Authors: William W. Johnstone

Blood Valley (4 page)

BOOK: Blood Valley

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“Yeah, that'd be my guess, too. When did all these gunslingers start showin' up around here?”

“Well, Rockinghorse and Circle L has always had a few gunhands on the payroll . . . more to protect the kids than anything else. But about a year ago, that's when Mills and Lawrence really started hirin' on gunhands.”

“And that's when the lawmen started goin' down, huh? How many . . . four?”

“Something like that. Four's right, I think.”

The second buggy come better into view. An older man and a pretty young woman. “That Wanda Mills and her pa?”

“Yeah. The second queen of the valley.”

“Where's the mother of them gals?”

“They hardly ever come into town. They don't associate much with the lower classes. 'Sides, I don't even know if they're around here; they might have gone off on some trip. They're always goin' here and yonder.”

“Must be a terrible burden for them ladies to have to bear.”

He looked at me to see if I was serious, then he grinned. “Yeah, plumb awful load to have to tote around.”

For some reason, the passin' parade of highfalutin' folks had stopped, the fancy surrey with Joy and her pa was right in front of Rusty and me, and ol' A.J. was givin' me a good hard once-over.

I had stepped down to stand by the hitchrail with Rusty.

“You there!” A.J. hollered, and the tone of his voice made the short hairs on the back of my neck tingle. “Get over here. I wanna talk to you.”

“Your legs broke?” I called, some louder than was needed, but I wanted ever'body to hear.

Man, ol' A.J. puffed up like a spreadin' adder, his face high-colored like a wild berry.

There was a hard poundin' of hooves and a young man on a fine-lookin' red horse was glarin' down at me. The family resemblance was strong, so strong that this had to be A.J. Junior. Twenty-one or so years old, and no little feller neither.

And damned if he wasn't wearin' two guns. I never in all my life seen so many men who fancied two short guns.

I smiled real friendly at the young man. My, but he was all slicked up. Fancy silk shirt and handsome vest. Tailor-made britches and hand-tooled boots. He sure cut a fancy figure.

And then he had to open his damn mouth. Kinda ruined my image of him.

But I kept smilin'.

“When my father orders you to do something,” squirt said to me, “you will, by God, do it!”

Pushiest bunch of damn folks I ever did see. Sorta put a damper on my right friendly smile.

“Sonny,” I said, “you best run along now, 'fore I jerk you off that horse and have to teach you some manners . . . like your pa and ma should have done a long time ago.”

Joy took to fannin' herself like she was comin' down with the flashes, or something, and ol' A.J. blustered.

“How dare you!” ol' A.J. squalled.

Young Junior looked like he was gonna have a heart attack.

Behind me, a woman said, “Junior sure needs it, Sheriff, and I'd give a double eagle just to see you do it.”

“And I double her offer,” a young man said.

I didn't know who was sayin' what, 'cause I wasn't about to take my eyes off Junior.

“Let's pass the hat for the Sheriff,” somebody hollered. “Put the money right in here, ladies and gents.”

“I think I'll just kill you!” Junior hollered, then grabbed for iron.

Chapter Three

I been blessed with good coordination near'bouts all my life. I'm a shade under six feet tall, but I weigh more than most people would guess, and I'm uncommonly strong, with a lot of hardpacked muscle in my arms and shoulders.

You wrestle beeves all your life and you get that a-way.

And I'm quick . . . real quick. I wintered with a China-person one time; got to be real good friends with him. He taught me a different way to fight, and taught me concentration.

He told me what it was he was teachin' me, but damned if I could ever pronounce it. He used to get so tickled at me tryin' to talk China-talk he'd just roll over and fall out laughin'.

So when Junior grabbed for iron, I just reached up and snatched him off that horse and gave him a little midair help towards a water trough. He landed face-first, full length, and sank like a rock.

Through it all, I heard Rusty ear back the hammer on his .44 and say, “First man to grab iron, I put lead in Mike Romain.”

“And I'm standin' behind the deputy!” That same young man's voice said, the one who doubled the ante of the woman, “Backin' the law.”

I didn't have time to see who else was with me in this squabble. 'Cause ol' A.J. was hollerin' and squawkin' things like, “Intolerable,” and “Out-rageous!” Joy and Wanda was actin' and soundin' like a bunch of guinea hens, and Junior was comin' up outta that hoss trough, mad as a hellfire and brimstone preacher with a sore throat.

Junior had lost his pearl-handled pistols somewhere between saddle and hoss trough, and his pretty duds was all messed up and smelly. He was cussin'! His momma would have washed his mouth out with soap! Then he took a swing at me.

I poleaxed him with one big hard fist and he dropped like a ripe tomato off the vine, down, but not out.

