Authors: William W. Johnstone
Blood Valley (12 page)
“Good mornin', Mister Mills,” I said, just as nice as pie.
Matt, he grunted something. But his boy, Hugh, he stepped forward. “Let me handle this tin badge, Dad.”
The father, he flung out his arm and stopped the son. “Just stand back, Hugh. The Sheriff is a guestâalthough uninvitedâand he'll be afforded the courtesy of a guest.” He looked at me. “What do you want, Sheriff?”
“Just to talk.”
“Oh?” The man arched an eyebrow. “How interesting. Talk about what, Sheriff?”
“Puttin' an end to the trouble.”
He smiled. “What trouble, Sheriff?”
I returned the smile. If that's the way he wanted to play it . . . “Well, sir, it's been so peaceful around the valley, and all, I thought I might see if we couldn't stir up some trouble just to liven things up a bit.
Dick Avedon, he laughed out loud at that.
“Well, Sheriff,” Matt said. “You have a sense of humor about you. That's always good.”
“I reckon I do, Mister Mills. But my sense of humor ends with nightriders and the hirin' of gunhands when there ain't no real good call for them. And the pushin' and shovin' of little people when you and A.J. Lawrence got enough land to do you.”
“Well, I see now the reason for your riding out.” He smiled . . . thinly. “Very well. Please come up on the porch, Sheriff. I'll have coffee sent out. Will it be necessary for the men to stay close?”
Before I could say anything, Matt he said, “Do you know the whole story, Sheriff?”
“I don't know whether I do or not. I'll be honest about that.”
He nodded his head and I unbuckled and untied my gun belt, looping it over the saddle horn. But of course, it plumb slipped my mind to tell him about the two-shot derringer I had tucked down in my right boot. An oversight on my part.
“You men go on about your duties,” Matt said, and the knot of gunhands began wanderin' off.
Duties, hell! They didn't have no duties. Half of 'em wouldn't saddle their own horse if there was somebody around to do it for them.
Young Hugh, he give me a dirty look and wandered away. I just didn't like that damned snooty young man. And I wasn't tellin' no lie about it, neither.
A Mex houseboy brought the coffeepotâsome sort of fancy service, it was, all silver and some pretty little cupsâand we sugared and sipped and sat for a minute or so. There was some sort of sissy-lookin' little cakes on another platter, but I left them alone. I wasn't about to eat nothin' that I don't know what it is, even though they did look pretty.
Matt busted the silence. “Land to do us. That's what you said, wasn't it, Sheriff?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“Ummm. Well, Sheriff, let me say this: Long years ago, three young men came out west. Had we stayed back east, we would have inherited great wealth. But we were adventurous young men. Eager to break out of the calm east and strike west.”
Lecture time agin.
“Admittedly,” Matt said, “all of us had money in our trousers. None of us were destitute.”
I thought I knew what that word meant.
“But I'll admit, that with our leavin', our families had warned that we were forever breakin' all ties with them. So we were takin' a chance. But, oh, we had such grand ideas. We were the first white men to actually settle in this area. The very first in this valley. It seems a lifetime, but really only twenty-odd years.”
It was good coffee, and I'm a coffee-drinkin' man. So I just enjoyed the brew and kept my mouth shut, listenin'.
“Land to do us,” he repeated. “Well, certainly you are correct in that assessment, Sheriff. But that isn't the point. The point is, all the land that the little ranchers and nesters have taken . . . is land that we fought for. A.J. Lawrence, Rolf Baker, and me.”
And I knew what it was all about then. It wasn't no big mystery. It wasn't gold or oil or silver or nothin' like that. It was pride and greed, pure and simple.
But a lot of men have died for a hell of a lot less.
I reached for the coffeepot, but that houseboy, he was Johnny-on-the-spot. He beat me to it and poured my cup right full. I reckon a man could get used to such treatment; but I had a feelin' it might make a body uncommon lazy, not havin' to do nothin' .
Matt, he sighed. “But we weren't taking into consideration the Homestead Act, passed by Congress back in '62. As a matter of fact, none of us knew anything about it. News was very slow in reaching those of us who braved the elements and the savages out here. We didn't even know Lincoln had been shot until a year after it happened. You know what I'm talking about, Sheriff.”
I did for a fact and said so. Many, many times, I had personal grabbed up a year-old newspaper from somewheres and read it slow, every page, even the ads, so hungry for news was I. But, hell, even year-old news beats no news at all. Most of the time.
I sipped my coffee and waited for Matt Mills to continue. He got him one of those little funny-lookin' cakes and et it right down. I still was dubious of them.
He swallered and said, “And then, Sheriff, all of a sudden, I looked up one day and there were squatters occupying land that me and my men had worked nigra-hard to clear. And yes, Sheriff Cotton, for many years I worked right alongside my men, just as Rolf and A.J. have done.”
And I didn't doubt that none at all. You could look at these men and tell that they were still powerful strong men. Even if two of the three were kinda skally-waggy and mean, you had to respect them. You wouldn't be thinkin' right, if you didn't. Some might not agree with me, but them's the kind like them folks back east, in their law-and-order society, sittin' sippin' tea in their warm and secure homes. They just didn't have no idea what the west was like. Not no more they didn't. Now, their ancestors did, for they braved the New World. But for generations, them back east had had it fair comfortable. With police officers and constables to handle the riffraff and the rowdies.
Out here, man, you was alone. You had your wits and a good horse and gun that worked. And that was it, brother. And was gonna be that way for a few more years to come.
“I know what it's like to top a crest and look down at the Big Lonesome, Mister Mills. Knowin' there ain't another white person within a hundred miles, or more. I do know the feelin'.”
