by Neil Hunter
And he had another big scheme in motion that was another reason why he needed access to Lazy-C. Nothing really to do with water and cattle, but as far as Merrick was concerned it stood head and shoulders over everything else. Merrick had plans that would make the basin vitally important. Something for the future. Something that would mark Beecher’s Crossing as a place to be counted.
Merrick had made his presence in the area known by his actions. In Beecher’s Crossing his money had already bought him into local businesses and he was making sure that with the money his crews spent in the town he had gained support from the stores and the saloons. They wanted the kind of cash his business brought. Merrick had purchased one of the saloons in town. It had been on the brink of closing. With Merrick money behind it, spent on improving its presence, The Golden Lady had stepped up in the world. Liquor, gambling, women, the saloon had become the center for entertainment in town. It had become known as the unofficial base for Diamond-M. Merrick accepted it became a little rough at times. He put that down to the high-spirits of the cow outfit crews who frequented the place and no one could deny it offered value for money.
All that would be small change when Merrick’s main scheme came to fruition.
The arrival of the spur line in town, already well under way, would add to Beecher’s Crossing’s standing. Once the line reached town, connecting it to the main east/west line the sky was the limit. It would mean the town was no longer an isolated community. Goods and people would be able to reach Beecher’s Crossing with relative ease. And with the added plus of large stock yards, the movement of cattle to outlying markets would also improve.
Yancey Merrick was determined to be at the top of the tree. Diamond-M would dominate and the money he was already making would increase significantly. He intended to have the Diamond-M brand on more than just cattle. It would be the most important company in and around Beecher’s Crossing. He would make it happen.
Merrick swung his swivel chair around, away from the window and back to face his desk. He took a long cigar from the box in front of him, snipped off the end and lit it with a Lucifer from the carved holder next to the cigar box. He let the rich aroma of the cigar curl above his head while he organized his thoughts. After a couple of minutes he stood and crossed his office, opened the door and called for Kershaw to join him.
Rafe Kershaw closed the door as he stepped through. He was a tall lean man. His thick hair, dark and neatly cut, framed his strong-boned face. Though he occupied a responsible position in Merrick’s company, Kershaw dressed like a regular cowhand albeit one with ample money to spend on his clothing. He followed Merrick across the room and remained standing until his employer took his own seat.
‘Boynton has created a problem,’ Merrick said. ‘He took it on himself to deal with Conway’s son. It was going to happen but I wanted to wait a little. He’s jumped the gun in more ways than one.’
Kershaw thought for a moment as he settled in a seat facing Merrick.
‘The man did what he thought was expected of him,’ he said.
‘Like I said too soon and too damn clumsy.’
‘Have to agree on that.’ Kershaw moved awkwardly on his seat, not sure what he should say next.
‘Ease off, Rafe, I’m not about to bite you.’
Kershaw managed to relax a little. Not completely because he understood the potential problems that could lie ahead.
‘So where do we go from here?’ he asked.
‘Right now there’s no real proof Diamond-M had anything to do with Conway’s death. Oh, people can talk and they will, but there isn’t a damn thing they can do to point the finger.’
‘Henry Conway nigh on accused you.’
Merrick smiled. ‘Hell, of course he did. And he’ll know we’re after getting our hands on Lazy-C. the man is no fool. He’ll make the connection.’
‘And you ain’t worried?’
‘Rafe, he has his wife and daughter to worry about. We’ll let that work on him for a while.’
‘Whatever you say, boss. What do we do about Boynton?’
‘Keep him close to town. The man likes his liquor. Enjoys poker. Let him spend some time at The Golden Lady. Let him win a few hands at the tables. Keep him distracted until I need him for some more work. Just make him understand there are to be no more unexpected incidents. He takes his orders from me, or you.’
‘I’ll make sure he understands,’ Kershaw said. ‘You still want that other plan to go ahead? Those three greasy sackers?’
‘Sure. That will keep Conway guessing.’
‘You still have that meeting with Orrin Blanchard?’
