Silver City Massacre (24 page)

“Don't let these chores get ahead of you,” Boss called after him.

“Yes, sir,” Fuzzy replied dutifully.

After breakfast and his morning trip to the outhouse, Beauchamp donned his heavy coat for his ride into Silver City. It was plain as day that the last two of his hired guns had joined the rest of his crew in hell at the hand of Joel McAllister. He was going to have to find a legal way to get his hands on that property, and he was going to have to go to the law for protection. There was no reason to believe McAllister would hesitate to come after him, and with that in mind, he had started carrying a revolver all the time.

Always happy to see him ride off to town, Lena Three Toe stood in the kitchen door to watch him pass eventually out of sight. She was about to turn around to start cleaning up the breakfast dishes when she caught sight of Fuzzy on his horse, loaded with what appeared to be all his meager belongings. He turned the horse and rode off in the opposite direction from town, never looking back.

“Ha,” Lena snorted, hardly surprised. “It's gonna be hell to pay when that ol' son of a bitch gets back. I reckon he's gonna want me to do all the chores now.”

•   •   •

All the way to town Beauchamp thought long and hard on the best way to handle the problem with McAllister since his planned massacre had backfired, leaving him defenseless against a determined executioner. He finally decided the best way to handle it was to get the sheriff to go after McAllister for murdering his men. Jim Crowder was simpleminded enough to do what Beauchamp told him to do. After all, he owned the man. He wouldn't question the right or wrong of it.

He arrived at his office at Beauchamp No. 2 late that morning to be told by his foreman that the town council had called a meeting to discuss a problem with the sheriff. This news was not well received by the already troubled mine owner. He insisted upon being present at any such meeting the council called.

“Where are they meeting?” he asked.

“In the back of Thompson's store was what they said when they came by here to let you know,” his foreman said.

Beauchamp didn't wait. Out the door he went and strode determinedly down the street to Marvin Thompson's general store, anxious to get there before they made some stupid decision that he would have to overturn. He stormed in the door, striding past Thompson's wife without so much as a “good morning,” and through the stockroom to the back parlor, where an assembly of eight men sat around a long table.

“Well, good morning, Mr. Beauchamp,” Jonah Newberry greeted him from the head of the table. “We sent Clyde Parsons by your office to notify you about the meeting, but you hadn't got in yet.”

“What's going on?” Beauchamp demanded.

Marvin Thompson answered him. “We decided to call an emergency meeting after we had some trouble here in town last night and our sheriff refused to handle it.”

“What kind of trouble?” Beauchamp asked, already opposed to whatever the council had voted on. “I find Sheriff Crowder to be a capable man.”

“If you had been in town last night, you might understand why we've asked Jim to step down as sheriff,” Jonah Newberry said. “A couple of miners at the Miner's Rest got to drinking too heavily and got in a fight with Jake Tully. It spilled out into the street, and turned into a gunfight, and pretty soon they stopped fighting each other and started shooting up the town. Charley Owens ran to get Sheriff Crowder, but he locked himself up in his office and refused to come out. He said it wasn't his job to get between two crazy drunk men with guns. Well, the whole town was hiding anywhere they could to keep from getting shot. So you see why we decided we needed a sheriff who would enforce the law.”

This was not good news to Beauchamp, having decided he would talk Crowder into shooting Joel McAllister on sight. “Wait a minute, gentlemen. Let's not do something here that we might regret later on. We'd best give Jim Crowder another chance. I'll talk to him and see if I can't get to the bottom of this thing last night.”

“It's a little too late for that,” Marvin Thompson said. “You see, we've already voted, and it was unanimous, so we fired him. Toby just got back a minute or two before you got here with the keys to the office. We voted him the new sheriff till we find a permanent one.”

Beauchamp's brow deepened and his nostrils flared red with anger. “You can't do that. You have to vote again, since I wasn't here.”

“It was unanimous, Mr. Beauchamp,” Newberry said. “It wouldn't do any good to vote again. That would just make it eight to one in favor of firing Crowder.”

“Hell, he didn't do nothin' but set in that office and drink coffee,” the blacksmith said. “It wasn't just last night. We shoulda fired him a long time ago.”

Beauchamp was stymied and he knew it. He had to keep a respectable facade when dealing with the townspeople, even though he ached to pull the gun out of his inside coat pocket and clear the room. Knowing he was risking the destruction of all the plans he had made, he cautioned himself to calm down and think rationally.

“Well, gentlemen, I guess you have ample cause to make the decision, so I, of course, will vote with the council.”

“Then I guess that winds up all the business we had to discuss,” Marvin Thompson said, “so I reckon I'm open for a motion to adjourn the meeting.”

