CHAPTER V
THE STRATEGY OF MR. MASTERSON
This came long after the battle at the 'Dobe Walls, and was of the yearnext before Dull Knife, that Red Richard of the Cheyennes, with onehundred and forty-eight followers, two-thirds of whom were squaws andpappooses, broke from the soldiers and fought his way to his old home inthe North, whipping the cavalry once, twice, thrice; yielding only andat last to the lying treachery of Red Cloud and his Sioux police. It wasa great trail that last long running fight of Dull Knife, and proved hisheart good and his "medicine" strong. Some one some day ought to writethe story high among the gallant deeds of men. However, here is not theplace nor this the time; for what comes after is to be a tale ofstratagem, not battle; politics, not war.
Commonly the face of Dodge was as open and frank and care-free as theface of a Waterbury watch. On the occasion in hand it wore a look ofoccupation and serious business. This business expression was fairlyfounded; a sheriff for Ford County must be selected, the gentleman whohad filled that post of trust being undeniably dead.
The passing of that sheriff was curious. One morning he rode forth, andfording the Arkansas at the Cimarron Crossing, made south and west forSand Creek. And thereafter he never rode back. It was understood that hebore official papers to serve upon a certain miscreant who dwelt on SandCreek. The Sand Creek miscreant having bought goods of Mr. Wright, laterjeered at the suggestion that he pay, and Mr. Wright had been driven toask aid of the law.
Three days after the sheriff splashed through the Cimarron Crossing hispony was picked up by cow people, saddled, bridled, and in the best ofspirits, close by the river where the lush grass grows most to a pony'staste. It did not escape experienced eyes that, when the pony was thusrecovered, the bridle reins were properly upon its neck and had not beenlifted over its head, to hang by the bits and drag about its hoofs.Later, the missing one's six-shooter and belt, the latter tooth-marked,together with shreds of clothing, scraps of leather leggings, and sundrybones gnawed white, were found an hour's ride out on the trail. Thepistol possessed a full furnishment of six unexploded cartridges. Also,the tooth-marked belt and those fragmentary reminders, scattered hereand there and all about for the round area of a mile, offered much tosupport a belief that the late officer, in his final expression, hadbecome of gustatory moment to coyotes, which grey beggarmen of theplains were many and hungry in those parts.
When the evidence recounted was all in, the wisdom of Dodge made diversdeductions. These found setting forth in the remarks of Mr. Wright, thesame being delivered to Mr. Short and others in the Long Branch saloon.
"Those bridle reins on the pony's neck," observed Mr. Wright, inspiredto the explanation by Old Jordan and a local curiosity which appealed tohim as among the best intelligences in camp, "those bridle reins on thepony's neck shows that Dave went out o' the saddle a heap sudden. IfDave had swung to the grass of his own will he'd have lifted the reinsover the pony's head, so's to keep that equine standin' patient to hiscall."
"Don't you reckon, Bob," broke in Mr. Short, "your Sand Creek bankruptbushwhacks Dave?"
"No; Dave wasn't shot out o' the saddle, the six loads in his gun bein'plenty on that point. It's preposterous that an old hand like Dave, inan open country, too, could have been rubbed out, an' never get a shot.Dave wasn't that easy. Besides, if the Sand Creek hold-up had bumpedDave off, he'd have cinched the pony. Gents, the idea I entertain isthat Dave, in a fit of abstraction, permits himself to be bucked off.Landin' on his head that a-way, his neck naturally gets broke."
The Wright theory having been adopted, Dodge, in addition to the seriousbusiness look, took on an atmosphere of disappointment which trenchedupon the mournful. Not that the late sheriff's death preyed upon Dodge.Dodge was aware of sheriffs in their evanescence. They were as grass;they came up like the flowers to be cut down. What discouraged Dodge wasthe commonplace character of that officer's exit, as so convincinglyexplained by Mr. Wright. Nothing had been left wherewith to gild a storyand tantalize the envious ears of rivalry. To be chucked from a carelesssaddle to the dislocation of an equally careless neck was not a prouddemise.