“You're western-born, aren't you, Sheriff?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you're a straight-ahead, no-nonsense sort of man, aren't you?”
I had to think about that. “Well, yes sir, I reckon I am.”
He smiled. “I will confess, that was a sight to see, you putting Junior in jail. He had no call to brace an officer of the law as he did.”
Now, wait just a minute! Just hold the wagon. I seemed to recall Matt Mills was some put out about that whole affair, at the time. What the hell was goin' on?
“Seems to me, sir, that there ain't much respect for the law in this valley.”
“Are you including me in that assessment, Sheriff Cotton?”
I took a chance. “Yes, sir. I am.” I looked over at him. “You're hirin' gunslicks, ain't you?”
“You're not exactly unknown in that department yourself, Sheriff.”
“That's true. But I never went on the prowl for no unarmed man; I never burnt nobody out and killed the livestock. I never done nothin' like this bunch you and A.J. has hired.”
“You don't hold back, do you, Sheriff?”
“It ain't my way.”
Matt, he give out a long sigh. “But I do have respect for the law. I suppose, in your eyes, it might not seem that I do. But I do. But,” and his voice hardened, “what is mine, is mine, and I will fight to the death for it.”
“Includin' killin' the law if they stand in your way?”
He didn't reply to that. Wouldn't even look at me. And I knew then that for all his big fancy talk, he wasn't no better than the men he'd hired to do his killin' for him.
I said, “Fight to the death? That means the land that you once claimed; the land that the nesters and the smaller ranchers now hold?”
“Precisely, Sheriff. It belongs to
me
, damnit!”
me
, damnit!”
He got control of himself, but it was done with a powerful effort on his part. And I knowed then that this man had been puttin' on one whale of a good act for me. I let him calm down and then said, “I guess, sir, that I'm gonna have to read up on this homestead thing you mentioned. Whatever I do, I want it to be legal, tried and true.”
“I'll save you the trouble, Sheriff.” He looked at me and I could see this man, this western pioneer, and he had been that, was no softy. A bastard, yeah, but he was hard as flint. “Most have stayed the allotted time, and all have improved the land, as is decreed by law.”
“So . . . they're legal on the land, is that what you're sayin'?”
“That is correct, Sheriff. They are legally on the land.”
The man was exasperatin'. “But still, knowin' you're wrong in the eyes of the law, you're goin' to fight? You're goin' to be responsible for the deaths of men, more men, and maybe some women and kids, too?”
“Putting it that way, Sheriff, it seems terribly hard on my part, doesn't it?”
“Sure seems that way to me, 'specially when you consider that you and yourn ain't missin' no meals and ain't likely to do so.”
Agin, he wore that tight little smile on his lips. I didn't know where his pushy, goofy-actin' son had gone off to, and I hadn't seen hide nor hair of his daughter, Wanda. Which suited me just fine. Matt Mills ought to take a good strong bar of lye soap and wash out her nasty-talkin' mouth.
Matt, he got up out of his chair and walked to the porch railing. He had built right, the porch affordin' him a grand view. Breathtakin', almost. Matt, he stood for a time, then turned around and looked at me.
“Nice view, isn't it, Sheriff?”
“It's real nice, sir. Be pretty out here in the mornin's, I bet. Be nice to have coffee out here and just sit and sip and admire it all.”
“Yes. I do that when the weather is nice enough. You and I do think somewhat alike, Sheriff.”
Damned if I was gonna respond to that. But then, I didn't really know his situation; I ain't never had nothin' noways.
But deep down, a part of me could understand his feelin's. To see years of backbreaking work just took away from you. That would be enough to tip a man over the line of reason. But I also knew that it didn't have to be that way. But I wasn't gonna remind him of that just yet. I'd see if he'd come around and mention it.
And that weather-bit, hell, I knowed what he was gettin' at 'fore he ever went any further in his talk. It was his. Ever'thing you could see from this porch, and beyond, was his. He and his men, and there was graveyards I'd seen ridin' in, places in the earth where men had been planted after dyin' for the brand. It was his. All of it. Maybe not legal-like, but in his heart, it was his. And no man, or woman, was gonna take it from him.
But then I had to think about Junior and Hugh, the sons of these men. The things they'd done, the killin' and the rapin'. And their daddies had covered it all over.
Whatever feelin's I had for these two men, they dimmed somewhat when I thought of that. Just too lowdown. With that in mind, I reminded him of the obvious. “You should have had your hands file on it.”
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Not doing so was both stupid and arrogant on my part. I think you are, Sheriff, an honest man. You really are. And I think you're one of the few in this big valley who will tell it to me straight, and damn the consequences. Am I correct in that, Sheriff?”
“Yes, sir, I reckon you are.” Now what was comin' at me?
“And you're not afraid of me, either, are you, Sheriff?”
“No, sir.”
“Or of my . . . gunhands?”
“No, sir. I'm just as good or better than any you got ridin' for you.”
“Yes. I do believe that. But you do understand my point of view?”
“In a way, yes, sir. I don't think it's right to take somebody's land. But you didn't file on it. Now, the land you filed on, or had your hands file on, or bought for ten cents an acre, that land ain't bein' squatted on, is it?”
“No,” he admitted softly. “No, Sheriff, that land isn't being squatted on.”
I leaned forward, the dainty little coffee cup in one big hand. Damn thing wasn't good for no more than about three swallers of coffee. Useless to a coffee-drinkin' man. “Mister Mills, it ain't none of my business, but how much land do you have, anyways? Two hundred thousand acres? More? I've rode your land some. You got good water, good graze, ever'thing a man could ever want for. You could settle back and live like a king for the rest of your life. There just don't have to be no war in this valley.”
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