“Hold on, if you please, Mr. Thompson,” Beauchamp said. “I have a pressing problem of extreme importance.” Several of the eight who had already risen from their chairs sat back down. Beauchamp continued, now that he had everyone's attention. “I'm afraid my life is in immediate danger. I know the town hasn't been aware of what's been going on out in the mountains right around us, but it seems that Boone McAllister's brother is a hired killer. And he was brought here to murder me and everyone who works for me.”

His opening remarks brought grunts of surprise from the men at the table. “My Lord, Mr. Beauchamp!” Toby Bryan exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell Jim Crowder about it?”

“I did,” Beauchamp lied. “I told him after three of my men were shot down by Joel McAllister, but Crowder said he had no jurisdiction outside Silver City, so I've been left on my own to deal with this murderer. And, gentlemen, I'm sorry to report that I haven't been successful in dealing with the problem, because he has killed almost all of my people. I have reason to believe the mad dog has even assassinated his own brother.” He paused to let that take effect, and was encouraged by their expressions of horror. “We were led to believe it was an Indian raid that killed those people up on that mountain, but there were no witnesses to attest to that. Nobody questioned the fact that Joel McAllister and his Indian friend were the only survivors after that raid. Now he has sent word that he's coming after me and I have to fear for my life every time I ride back and forth between town and my ranch. I fear that he will be waiting for me when I return home tonight.”

The room was gripped by complete silence, everyone stunned by the brazenness of the charges. Finally Toby Bryan spoke. “I talked to Joel McAllister when he first came to town. He seemed like a right nice fellow. He sure fooled me.”

“Remember what Jake Tully said about him?” Marvin Thompson said. “Jake said he handled himself like he knew what he was doing when he laid that fellow out on the saloon floor. Jake said he was afraid he was gonna start shooting.”

“That's right,” Beauchamp said, confident that they were all buying into what he was selling. “That man he attacked worked for me, and, gentlemen, that man is now dead, shot down in cold blood by Joel McAllister.”

He was gratified by the gasps and concerned reactions that he saw, and realized that he should have taken this approach to solve his problem before.

Toby Bryan stood up and looked around the table to ensure eye contact with every man there. “Well, you gentlemen have voted to give me the responsibility of enforcin' the law in our town. And I want you to know, Mr. Beauchamp, that I take that responsibility seriously when it comes to protecting our most important citizens. So I reckon I'll ride back home with you tonight in case McAllister is waitin' for you. Then we'll see who shoots who.”

It couldn't have gone better as far as Beauchamp was concerned. This was even better than persuading Jim Crowder to do his dirty work. He had an idea that the blacksmith would stand firm where Crowder might have decided to run.

“Sheriff,” he addressed Toby, “I would be mighty obliged.” He looked around at the others and announced, “I think we've made a fine choice to replace Jim Crowder.”

“Just let me know when you're ready to go home,” Toby told him. “I'll be ready to ride.”

Not sure when she might see Beauchamp return from town, Lena Three Toe went about the usual preparations for his supper. Her mind was occupied with thoughts of Fuzzy's sudden departure that morning, an event that was not totally unexpected by her. She wondered why he had stayed on as long as he had. Maybe this distraction was the reason she did not know she was not alone when she turned to suddenly find him standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a rifle casually in one hand. Startled, she dropped a pan of potatoes she was preparing to peel.

“You're him!” she gasped, and instinctively backed away.

“Where's Beauchamp?” Joel asked.

“He's gone to town,” she replied fearfully, and continued to back away until she was stopped by the kitchen table.

He had already assumed as much, since there had appeared to be no one on the place at all when he rode in. Having had no idea if Beauchamp had more men, he had come in from the hill behind the barn. Cautiously checking the barn, then the bunkhouse, the smokehouse, even the outhouse before deciding the place was deserted, he then came to the house.

“You've got no need to be afraid of me, ma'am. My quarrel is with your boss. I've got no quarrel with you.”

Something in his eyes and the tone of his voice, soft- spoken but deadly, convinced her that he was telling her the truth, and her first reaction to that was to wish that Beauchamp was home to face him.

“I reckon you came to settle with him for killing your family,” she finally said.

“I reckon,” he answered, surprised that she spoke about it so calmly. “You expect him for supper?”

“He'll be here,” she said.

Noticing a bruise beside her eye that was just beginning to yellow, he asked, “He do that?” He pointed to her eye.

“Yes,” she answered, “when he was in one of his better moods.”

“Don't suppose you know when he'll be coming?”

“No, can't say,” she replied.

He thought it over for a few moments before deciding. “I reckon it'd be best if I ride on out toward town,” he told her, “so's not to have any shootin' goin' on around the house here.” There was a thought for her safety, but he also figured that he preferred to confront the man out in the open. He turned to leave, then paused to say, “Sorry about your potatoes.”