By Western tenets the only honourable departure would have been the oneusual and official. The sheriff who would quit his constituents undernoblest conditions must perish in the smoke of conflict, defendingcommunal order and the threatened peace of men. Obviously he must not bepitched from his own pony to fatten coyotes.
"For," as Cimarron Bill was moved to observe, "to be bucked into abetter life, inadvertent, is as onromatic as bein' kicked to glory by anambulance mule."
Had the late sheriff gone down before the lawless muzzle of somedesperate personage, bent, as runs the phrase, on "standing Dodge on itshead," what exhilarating ceremonies would have been the fruit! Thedesperate personage, on the hocks of that snuffing out, would have beenearnestly lynched. The slain sheriff, his head pillowed in his saddle,his guns by his side, would have lain in state. Dodge, crape on itssombrero and with bowed head, would have followed the catafalque, whilea brass band boomed the dead march; the rites, conducted in a mood ofgloomy elevation, would have aroused the admiration of an entire border.All these good advantages were denied Dodge, and it was that funeralloss which clouded the public brow. The possibilities would now beexhausted when the fate of the once sheriff was officially noticed, andthe vacancy thus arranged had been filled.
And now a new sheriff must be chosen. Dodge, politically speaking, wasall there was of Ford County. Politics, in the sinister sense of party,had never reared its viper head in Dodge; there existed no suchcommodity of misrule. Also, the station of sheriff was of responsiblegravity. Thus, indeed, thought Dodge; and went upon thatsheriff-mongering with care.
"My idea of a sheriff," vouchsafed Mr. Short, "is one who, while he doesnot wear his six-shooters for ornament, can be relied on not to goshootin' too promiscuous. The prosperity of Dodge swings and rattles onthe boys who drive the herds. It isn't commercially expedient to put acrimp in one of 'em for trivial cause. Of course, should the mostfree-handed consumer that ever tossed his _dinero_ across a counter pullhis hardware for blood, it is obvious that he must be downed. The demandof the hour is for a sheriff who can discriminate on the lines I've laiddown."
This and more was said. When discussion had been exhausted Mr. Trask,with a view of focussing suggestion, advanced the name of Mr. Masterson.Mr. Wright, as well as Mr. Short, was prompt with his support.
"For," said Mr. Wright, "where can you find a cooler head or a quickergun than Bat's?"
"But Bat ain't here none," explained Cimarron Bill. "He's down on theMedicine Lodge, killin' buffalo; his camp's in Walker's Timber."
It was apparent that the better element, that is to say, the bettershots, favoured Mr. Masterson. An informal count displayed among hissupporters such popular towers as Mr. Wright, Mr. Trask, Mr. Short, andMr. Kelly. Mr. Short was emphatic in his partisanship.
"Not only," explained Mr. Short, "is Bat cool an' steady, but, bar MikeSutton, he's the best educated sharp in Dodge."
Cimarron Bill, who seemed born to ride bad ponies, saddled a broncowhose studied villainy of disposition was half atoned for by an abilityto put one hundred miles between himself and his last feed. CimarronBill had been directed to bring in Mr. Masterson.
"An' don't tell him what's in the wind," warned Mr. Wright. "Bat'smodest, an' if you spring this on him plumb abrupt it might shock him sohe wouldn't come."
"What'll I tell him, then?" demanded Cimarron Bill. "I shore can't ropeup Bat without a word an' drag him yere with my pony."
"Here's what you do," said Mr. Short. "Tell him I'm goin' to run, withUpdegraffe up for the opp'sition. Tell him that Walker of the Cross K,an' B'ar Creek Johnson are ag'in me. That would fetch Bat from the RioGrande."
On the south bank of the Medicine Lodge was a horseshoe bend, and theenclosed forty acres, thick-sown of trees, were known as Walker'sTimber. Here was pitched the buffalo camp of Mr. Masterson, andtherefrom, aided and abetted by his brother E
d and Mr. Tighlman, heissued forth against the buffaloes, slaying them serenely, to his profitand the fullfed joy of sundry coyotes and ravens that attendedfaithfully his hunting.
It was in the earlier darkness of the evening, and Mr. Masterson wassitting by his campfire, peering into a little memorandum book by thedancing light of the flames. In this book, with a stubby pencil, hesoberly jotted down a record of the day's kill.