Merrick smiled for the first time that day. Just thinking about the man gave him purpose. Orrin Blanchard was an important factor in Merrick’s up coming plan for Diamond-M and the surrounding area.
‘Blanchard will be arriving in town later this morning. I want him met and brought directly out here.’
Merrick stood and crossed the room to stand in front of a map pinned to the wall. He gazed at it, nodding to himself as he traced a line with his finger. From the main rail track along the penciled-in line across country that terminated at Beecher’s Crossing. When it was built it would connect Beecher’s Crossing to the outside world. The township would no longer be isolated. The ninety odd miles of steel track would bring wealth, commerce, and people to Beecher’s Crossing. And Yancey Merrick would be the man who created it. At the top of the heap.
His gaze moved over the map, resting on the shaded area that represented Lazy-C. The only setback. Lazy-C land stood in the way of the spur line. If Merrick couldn’t gain ownership of the spread the line would be forced to incorporate a long and time-consuming diversion. Having to do that would push up construction costs dramatically, perhaps even creating a situation where Merrick’s dream might have to be ended.
‘No easy way around this?’ Kershaw asked.
‘No,’ Merrick said. ‘Conway and his damned Lazy-C is the only obstacle in the way. I don’t want Blanchard getting a whiff there might be trouble. If he does I could lose his support.’
‘But that shouldn’t be a problem yet,’ Kershaw said. ‘Construction is still a long way away. Gives you time to deal with Conway.’
‘That’s where the problem lies,’ Merrick said. ‘Time passes faster than you imagine.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘You need to get the buckboard ready and head for town.’
Alone in his office Merrick went to the carved drinks cabinet and poured himself a thick tumbler of whiskey. He stood at the window, watching the activity outside. He swallowed the whiskey with a swift motion.
‘You think you have problems now, Conway,’ he said. ‘Wait until I really get started.’
Chapter Five
McCall pointed to a line of hoofprints that led from the line shack and across the boundary line. Riders had crossed onto Lazy-C range and from the condition of the prints not so long ago.
‘Appears we have visitors,’ he said.
‘Why don’t we go say hello,’ Ballard suggested.
They spurred their mounts, picking up the tracks that ran directly across Lazy-C range. Coming down to lower ground the Texans were able to spot the riders. Three of them, moving steadily across the grazing land. Beyond the trio groups of Lazy-C cattle could be seen. The steers were contentedly cropping at the grass, paying no mind to the three riders. A few hundred yards further on was one of the large watering holes that dotted Lazy-C range.
‘What the hell are these jokers playing at?’ McCall asked.
His question was answered when one of the riders slid a rifle from its sheath. He raised it, aimed and put a slug in one of the steers. The animal dropped as the slug went in through its skull.
McCall and Ballard kicked their mounts into motion, easing out their own rifles as they cut in towards the three riders.
The man with the rifle was leveling it at a second steer when McCall shouldered his Winchester and triggered a trio of fast shots. He was shooting
on the move so accuracy was not as good as it should have been. Two slugs went wild – the third hit the shooter in the left shoulder, knocking him sideways. The man dropped his rifle as he grabbed for his saddle horn with his good arm. His partners made attempts to pull their own weapons on target. They were slow. Ballard hit one with a single shot from his Winchester, sending the man from his horse. He landed face down, hard, his body bouncing as he landed. The third man stood up in his stirrups, his rifle hard against his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and sent a shot that burned across the top of McCall’s shoulder. Ignoring the hit McCall returned fire, laying in a couple of shots that sent the shooter down.
The echo of the shots died away as the Texans dismounted and approached the scene. McCall sheathed his rifle and took out his Colt. As he approached the man he’d shot in the shoulder he could hear the man cursing wildly as he clutched at his wound. Blood was seeping through his fingers.
‘You want to get down off there, mister,’ McCall said, keeping the man well covered. ‘Climb or fall, don’t make no never mind to me.’
