“How is this man Filleen?”
“He’s a good man, Ben. Born in the old country but brought over here as a child. He lived in the east ... Boston, I believe, and in New York. We talked a few times. He’s a law and order man, Ben, and he has friends around town.”
“Election is tomorrow?”
“If it happens. Ben, I think they are planning to kill Cain.”
“’What!” My cup came down hard, spilling some tea. “Sorry. What do you mean?”
“Bud heard some talk at school, one of the boys was bragging. He’d been teasing Foss ... Webb’s boy ... asking him how much of a deputy he’d be after Mr. Shafter was elected, and Foss got very angry and said he’d still be deputy because there was only going to be one candidate ... nobody would be running against Ollie Trotter.”
“Might be just talk.”
“Ben, I’m worried. Every day for several weeks Ollie has had Foss out in the hills, teaching him how to shoot and how to draw fast. Bud watched them several times.
“Bud saw something that worried him. You know, Bud is a listener, and he often listened while you and Drake Morrell talked about gunfights and gunfighters. He said that several times Foss would walk right up to Ollie, speaking softly, a gun in his holster. Then when right up close he would suddenly draw another gun from under his coat.”
Well, I just looked at her. Then I got up. “I think I’ll go have a talk with Webb.”
“Be careful, Ben. Webb has been running with that crowd.”
I shrugged. “Mrs. Macken, you know as well as I do that no matter what anybody says, Webb’s his own man. He’s a maverick.”
“He was. For months now he has been trailing with them, spending his time around Dad Jenn’s and rarely more than speaking to any of us. He’s grown even more surly, if you can imagine it.”
I took up my cup and drank the rest of the tea. “Do you think they’re putting Foss up to killing Cain?”
“It would be like them, Ben. They are men without conscience, thinking of their own ends. Foss is a foolish boy, making a hero of Ollie Trotter. They tell him what a big man he’ll be, that they will make him an official deputy with a badge and everything ... and Foss has always resented Cain because Cain seems so unmoved by things. If Foss does it they are blameless, whereas if they do it there’d be resentment and possibly enough reaction to lose the election for them.”
The more I thought about it the more I thought it best to wait until morning. Webb would be touchy if awakened in the middle of the night, and Foss might be home.
I sat down again and listened to Ruth Macken tell about the town, and I told her about the drive and who was bringing the cattle up. I said nothing about the outlaw who had died near the barn. The killing of a man was nothing of which to be proud. We lived in a hard time, and if men took guns in their hands to force others to their will, they had to expect to be killed. And they always were ... sooner or later.
That night I slept under the trees, listening to the trickle of the water from Mrs. Macken’s spring. I remembered when I had cut the logs for her house, drunk at that spring, and how simple our lives had been then.
We had only to think of shelter, of hunting game, keeping a wary eye for Indians.
What of the Indians? What of that surly young brave whom I had once laid out, then protected against those who would kill him?
Day was breaking when I awakened, and tugging on boots and slinging on my gunbelt, I saddled up and headed down to Cain’s. He had just come out with his milk pail when I rode up.
His broad face broke into a smile. “Bendigo! Well, of all the ... !” He started to turn toward the door, but I stopped him. First, I told him about the herd. We’d had some additions along the way, and we had one hundred and seventy head coming up the country. I explained briefly about the Indians and Stacy Follett. Lastly, I told him what Bud Macken heard, and what we suspected. He listened gravely, nodding a bit.
“It’s to be expected.” He led the way on to the barn and leaning his head against the side of the cow, he began to milk. I listened to the changing sound of the milk in the bucket as it filled, thinking about the day.
“Cain,” I said quietly, “I want to run for office.”
He looked up. “What office?”
“The one you’re up for. Town marshal.”
“Taking the monkey off my back, Bendigo? You needn’t.”
“It isn’t that.” Suddenly I knew I meant exactly what I was saying. “I want to go into politics. This would be the best chance for me. I’m good with a gun, and I think I know when not to use it. I could be marshal here, maybe go on to something else. You don’t want it, I know. You never did. And before I left they were asking me to take the job, even though I wasn’t ready for it then.”