"We've made eight hundred and thirty-three robes, Billy," observed Mr.Masterson to Mr. Tighlman, who was busy over a bake-kettle containingall that was mortal of two hen turkeys--wild and young and lively thenight before. "And," concluded Mr. Masterson, with just a shade of pridein his tones, "I fetched them with precisely eight hundred andthirty-three cartridges, the nearest bull four hundred yards away."
Mr. Tighlman grunted applause of the rifle accuracy of Mr. Masterson.Mr. Tighlman was the camp's cook, having a mysterious genius forbiscuits, and knowing to a pinch what baking-powder was required for abest biscuit result.
Mr. Tighlman presently announced supper by beating the side of thebake-kettle with the back of a butcher-knife. The challenge brought EdMasterson from the drying-grounds, where he had been staking out andscraping, with an instrument that resembled a short-handed adz, thefresh hides of that day's hunt. Mr. Masterson put away his roster ofbuffalo dead and made ready to compliment Mr. Tighlman in the way inwhich cooks like best to be praised.
Suddenly there came a sound as of some one crossing the little river.Each of the three seized his rifle and rolled outside the circle offirelight. It was as one hundred to one there abode no danger; theCheyennes had not yet recovered from the calmative influences of theBlack Kettle war. Still, it was the careful practice of the plains todistrust all things after dark.
"Go back to your fire," shouted a voice from out the shadows. "Doyou-all prairie dogs reckon that, if I was goin' to jump your camp, I'dcome walloppin' across in this egregious style?"
"It's Cimarron Bill," exclaimed Mr. Masterson, discarding his rifle infavour of renewed turkey.
Cimarron Bill tore the saddle off the malevolent bronco and hobbled him.
"Whoopee!" he shouted softly, as he pushed in by the fire and pulled thebake-kettle towards him; "I'm hungry enough to eat a saddle cover."
Cimarron Bill, being exhaustively fed, laid forth his missionmendaciously. He related the vacancy in the office of sheriff, and saidthat it was proposed to fill the same with Mr. Short. Cimarron Bill,seeing a chance to tell a little truth, explained that the oppositionwould put up Mr. Updegraffe.
"Who's behind Updegraffe?" asked Mr. Masterson.
The veracious Cimarron Bill enumerated Mr. Webster of the Alamo, Mr.Peacock of the Dance Hall, Mr. Walker of the Cross-K, and Bear CreekJohnson.
This set Mr. Masterson on edge.
"We'll start by sun-up," quoth Mr. Masterson. "Ed and Billy can pick upthe camp."
When Mr. Masterson discovered how he had been defrauded into Dodge, andlearned of those honours designed for him, his modesty took alarm.
"I didn't think, Cimarron," said Mr. Masterson, in tones of reproach,"that you'd cap me up against a game like this!" Then he refusedsquarely to consider himself a candidate.
"But it's too late, Bat," explained Mr. Short. "You've already been inthe field two days, with Updegraffe in opposition. If you refuse to runthey'll say you crawfished."
Mr. Short spoke with sly triumph, for it was his chicane which hadannounced Mr. Masterson as a candidate. He had foreseen its value as anargument.
The sagacity of Mr. Short was justified; Mr. Masterson was plainlystaggered. His name had been used; his opponent was in the field; Mr.Masterson could find no avenue of retreat. It was settled; Mr. Mastersonmust be a candidate for sheriff of Ford.
The great contest of Masterson against Updegraffe had occupied thepublic four days when Mr. Peacock, Mr. Webster and Mr. Walker, actingfor Mr. Updegraffe, waited upon Mr. Wright, Mr. Kelly and Mr. Short, whoreceived them on behalf of Mr. Masterson. Mr. Peacock, for theUpdegraffe three, made primary explanation. He and his fellowcommissioners had observed a falling off in trade. The Alamo was nottaking in one-half its normal profits; the same was true of the DanceHall. The Updegraffe committee asked Mr. Short if an abatement ofprosperity had not occurred at the Long Branch, and put the samequestion concerning the Alhambra to Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly and Mr. Short,being appealed to, confessed a business slackness.
