor on the south. He had not seen Grat Osterman for more than four years. He had always been a good neighbor, but he was also a tough old coot. He would ride over to his place in a few days and pay him a visit.
Turning his rode back to the wagon, keeping watch for anyone who might be moving about through the trees that could hide a sniper. He had to put a stop to this bushwhacking, before whomever it was got lucky. Shading his eyes, he looked up at the sun, which was pretty low in the west. He calculated it to be somewhere near four in the afternoon, so he turned the wagon toward home.
“Whoa Jake!” she said, holding her hand out in front of her. “Before we take this any further, we have to come to some agreement as to where we both stand. First off, I won’t stay around waiting for you, if you decide to traipse off to some God-forsaken place to fight, or for any other reason.”
“I told you that was over,” he groused. “I had to go back then, to fight for what I thought was right, but no more.”
“You didn’t have to go back then, any more than you would have to go now. You’re not some young kid, who craves excitement, and goes running off to put on a uniform and fight for a cause that I could have told you didn’t stand a chance of winning.”
He said nothing, just stood there and let her vent her anger; let her get it all out of her system. He knew that arguing would only make her anger grow, so he just nodded his head in agreement, knowing deep in his heart that she was right. He should have placed his wife first, above all else, especially since she had no one left to protect her.
She finally dropped her hand, the anger draining from her face as quickly as it had come. Then she was in his arms, the kiss from her soft lips as sweet as nectar from a honeysuckle, washing away the hardships, and loneliness, which had been with him over the long years he had been away. They clung to each other for a long time, reveling in the warmth they gave one to the other.
When they parted, he went out to unhook the buggy, and the wagon, and put away the horses in the corral. The sun was now low in the west, only the golden glow on the very edge of the horizon. He slipped the bridle from his saddle horse, opened the gate, and gave her a light slap on the rump, sending her through the gate to munch on the hay he had forked from the lean-to. He took one last look around, took the rifle from the well of the wagon and went inside.
To his surprise the house was as neat as a pin, the floors swept, the curtains ironed and rehung, the floors scrubbed, and everything in its place.
“How long have you been here?” he asked in surprise, looking around the room.
“Long enough to see you’re not a very good house keeper,” she grinned maliciously.
“Don’t blame me,” he responded. “I haven’t had time to clean up the mess Murdock’s men left behind. I did take care of the dishes, and sweeping the floor, and a few other chores.”
“So I noticed. I’ll give you a bit of a pat on the back.”
“I spent the whole day patching the fence on the western boundary, and running some of Murdock’s stock back on his own range. There was a section that had been torn out for a quarter of a mile. That was after I dodged a bushwhacker that tried to kill me this morning.” He was smiling down at his pretty young wife, happy that she was back where she belonged.
“I saw the slug in the door. What did he use, a cannon?”
“No, just a Spencer .50 caliber. I guess he though he was hunting buffalo.”
“He probably thought you had a head as hard as a buffalo,” Sarah smiled. “But seriously, is it safe for us with Murdock sending hired guns out to kill you?
“I’ll be paying a call on him soon. A call he won’t be expecting,” his bushy eyebrows furrowing in a way that gave him a dark, harsh look. “I have to be sure it was Murdock’s man.”
“Who else could it have been? He’s the only thorn in everyone’s foot around here. If it hadn’t been for his pushing, stealing the stock, cutting our fences, and running his own cattle onto our place, I wouldn’t have had to move into Payson, seeking work to survive. The only alternative was to take over the duties of a man, and start packing a gun, after he ran off the only ranch hand we had, old Pete Watson. It wasn’t too much of a loss, but he could at least keep the fences mended in the summer.”
“He won’t be doing anymore of his shenanigans, if I can help it,” he growled.
For the first time in four years, he and Sarah retired to their conjugal bed, which for the last couple of nights had seemed so empty, and cold. The warmth of her lying next to him, the lovemaking that had been so long lost to him, was now the most precious thing on earth to him. He slept the same as on many another night, sleeping lightly, alert to any intrusion, or strange sound.
He awoke early the next morning, as he had for most of his life, but on this morning he smelled coffee, and baking biscuits, wafting through the house, as he put on his clothes, and stomped into his boots. Strapping his Colt around his waist, he went into the kitchen, where his lovely wife was busy fixing breakfast. The scene was so peaceful, he was arrested for a moment, watching her move about with efficiency, his love almost choking him.