Stepping in close McCall pulled the man’s handgun rom its holster and tossed it clear, then moved aside. While McCall did this Ballard had taken a look at the other two men. When he glanced at his partner Ballard simply shook his head.
‘They done for?’ the wounded man asked.
‘You play rough games,’ McCall said, ‘so it’s no surprise when it deals you a bad hand.’
The man, sliding from his saddle, stared at McCall.
‘Sounds to me you don’t give damn my friends are dead.’
‘You boys have good intentions when you turned your guns on us?’ Ballard asked.
He took a look at the mens’ horses and the gear they carried behind their saddles.
‘Jess, you know what we got here? A damn greasy sack outfit. These yahoos were out to shoot Lazy-C cattle and cut themselves some prime beef.’
He showed his partner the collection of tools, mainly razor sharp skinning and cutting knives.
Greasy sackers were nothing more that cattle thieves, who took down steers and rode off with the spoils. They carried everything they needed in the burlaps sacks. Times were they would ride off with the rustled cattle and sell them wherever they could, but the Texans had come on a trio who were simply there to slaughter and leave the dead cattle where they lay.
‘You boys must have been yearning for fresh steaks,’ McCall said. ‘You working for someone or just yourselves?’
‘Ain’t got nothin’ to say. Anyhows I’m bleeding pretty bad here. I need a doctor.’
The man, lean and gaunt, unshaven, his wild hair hanging over the collar of his grubby shirt, slumped to the ground, legs twisted under him. Despite the pain of his wound he seemed to be showing more interest in the large wrapped bundle behind the saddle of one of the horses.
‘What you got there, son?’ McCall asked, his own curiosity aroused now.
‘Ain’t nothin.’
‘Now you’ve got me curious,’ McCall said.
He crossed to the horse and unlashed the canvas over the tied down bundle. A pair of heavy canvas bags were hung over the horse’s back. McCall prodded one.
‘What’s in here?’
The man squirmed under McCall’s hard stare.
‘Don’t know. That’s Kiley’s horse. I don’t know what he brung.’
‘Son, you are out and out lying to me,’ McCall said. I don’t like that. You and your partners came to Lazy-C for more than a side of beef. Now you better tell me else I’m going to make you eat what’s in these sacks.’
Ballard took a look at the bags. He pulled on the thick gloves tucked under his belt and loosened the cord tie around the neck of one of them.
‘Hope you got an appetite,’ McCall said.
‘You can’t make me…’ the man said, his face pale and greasy with sweat.
‘Arsenic powder,’ Ballard said. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the watering hole. ‘Dump that in the water, the cows drink it and die from arsenic poisoning.
‘That wasn’t what we were doing,’ the man protested.
‘Hell, no, son. Everybody hauls around sacks of arsenic for the fun of it,’ McCall said.
He reached down and caught hold of the man’s shirt, lifting him bodily to his feet.
‘It wasn’t me,’ the man yelled. ‘It was Kiley’s idea. All I was here was for the meat.’
‘That’s good enough to get you hung. Rustling a man’s livestock is just as bad as poisoning it.’
‘Hanging? You can’t hang me.’
‘Now he’s a lawyer,’ McCall said. ‘This is a talented son of a bitch.’
‘I’m hurt,’ the man said. ‘I’m like to bleed to death out here.’
‘You look to him,’ Ballard said. ‘I’ll put these other boys over their saddles and tie ’em down.’
Ignoring the protests and moans of the wounded man McCall did what he could. His slug had gone through and out, leaving a bloody, messy hole. McCall plugged the wound with a wadded piece of the man’s shirt, then bound it with more strips to hold it in place.
‘Goddam, that’s my best shirt,’ the man groused.
‘Son, I can see that,’ McCall agreed. ‘Now quit making a fuss else I’ll poke that hole with a sharp stick.’
The man glared at him, then decided it wouldn’t be in his best interest to upset the big Texan. He fell silent and sat down again. McCall left him to help Ballard with the two dead men.