"But you know," observed Mr. Kelly, philosophically, "how it is inbusiness; it's a case of come-an'-go, like the old woman's soap."
Mr. Webster believed the falling off due to an election interest whichengulfed the souls of folk.
"It takes their minds off such amusements as roulette an' farobank an'rum," explained Mr. Webster. "Besides, the people of Dodge are a mightycautious outfit. Dodge won't take chances; an' at a ticklish time likethis Dodge sobers up."
"There may be something in that," mused Mr. Short. "But, coming down tothe turn, what was it you jack-rabbits wanted to say?"
"This is the proposition," said Mr. Webster, "an' we make it for thepurpose of gettin' the racket over without delay. Our idea is to set thetime for a week from now, round up the votin' population in the Plaza,say at eight o'clock in the evenin', an' count noses, Masterson ag'inUpdegraffe, high man win. That's the offer we make. You gents will needan hour to look it over, an' we'll return at the end of that time an'get your answer."
"How do you figure this?" asked Mr. Wright of his fellow committeemenwhen the Updegraffe delegation had departed. "Is it a deadfall?"
"Strange as it may sound," responded Mr. Short, "considerin' what liarsthat outfit is, I'm obliged to admit that for once they're on thesquar'."
Mr. Kelly coincided with Mr. Short, and it was finally agreed that theproffer of the Updegraffe contingent should be accepted.
"We're with you," said Mr. Short when Mr. Webster and the othersreturned, "but not on selfish grounds. We base our action on the bluffthat the peace of Dodge requires protection, an' that the office ofsheriff, now vacant, should be promptly filled."
"Then the election is settled," said Mr. Webster, who was a practicalman, "for eight o'clock in the evenin', one week from to-day, to bepulled off in the Plaza?"
"That's the caper," retorted Mr. Short, and the commissions adjourned.
The canvass went forward in lively vein, albeit, as Mr. Webster hadcomplained, there was a notable falling away in the local appetite forrum. Plainly, Dodge had turned wary in a day that wore a six-shooter,and under circumstances which tested the tempers of men. Evidently, ithad determined that while this election crisis lasted, its hand shouldremain steady and its head cool.
It was five days before the one appointed for, as Mr. Webster called it,"a count of noses" in the Plaza. The friends of Mr. Masterson developedan irritating fact. There were, man added to man, four hundred andtwelve votes in Dodge; of these a careful canvass betrayed two hundredand twelve as being for Mr. Updegraffe--a round majority of twelve.
This disquieting popular condition was chiefly the work of Bear CreekJohnson. The malign influence of that disreputable person controlledfull forty votes, being the baser spirits; and these now threatened thedefeat of Mr. Masterson.
Cimarron Bill, when he grasped the truth, was for cleansing Dodge ofBear Creek with a Colt's-45. These sanitary steps, however, wereforbidden by Mr. Masterson; at that the worthy Cimarron tendered acompromise. He would agree to do no more than mildly wing the offensiveBear Creek.
"No," said Mr. Masterson, "don't lay hand to gun. I'm not going to haveAbilene and Hays pointing fingers of scorn at Dodge as being unable toelect a peace officer of the county without somebody getting shot.Besides, it isn't necessary; I'll beat 'em by strategy."
Cimarron Bill, withheld from that direct aid to Mr. Masterson which hissimple nature suggested, groaned in his soul. Observing his grief, Mr.Masterson detailed Mr. Tighlman to be ever at Cimarron Bill's elbow,ready to repress that volatile recruit in case his feelings got beyondcontrol and sought rel
ief in some sudden bombardment of the felon BearCreek.
That profligate, thus protected, pursued his election efforts in behalfof Mr. Updegraffe cunningly, being all unchecked. His methods were notunmarked of talent; this should be a specimen:
"What party be you for?" Bear Creek demanded of an Ishmael who livedprecariously by chuck-a-luck. The one addressed was of so low a castethat he would accept a wager of ten cents. This put him beneath thenotice of such as Mr. Short, whose limit was one hundred and twohundred, and in whose temple of fortune, the Long Branch, white chipswere rated at fifty dollars a stack. "Which is it? Masterson orUpdegraffe?"