“You are now?”
“Yes, Cain. I’m ready.” He finished his milking. “Let’s go see Helen and the girls.”
Lorna came running. “Ben! Oh, Ben! I saw the horse and I just knew!” She was excited. “You’re so big, Ben! You’ve taken on weight!”
“It isn’t fat,” I protested. “You don’t get fat on the trails I’ve followed.”
Suddenly there was a voice behind me. “Ben?”
Neely Stuart was standing there, and Neely had changed, too. His features were drawn and his eyes hollow as though he’d had no sleep. “Ben, you’ve got to help me.”
“What is it, Neely?”
“Those two ... Pappin and Trotter. They’ve taken my claim.”
“Let’s all go in and sit down. Helen’s got breakfast on,” Cain said. “I’m hungry even if you aren’t.”
“And I am,” I said. “Come along, Neely. You can tell us about it.”
When the greetings were over, we sat down. The warm, friendly room brought back memories with a rush, but the face I missed was Ninon’s. It just wasn’t there.
Would it ever be?
“They’ve been stealing from me,” Neely said. “I’ve known it for some time, but well... well, I was afraid to brace them with it. I thought they’d kill me. Lately, I’ve got to figuring they intend to, anyway. I figured they were just waiting until Ollie was marshal or sheriff or whatever he’s going to be, then they’d kill me, have their own inquest, and he’d go scot-free.”
“So what happened?”
He hesitated. “Well, last night I closed the door. We’ve got a door on the mine. They put it up themselves, and they had the key. This time I switched locks when they weren’t about, closed the mine, and hung a sign on it, “Closed until further notice.’ ”
“A likely move,” Cain said. “I think you were wise.”
Neely shifted his feet under the table. “Yes, that’s what I figured. Then this morning they came up to me. Pappin did, with Ollie right behind him. They handed me a bill-of-sale for the mine, and suggested I sign it.
“Pappin, he said, “We’ve not been paid. We want you to give us the mine in payment. You just sign that there paper and there won’t be any trouble. Ollie an’ me, we don’t want no trouble, do we, Ollie?’ That’s what he said.
“I told him I’d have to think about it. And he said I had until noon to do my thinking. Then I should bring the paper to them as they’d be busy with the election. If I didn’t bring it to them ... signed ... they’d come after it.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I can’t face them, Ben. You’re good with a gun. Ethan said you were the fastest he’d ever seen.”
Cain looked at me, then nodded. “All right.” He turned his eyes to Neely. “Ben wants to run for marshal, in my place, Neely. Would you vote for him?”
Neely glanced from Cain to me. “Yes, I would. I’d vote for either of you.”
Cain sat back in his chair. He was a heavy, powerful man that might be considered fat by those who did not take a second look. He was large-boned and heavy with muscle that showed not at all. I watched him, wondering. Long as I’d known my brother I had never been able to judge his strength. W
hat he took hold of moved ... he was in his own way a phenomenon, but he was not cut out to be marshal. He knew it, and I did.
He was a retiring man, a quiet man, with no wish for authority, and no compulsion to command, yet I had seen him pick up a five hundred pound barrel and set it on a wagon, and without seeming effort. He had always been strong, born with it. Strong as I was myself, I wasn’t a patch on what he could do, and knew it. Yet he was gentle and not the man to deal with what was down there in town.
“Don’t sign anything, Neely.” I cut into the meat on my plate. “I’ll handle it.
“Cain? Would you step out of the marshal’s race if I agreed to run?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “I didn’t want it, but there was nobody else. I’ll tell them all that you’re the man.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “You’ve come a long way these last months, Bendigo, a long way. But you were always quick and sure. You’re a man who knows his mind.”
“All right,” I said, “I won’t see our town going to hell in a hand basket. I’ll run, and I’ll straighten it out. And don’t you worry about Trotter or Pappin.”