Reachin' down, I got me a handful of wet silk shirt and hauled him to his feet and give him a little shove toward the jail. I say little shove, he musta tripped or something, 'cause he went down face full in the dirt.

“You're under arrest,” I told him. “Threatenin' the life of a peace officer and disturbin' the peace.”

And his pappy started hollerin' like a hog caught up in barbed wire.

“I'm going to faint!” Joy squalled.

“Good!” I yelled. “Maybe that would shut you up!”

That really got Ol' A.J. riled up.

“Watch my back!” I yelled over my shoulder, and never stopped walkin' and shovin' Junior, who had him a dirty face and a bad case of bleedin' and busted mouth.

“You cain't do this to me!” Junior hollered, squishin' along in his water-filled, hand-tooled fancy boots.

“Looks like he's doing it, Junior!” that woman who'd mentioned something about a double eagle laughed. I guessed it was her.

I locked up Junior and went back outside. A.J. was out of his buggyâJoy hadn't fainted as yetâand was standin' on the boardwalk talkin' with the gent who'd been earlier pointed out to me as Lawyer Stokes. A.J. was flapping his arms and hollerin'.

“You there, Sheriff!” Stokes hollered.

I pushed through the knot of horses. “Get these horses off the street and stabled or reined down! Or I'll stick the whole bunch of you in jail for blockin' a public road.”

Now I didn't have no idea if that lawâor any other law, for that matterâwas on the town's books. But it sounded good, and it got results.

I met Johnny Bull's eyes. He nodded at me and said to a rider, “He means it. We could take him, but he'd kill half a dozen of us before we did.” To me, “Some other time, Cotton.”

“I'll be around, Johnny.”

The street cleared, the riders breaking up and moving out.

“Sheriff!” Lawyer Stokes shouted. “I demand you release young Lawrence and that you do so immediately.”

“And I demand that you git your face outta mine 'fore I put you in jail for interferin' with a peace officer.” Good thing I'd read that book on law that time, one writ by some Englishman named Blackstone, I think he was. Cowboys that can read will read anything; bean-can labels, five-year-old newspapers, mail-order catalogs . . . even the Bible when times get desperate.

I told Rusty, “You get over to the office and find that bond sheet, get the dollar amount for Junior's charge. Write it up and then daddy can come up with money and get his big-mouthed kid out of the calaboose.” I looked around, “OK, folks, show's over. See you all tonight at the social.”

The townspeople, all of them grinnin', began movin' out.

A man held up a heavy-lookin' hat. “I'll bring this by your office, Sheriff. And it was worth every penny, believe me.”

“Will you listen to me, Sheriff?” Lawyer Stokes hollered. I looked at him. He was so mad he was shakin'.

Then he made the mistake of grabbin' my arm and jerkin' me back, spinnin' me around.

I poleaxed the lawyer and dropped him to his butt in the horse-droppin's.

“Yuk!” Stokes said, then put down his hands and stuck both of them in piles of manure.

“If your nose gets to itchin',” I told him. “I'd suggest you scratch it with your knee.”

That young woman was laughin' so hard she was leanin' up agin' a buildin' for support. And from what I could see, she was sure some fine-lookin' filly.

“Rusty! Come put Stokes in the bucket and charge him with battery on a peace officer. Set his bond, too.”

“Outrageous!” A.J. yelled.

“You want to go to jail, too?” I asked him.

He closed his mouth.

“You get five dollars for every arrest you make, Sheriff,” George Waller said.

That got my attention, 'Way things was goin', I'd have that spread and all stocked, too, 'fore summer was out.

Howsomever, 'way I was fast makin' enemies, I just might not live to the end of summer.

Stokes was sittin' in the dirt, in the horse shit, on his butt, his mouth all swole up. Rusty helped him up, just a tad rough, and marched the lawyer off to the jailhouse.

A few punchers had returned to the street.

“Clear the street!” I hollered. “And do it right now.”

Man, that street cleared so fast you could fire a cannonball up it and not hit nothin' .

Turning, I looked at the woman who'd thought it all hysterically funny. She met my eyes, and like them writers say in them dime novels, my ol' heart went . . .
bong!

She was about five foot, two inches tall. Robin's-egg-blue eyes, hair the color of wheat. Heartshaped face. Figure that was . . . well, it was!

Somebody ought to write a song about five foot two and eyes of blue. Be a right catchy tune, I bet.

I took my hat off and took a step towards her. The toe of my boot caught on the lip of the boardwalk and I fell forward. I grabbed her and she grabbed me and together the two of us kept me from falling down.

Plumb embarrassin'! But she sure did feel nice, though.

She thought it was right funny. Personal, I didn't see the humor in it.