"Well," returned the Ishmael of chuck-a-luck, doubtfully, "I sort o'allow that Bat Masterson's the best man."
"You do!" retorted the abandoned Bear Creek, disgustedly. "Now listen tome. What does a ten-cent hold-up like you want of the best man? You wantthe worst man, an' so I tell you! Make it Updegraffe," concluded BearCreek, convincingly, "an' you stay in Dodge. Make it Masterson, an'he'll make you an' every other tinhorn hard to find."
It was in that fashion the industrious Bear Creek piled up the majorityof twelve. Unless something was done Mr. Masterson would sup disaster,and even the conservative Mr. Kelly whispered that he really thought theplan of Cimarron Bill, for the abatement of Bear Creek, possessed amerit.
"Let me think this over a bit," said Mr. Masterson to Mr. Kelly.
That night Mr. Masterson met Mr. Kelly, Mr. Wright and Mr. Short at theLong Branch and laid bare a plan. Its simplicity impressed Mr.Masterson's hearers; Mr. Wright even waxed enthusiastic.
"It'll win!" he cried, smiting the poker table about which the four weregathered.
"It shore looks it," coincided Mr. Short. "In any event we lose nothin';we can always fall back on the guns."
At the latter intimation Mr. Kelly nodded solemnly. While not mercurial,Mr. Kelly was in many of his characteristics one with Cimarron Bill.There were questions over which their honest natures met andsympathised.
Acting on the plan of Mr. Masterson, Mr. Wright and Mr. Short and Mr.Kelly craved in their turn a conference with the Updegraffe three.
"It is this, gents, that troubles us," began Mr. Wright, when thecommittees found themselves together for the second time. "There are hotand headlong sports on our side as there are on yours. If we convene inthe Plaza, as we've arranged, there'll be bloodshed. I'm afraid wecouldn't restrain some of the more violent among us; indeed, to beentirely frank, I'm afraid I couldn't even restrain myself. And yet,there's a way, gents, in which danger may be avoided. Let us abandonthat clause which provides for a count of noses in the Plaza. The end inview can be attained by having it understood that at eight o'clock theMasterson forces are to rally in the Long Branch, and the Updegraffepeople in Mr. Peacock's Dance Hall. Thus the two sides may be countedseparately and the chance of deadly collision eliminated. We will setour watches together so that the count shall occur at eight o'clocksharp. Mr. Kelly for our side will be at the Dance Hall to act with Mr.Peacock in a count of the Updegraffe votes, while Mr. Webster for yourinterests is welcome to come to the Long Branch to aid Mr. Short in around-up of the strength of Mr. Masterson. The two forces being out ofgunshot of each other, the attendance will be freer and moreuntrammelled. Following the count Mr. Short and Mr. Kelly, Mr. Websterand Mr. Peacock will come together and declare the result. There ofcourse will be no appeal, unless those appealing aim at civil war."
As Mr. Wright talked on, suavely, smoothly, laying down each feature ofhis design, a slow look of relief stole into the faces of Mr. Websterand Mr. Peacock. Even the more hardy features of Mr. Walker were notuntouched.
There had been doubts tugging at the Updegraffe three. True, themajority of twelve was theirs, but the weight of valour stoodoverwhelmingly with Mr. Masterson. The offer of a safe separation offorces was a relief, and Mr. Peacock, Mr. Walker and Mr. Webster lost notime in accepting. Notices were posted proclaiming an election after thescheme laid down by Mr. Wright.
It was election night; only the enterprising and those with votes andguns were abroad in Dodge. The rival clans of Masterson and Updegraffebegan to gather, respectively, at the Long Branch and the Dance Hall.There was never a ripple of disorder; nothing could be finer than thatpeace which was. Ten minutes before eight o'clock, the hour fixed forthe count, the strength of each had convened.
The Updegraffe people were jubilant; every man belonging to them beingin the Dance Hall, that majority of twelve was sure. The minutes wentticking themselves into eternity, and the watches of Mr. Kelly and Mr.Peacock registered one minute before eight. In sixty seconds the countin the Dance Hall would take place.