Pappin ... I thought about him. We knew very little about him. He had seemed the brainy one, the shrewd one, but what was he like in a tight spot? I had an idea I’d better think about Pappin. Ollie Trotter would use a gun, and he fancied himself that way.
Webb worried me. He was good, very good ... but where did he stand?
And there was his boy to think of, Foss, who we believed was to kill Cain.
Or me.
Well, he’d never do it with me. Suddenly I wished the cattle would get in. At this moment it would be a good thing to have Stacy Follett at my side.
A thought came to me. “Where’s Ethan?”
Lorna had come in. “He’s not around much, Bendigo. I think the only reason he stays around at all is waiting for you to come back. He told me he didn’t favor leaving the town without you to look out for Ruth Macken.”
“Is he up at the dugout?”
“I don’t know. He’s not a trouble-wishing man, and I think he lives up in the Wind Rivers most of the time. But he’ll be around, once he knows you’re back.”
Helen came from the door.
“Bendigo? Ollie Trotter’s coming up the hill. He’s got two men with him.”
Chapter 27
Neither of the men was Pappin. Cain came up behind me, looking over my shoulder to see who it was. “Two of those roughs that lay about Dad Jenn’s place,” he commented. “The taller one is Nels Taylor, and the other is Vin Packman.”
“All right,” I said, “I’ll handle it.”
When I stepped outside to meet them I saw John Sampson’s door was ajar, and it warmed my heart to think it was like it had been. Whenever the town was in danger, everyone stepped to the front. Cain would be there behind me, and Sampson yonder.
Trotter stopped abruptly when he saw me, frowning under the brim of his hat like he couldn’t believe what he saw, but then they came on, the other two evidently asking him who I was.
It was a bright, sun-filled morning, and the valley was green and lovely. From where I stood I could see spots of color around Ruth Macken’s house where her flowers grew. Slow smoke trailed from chimneys, and in the street in front of Dad Jenn’s I could see two men standing, looking up the hill. Trotter stopped. “Is Neely Stuart here?”
“Yes, he is, Trotter, but as his legal adviser I have told him to sign nothing, to leave the mine closed, and to institute an investigation as to the free gold that seems to be floating about. As gold is readily identifiable as to its mineral content, it seems possible someone has had access to gold that did not pass through Mr. Stuart’s hands.”
Now I was running a strong bluff, but since Trotter didn’t know how much I knew, and a guilty man is very apt to suspect folks know more than they do, I figured I could make it stick.
“You ain’t no lawyer!” Trotter said roughly. “You can’t come that over me!”
“I have been studying law. As you should be aware, Mr. Trotter, I have been studying for some time now.” He had seen me reading and had no idea just what kind of books they were, I believed he would buy that. I’d read Bkckstone and a small book on the rules of evidence, and there was more than one practicing lawyer who hadn’t read more than that. “How long does it take to become a lawyer?”
I knew he couldn’t answer that one offhand, but what I wanted now was to confuse him, give him no excuse for gunplay, and to push the play back upon him and take the weight off Neely Stuart.
“Where’s Neely? I want to talk to him!”
“Sorry. I have advised my client to say nothing.” And then again I lied. “Naturally, the governor of the Territory will be sending an officer to investigate the matter.”
Trotter did not like it and I was glad Pappin wasn’t around. Pappin was shrewd and might not have bought my story so easily.
“He owes us money ... wages. He’s got to pay or we’ll take the mine.” Trotter put his hands on his hips. “This here ain’t no affair of yours, Shafter, an’ you’d better stay clear.”
“It is my affair,” I replied calmly, “and you will not take the mine. You have been paid. In fact, we plan to bring suit against you to have an accounting.
“In fact,” I was lying again, “when Mr. Stuart wrote to me ...”
“He wrote you?”
“Of course. And when he wrote I immediately began an investigation. A friend of mine has started inquiries as to your background, Mr. Trotter, that of Mr. Pappin, and of Moses Finnerly. We decided that if we had to go to court we wanted all the evidence in our hands.”