After a delicious breakfast, he took his rifle and went out to the corral to saddle his horse. Sarah walked out on the porch, shading her eyes from the bright rising sun, as she watched Jake swing into the saddle. He rode near the stoop, and bent to kiss her on the cheek. She held on to his neck for a brief moment, and then released him.
“You be careful Jake Killman. Remember that you promised not to leave me again. That means not getting yourself killed by some gun happy cowpoke. I suppose your first stop is at Murdock’s ranch?” she queried.
“I might as well get things out in the open between us, so’s he knows I mean to hold him to blame if any other ranny decides to try and gun me from ambush.”
He smiled, reining his horse around a cantering up the slope of the hill to the south. It was only a four-mile ride to Murdock’s place, so he let his horse pick his own gate, enjoying the morning air, and the chirping of the birds in the pines. He rode through the front gate of his ranch, and reined his mount to the southwest, riding straight up the trail that led to his destination.
There were more men at the house when he rode up to it, but none of them made an overt move, when he drew rein near the stoop of the house, his hand resting on the butt of his Colt dragoon. A few seconds passed as he looked around the group of punchers, who were watching him with hard eyes. In a few seconds, Murdock strolled outside, a rifle held loosely in his hand. Sidestepping his horse just enough, that it put everyone in view.
“Murdock, I gave you a warning a few days ago, about keeping your men off my range,” he growled. You don’t seem to hear too well. Someone tried to gun me a couple of days ago, from ambush, and I don’t take too kindly to that. This is my last warning. If anyone comes around pointing guns in my direction, I’ll come for you and kill you. I’m damned tempted to do it right now.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that Killman, but if any man of mine had tried and not gotten the job done, I would have fired him!”
Jake looked down at the rancher, wondering if he would have to back up his threat at some later time. He silently cursed himself for a fool, for not shooting him right now. He would give it one more try. After all there was a little law in this Mogolin country, even if it was a long way from the Rim. It had been practice along the rim to handle one’s own affairs, short of an all out range war. He wondered dryly if the law would even come into the Rim then.
“I won’t tell you again Murdock,” he said shortly. “And if the man is here that tried to ambush me with that buffalo gun, just be aware that you won’t get another chance. I’ve said all I came to say.”
He had just turned his horse to leave, when his peripheral vision caught the movement of one of the punchers bringing up a rifle, near the blacksmith shed. The Colt on his hip leapt into his hand, spouting flame from the barrel, the thunder rolling across the land, as two slugs found their marks in the man’s chest. He kept the Colt aimed in the general direction of the rest of the punchers, and they, and Murdock knew it would b
e suicide to reach for a firearm.
“Let this be a last warning Murdock. You’ve got three men dead. Just let it lay.”
He backed his horse a ways out from the men standing at the front of the house, turning the mare toward the trail. Murdock’s men stood transfixed, shocked by the sudden display of violence that had just visited them, glad they had not been the target of Killman’s guns, as he walked his horse away from the gathering, his back exuding a burning spot in the center of his spine. He didn’t turn his head, for that would show a sign of weakness, and lack of confidence in his prowess, leaving him at the mercy of Murdock’s men. They would respect him, and would fear him, just as long as they could see in their mind’s eye, a bullet from the barrel of his revolver hitting them between the eyes.
When he was a good distance from Murdock’s ranch, when he spurred his mount into a loping gallop, thinking of the confrontation he had just had. Murdock, as well as his hired hands would be a lot more careful about trying to bushwhack him now. Things had gone rather well, to his thinking. He had expected a shoot out that would have left bodies lying dead, possibly his own. He would have to be wary from here on out, and he would start wearing another revolver. The next confrontation would be a little different he was sure.
When he reached the main trail, he turned toward Strawberry, nudging the mare into a mile-eating lope. The village was quiet, with no one on the street, the small mercantile, and the saloon, were the only doors open this early in the day. He tied his horse in front of the mercantile, and stomped his boots before entering.
Ely Stamper was putting some goods on the helves when he entered, and turned to look. He did a double take when he saw Jake Killman standing in front of the counter. It had been a long time since he had seen the rancher, who had not only been a long time customer, but a good friend as well.
Stepping down from the ladder, he walked quickly across the floor, his hand stretched before him. “Jake Killman! As I live and breathe! Stoler told me you were back from the war. It’s been a long time!”