At the Long Branch, where the followers of Mr. Masterson filled therooms, conditions were much the same. There Mr. Webster and Mr. Shortwould make the tally. Watch in hand they stood waiting for the moment.
It was at this crisis that Mr. Tighlman pulled his pistol and firedthrough the Long Branch floor. The report was as a joyful signal.Instantly one hundred shots rang out. Indeed, it was a noble din! Theroom filled with smoke; excitement mounted! Cimarron Bill, a six-shooterin each faithful hand, was in the midst of the hubbub, blazing like apiece of fireworks, whooping like a Comanche.
The night breeze carried the stirring story of riot and uproar to thewaiting multitude in the Dance Hall. Those waiting ones looked firsttheir amazement, then their delight. As by one impulse they tore throughthe door and made, hotfoot, for the Long Branch. By conservativeestimates, founded upon the whole number of shots, there should be atleast five dead and fifteen wounded.
As the advance guard arrived at the Long Branch they found Mr. Shortoutside.
"Bat's downed Bob Wright," remarked Mr. Short; "plugged him plumbcentre."
Inside went the hilarious Dance Hallers. The astute Mr. Short followed,closed the door and set his back against it.
"It's eight o'clock, Mr. Webster," remarked Mr. Short. "We must begin tocount." It was observable that in the hand that did not hold the watchMr. Short held a six-shooter.
Mr. Webster was in a flutter of nerves; he had been the only one in theLong Branch who did not understand and had not anticipated those franticexcesses of Mr. Tighlman, Cimarron Bill and others of that heroic firingparty. Mr. Webster was in no wise clear as to what had happened. Borneupon by a feeling of something wrong he made a protest.
"Stop!" he cried, "there's a lot of Updegraffe men in here."
"No, sir," responded Mr. Short, coldly, while a gray glimmer, a kind ofdanger signal it was, began to show in his eye. "Every gent inside theLong Branch is for Bat Masterson or he wouldn't be here. Also, tosuggest fraud," concluded Mr. Short, as Mr. Webster seemed about tospeak, "would be an attack upon my honour, me ownin' the joint."
Now the honour of Mr. Short, next to Mr. Short's six-shooter, was themost feverish thing in Dodge. The mere mention of it sent a shiverthrough Mr. Webster. Without parley he surrendered tamely, and the countat the Long Branch began. The total proved satisfactory; the returnsgave Mr. Masterson two hundred and sixty votes.
"Let us go over to the Dance Hall," said Mr. Wright, "and see what Kellyand Peacock have to report."
They were saved the journey; Mr. Kelly and Mr. Peacock, the latterbewildered and fear-ridden in the face of the unknown, just then cameinto the Long Branch. "Only thirty-three for Updegraffe," said Mr.Kelly. "That's correct, ain't it, Peacock?"
Mr. Peacock gasped, but seemed to nod assent.
"Mr. Masterson, it would appear, is elected," observed Mr. Wright,benignantly, "by a majority of two hundred and twenty-seven. It is atribute to his popularity. The whole vote, however, is much smaller thanI looked for," and Mr. Wright beamed.
"I think," said Mr. Kelly, judgmatically, "that thar's a passel ofUpdegraffe people stampedin' about the streets. But, of course, sincethey weren't in the Dance Hall, me an' Peacock had no authority toincloode 'em; did we, Peacock?"
Mr. Peacock mopped his moonlike countenance and shook his head inforlornest fashion. He was too much cast down to
oppose the word of Mr.Kelly.
Bear Creek Johnson, eye aflame, a-bristle for trouble, pushed through.Cimarron Bill, who was the soul of business at a time like this, met theoutraged Bear Creek in the door.
"Whatever do you reckon you're after?" queried Cimarron Bill,maintaining the while a dangerous eye.
Bear Creek Johnson surveyed Cimarron Bill, running him up and down withan uneasy, prudent glance. He smelled disaster off him as folk smellfire in a house.
"Me?" he returned, mildly. "Which I simply comes pirootin' over to movewe make the 'lection of Bat Masterson yoonanimous."
Thus did the _ruse de guerre_ of Mr. Masterson result in victory; thuswas he made sheriff of Ford.
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