‘Now maybe I’m making a stretch here,’ Ballard said, ‘but seeing as how these boys came from a Diamond-M line shack, you figure maybe this was all down our neighbor Merrick?’
McCall thought about it. ‘Fits in with the man wanting to make things uncomfortable for Lazy-C. Another way of sticking the knife in. Something for Ray Bellingham to look into.’
The wounded man said, ‘I hear you boys talkin’. It about me?’
‘Well, hell, boy,’ McCall said, ‘what else we even got to talk about? It’s all about you.
Between them Ballard and McCall got the moaning man back on his horse. They collected all the discarded weapons, picked up the dangling reins of the horses and their silent burdens, and moved out.
They had a long ride ahead, across Lazy-C range to Beecher’s Crossing.
‘What’s your name, feller?’ Ballard asked.
‘Ain’t tellin’. What you need to know for?’
‘Only Christian to know a man’s name if you going to speak over him.’
The man, riding ahead, twisted in the saddle. ‘I ain’t dead.’
‘Then just hope we don’t come across a nice strong tree with a hanging branch on it,’ Ballard said.
This got a muttered response, followed by silence.
‘I think you hurt his feelings,’ McCall said, rubbing his shoulder where the bullet had nipped his skin.
‘I’m likely to sleep better tonight knowing that,’ Ballard said.
Chapter Six
Ballard and McCall rode directly to Beecher’s Crossing. Two dead men were draped over their saddles, the third man sitting his own saddle in silence. Ballard had done what he could for the man’s shoulder. When they reached town the resident doctor would tend to it.
They had been riding for some time when Ballard glanced across at his partner.
‘This is getting to be unnerving,’ he said.
McCall looked his way. ‘What?’
‘You haven’t said a damn word for the last hour.’
‘I been thinking.’
‘Even worse.’
‘I’m serious, Chet. Had something on my mind a while now.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘The spreads that sold out. Three outfits. Sitting empty. Vern Bergmann’s. Jay Tucker. Then Cy Morrissey.’
‘Word has it Merrick bought ’em.’
‘That’s the part got me thinking. I checked on one of Henry’s maps back to home. None of those three are close enough to Diamond-M to cause him any
problems. No real threat. So why’d Merrick feel the need to buy them out?’
‘Never give it much thought.’
‘I didn’t until I did kind of notice something,’ McCall said. ‘Those three parcels of land sit in a near-enough straight line and when you follow that line the most interesting thing is they all lead to Lazy-C.’
Ballard took interest then. ‘That a fact?’
‘It’s a fact, partner. I’m just trying to make somethin’ out of that.’
When they reached town McCall called in to report what had happened to Ray Bellingham while Ballard carried on to the town doctor’s office with the wounded man.
Bellingham arranged for the bodies to be delivered to the undertaker, then made his way to the doctor to be on hand once the wounded man had been dealt with. When that had all been taken care of McCall and Ballard met up on the street.
‘Arsenic powder?’ the lawman said.
‘Drop it in the water and we got a lot of dead cows on Lazy-C range.’
‘Damn sure they weren’t carryin’ it around to sweeten their coffee,’ Ballard said.
‘I’ll talk to our uncooperative friend,’ Bellingham said. ‘Let him sweat for a while first until it all sinks in.’
Ballard noticed McCall’s restless mood.
‘I know you got a burr under your saddle,’ he said. ‘Spit it out.’
‘Damn right I got me a itch I need to scratch,’ McCall said. ‘Figure I’ll take me a ride and check out those empty spreads.’
Ballard grinned at his partner. He walked with him to where they had left their horses. McCall mounted up.
‘I’ll see you later back at Lazy-C.’
‘Take your time.’
McCall raised a hand and rode out of town.
Marshal Bellingham appeared a little while later, with the wounded man. Ballard fell in alongside and went with Bellingham to the jail. When the prisoner was secured in one of the cells, Ballard shared a mug of coffee with Bellingham as they talked over the current events. Ballard decided it was time he returned to Lazy-Lazy-C, said his goodbye and stepped out onto the boardwalk.