Trotter didn’t like it. Obviously, the possibility of an investigation into his own background was something he had not considered. To him it was a simple matter. He would bully Neely, a frightened man, into signing over his mine, and if he did not, they would trick him into a shootout and kill him.
Our town was far from anywhere, there was no law, and what went on here would, they assumed, go unnoticed. My talk of courts, suits, and investigations confused and irritated Trotter. He was prepared for nothing of the kind, and he fell back upon bluster.
“This ain’t the end of this. You just wait until after election. If you want this here to go to court, we’ll just have our own trial, right here in town.”
He turned, and trailed by the others, walked back down the street.
Turning to Cain, I said, “We’ve got to work fast. Get John and we’ll take a walk.”
“What kind of walk?” Bud Macken was coming down the hill toward us.
“We’ve got some electioneering to do. The three of us are going around, house to house, and talking to people about the election today. Some of them don’t know me. I want to meet them.”
Bud had stopped and was listening. Briefly, I explained what had happened so he could tell his mother. “Bud, you can do something for me. Ride up to Ethan’s place and see if he’s around. If he is, tell him I need him. If he isn’t, leave a note for him.”
Bud was off and John Sampson came from his house wearing his black suit, hat on his white hair. He was a fine-looking man.
With Cain we walked down the street to the Crofts. Tom and Mary came to the door. Quietly, I explained about Neely, and that I was now running for marshal in Cain’s place, and that Cain was backing me.
“I don’t know,” Tom objected. “The Reverend’s a good man. I’m not saying anything against you, John, but he’s had experience. He’s been top man in more than one town, and we need a strong hand.”
“I wonder what towns they were?” Cain said. “And why he left them?”
“One thing or another,” Tom said. “He wants to save souls. He’s a preacher first and last.”
“I believe you’re right, Tom,” I said. “It is a pity he has to take time from his preaching when John here could manage the town. The Reverend Finnerly is a real gospel-shouting preacher and that’s what we need here ... especially with some of the riffraff
that have been coming in.
“He probably is not aware of what Mr. Trotter is doing. However, I believe he should be. If Ollie Trotter takes Neely’s mine, he may realize how well you’re doing with your farm and take that. The Reverend will have to be told, Tom, and if he is elected he must be told. And if he is elected, I would suggest you go to him at once.”
Tom shifted his feet. The idea did not appeal to him, that much was obvious.
“You think about it, Tom. We’ve come a long way together, and we haven’t always agreed, but we’ve made progress. I think before the coming winter is over half of this riffraff will have left the country, anyway. It is going to be a hard winter, and I suspect Ethan and I will be out hunting again.”
We talked a few minutes more, then walked down the hill. A man named Robbins was next, a stifihecked man who looked at us with some doubt. Obviously he liked John, but knew nothing of me but what he heard, but he listened. We did not appeal to his prejudices, but we did not oppose them, either. We simply stated our case.
“Bendigo Shafter was one of those who went to the Indians and got our children back,” Cain said. “He hunted meat for us through that bad first winter, and he was a leader in the fight against the renegades.”
“You the one went after cattle?” he demanded.
“Yes, I am. The herd should be in town within the next two or three days.”
“That there’s something, to drive cattle all the way from Oregon. And you taken gold money to buy them? You rode to Oregon with it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Takes some doin’. Most young fellers would have lost it or been tricked out of it. Well, I ain’t sayin’ how I’ll vote, but you seem to be an upstandin’ man.”
There were a dozen men standing in front of the Filleen Livery Stable when we walked up, and they turned to look at us as we approached.
One of them, a square-built man with a rugged Irish face, thrust out his hand. “Howdy, Cain! John!” He turned to me, his eyes keen and measuring under tufted brows. “And you, I take it, are Bendigo Shafter? Word has come that you’re runnin’ for office.”
Bendigo Shafter Page 20