My eyes bugged out when I seen the contents of that hat. More than two hundred dollars in there. I wanted to keep the Stetson, too, but the owner balked at that.

Jeff Baker, Pepper's brother, sent around a boy with two double eagles for me.

All in all, it was turnin' out to be a pretty nice day.

The lawyer and Junior had been bonded out, both of 'em madder than hell. Shadows was beginnin' to creep around the town as me and Rusty got dressed for the social. I'd bought me a new suit and had the Chinaman press it to get the shelf marks out. My boots was blacked and I was all decked out in a new shirt with a little string tie. My face was patted down smelly-good with Bay Rum. I strapped on my guns and pinned on my badge.

A little boy stuck his head into the office.

“Sheriff?”

“That's him with the big feet,” Rusty said with a grin.

I give him a look that didn't have no effect a-tall and took the envelope from the boy and give him some money for a sarsaparilla drink. The kid ducked out of the office.

Careful-like, I tore off one end of the envelope. A double eagle rolled out. I grinned like a schoolboy as I read the note. Pretty handwritin'.
My box is wrapped in red. White bow.
It was signed Pepper.

Rusty was peerin' over my shoulder. “Lord have mercy!”

“Mind your own truck!” I careful folded the note and tucked it away in my pocket. I'd save it; that was the first letter I'd ever got in my life, posted or otherwise.

Rusty wouldn't let up. “Man! Pepper Baker's had suitors lined up from the Sweetwater to the South Fork Shoshone. But she never give none of 'em the time of day.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe she ain't never met no one quite like me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a grin. “I'd shore go along with that.” He drew back and looked at me. “There must be somethin' there, but damned if I can see it. You look like a lost calf in a snowstorm.”

“Well, you shore ain't got nothin' to brag about. I never seen so many freckles.”

We insulted each other for a time then walked outside, laughing.

“Take the other side of the street, Rusty. We'll make rounds and then meet up at the school.”

I might not be no great shakes as a lawman, but I was gonna give it all I had.

Steppin' into the cantina, I nodded to the barkeep, a big rough-lookin' Mex with a bushy moustache. He didn't look like he was too thrilled to see me, but he also knew there wasn't nothin' he could do about it.

“Just makin' rounds, barkeep,” I assured him. “No trouble.”

He nodded his head and relaxed a mite, putting his hands on the bar to show me they was empty. I took a casual look around the place.

The clothing and the low-heeled boots and clodhopper shoes of the men told me that most were farmers and sheepmen. Walkin' around the room, I introduced myself, usually sayin' something like, “If you got a problem, don't hesitate to come to me with it. I'm here to enforce the law, fair and equal.”

They liked it, I could tell that. Whether they believed I'd actual follow through on it was something else agin.

It was dusk when I stepped out of the cantina and walked to the hotel, Doubtful Lodgings. It was a weird town.

The Dirty Dog and the Wolf's Den was quiet. I think my actions of the past two days had put a damper on things. Them that hunted trouble had seen that I wasn't goin' to kowtow to no one, and there just wasn't no backup in me.

Steppin' into the hotel, I walked up to the night clerk, a young man with slicked-back hair, parted smack down the middle. I spun the register and noticed, among the people that had registered that day, two names that caught my attentionâBlack Jack Keller and Pen Castell.

Both of them was hired guns, and among the best. They come real expensive, so I'd heard.

I pointed at the names. “These two gents, they still in the hotel?”

“No, Sheriff. They partook of our special dinner menu and then stepped across the street to the saloon for a drink and cards. They seemed like very nice gentlemen. Their manners were impeccable.”

I blinked at that. Impeccable sounded like something you wouldn't want on you. “Yeah. They're just dandy fellers.”

On the boardwalk, I waved at Rusty and walked over to join him, telling him about Pen and Black Jack. He whistled softly.

“Top guns, Sheriff.”

“And fast. I seen 'em work up near the Oregon/Washington line. Little town in the Umatillas. Don't never sell 'em short. They're among the best. Things is heatin' up, Rusty.”

“I wonder who hired 'em?”

“I don't know. Was that feller who backed you up this afternoon Jeff Baker?”

“Yeah. Pepper's brother. He's a square shooter, all the way.”

“I figured as much. Let's take the Dirty Dog first, then we'll ease on over to the Wolf's Den.”

The Dirty Dog was filled with the crews from the smaller ranches around the area, and they seemed to be a friendly, easygoin' bunch. But I noticed that they was, to a man, all packin' iron, some of them with an extra six-shooter tucked behind their gunbelt. That was not a good sign.

“Wouldn't have taken a month's pay to miss that show this afternoon, Sheriff.”

“Yeah,” another said. “That kid's been achin' for something like that to happen. He's been ridin' high, wide, and rough for a long time.”

BOOK: Blood Valley

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