“No trouble at all,” she said, and followed him to the door to watch him ride away. She stood there for a long time, watching until he became too small to see any longer, unable to explain the sense of satisfaction she felt. It had been like being in the presence of an angel of death. It was a feeling that made her heart beat faster with an elation she had not felt since she was a young girl, flush with the expectation that things were going to be better in her life.

•   •   •

He rode for a couple of miles along a well-worn trail to Silver City, contemplating the results of the action he was determined to take. The debt must be settled, even though it was going to cost him dearly because he was forced to resolve it in this fashion. For he was convinced that he would be a hunted man for the rest of his life, wanted for the murder of a respected businessman of the settlement. He would lose the land, and the future, that Boone had staked out for the two of them.

It has to be,
he finally told himself.
It does no good to regret
. He tried to put such thoughts aside then and concentrate on the business at hand.

Coming to a ridge off to the side of the trail, he decided to stop, thinking that if he continued, he might wind up in town before he met Beauchamp. The ridge was thick with spruce trees along the base, so he figured it a good spot to wait for his target to show up. He tied the gray to the limb of a tree, pulled his rifle, and walked down near the edge of the trees, where he had a good view of the trail beyond. He sat down to wait.

He sat for almost two hours before someone appeared on the trail in the distance, but it was two riders instead of the lone rider he expected. Leaving the spot where he had waited, he backed up into the trees a little farther, so as not to be seen from the trail. In a few minutes, the two riders came even with his vantage point, and he recognized one of them. It was the blacksmith; he had forgotten his name, but he remembered the face. The other man, with the heavy woolen coat with a fur collar, was Beauchamp. But was he? Joel hesitated, uncertain. He had never seen Ronald Beauchamp before, and he had to be certain. By all reasoning, it had to be Beauchamp, for they were obviously going to Blackjack Mountain. But what if they were the blacksmith and one of the other businessmen of Silver City? He knew he couldn't risk killing the wrong man. To add to his indecision, he didn't like the idea of calling a showdown with Beauchamp if the blacksmith was there to witness it, consequently destroying the slim chance that he might get away with the killing. Realizing there were too many reasons to wait until absolutely sure he was doing the right thing, he reluctantly eased the hammer down on the Henry and watched them pass.

He remained there until the two riders were out of sight before leading his horse out of the spruce trees and starting back toward Blackjack Mountain. Still intent upon finishing the task he had set for himself, he walked the gray leisurely along the trail back to the ranch, planning to watch the house to see if the blacksmith returned to town alone. He resigned himself to the fact that he would shoot Beauchamp at long range if that turned out to be his only opportunity. But he preferred to face the man so Beauchamp would know who shot him and why. With no notion what the night would bring, however, he could only wait to see.

•   •   •

With a feeling of disappointment, Lena looked out the window and saw the two men approaching. She walked to the front door when they pulled up at the rail in front of the house and Beauchamp dismounted. She didn't recognize the rider still in the saddle, but she noticed the star pinned to his vest when his coat gaped open.

If that ain't something,
she thought.
The ol' bastard riding with the law
.

She heard the lawman tell Beauchamp that he was going to scout around the hills surrounding the ranch house to see if there was any sign of anyone hiding out there.

“I appreciate your help, Sheriff,” Beauchamp said. “You sure you don't want some coffee or something to eat before you ride back to town?”

“No, sir,” Toby replied. “I'll go ahead and take a look around before it starts to get too dark.”

“You best be careful, Sheriff,” Beauchamp advised. “And you'd better shoot on sight if you do see him.”

He stood there for a few moments after Toby loped off to the low line of hills to the east of Blackjack Mountain. When he disappeared Beauchamp turned and peered toward the barn, expecting Fuzzy to come to take care of his horse. When he still did not come, Beauchamp yelled for him, his patience already taxed.

“Fuzzy!” he yelled again with the same results. Then he turned when he heard the door open behind him, and Lena walked out on the porch. “Where is he?” Beauchamp demanded.

“I don't know,” Lena answered frankly, and waited for the explosion.

“That lazy son of a bitch!” Beauchamp roared. “I've got a good mind to put a bullet in his worthless hide!” Taking the reins, he stalked down to the barn, leading his horse, to search Fuzzy out. On the way, his eye caught the two rotten boards in the side of the barn. “He still hasn't replaced those boards like I told him to,” he roared loud enough for Lena to hear it back on the porch. It brought a smile to her face that quickly left when she realized that he would probably take out his anger on her. She went back into her kitchen to put the potatoes, which she had peeled and sliced after picking them up from the floor, on the stove to fry. That thought brought back the image that had been framed in her kitchen door earlier, and she found herself wishing he would return.

After storming through the barn and the bunkhouse, yelling for Fuzzy, he finally realized what had actually happened: He had gone for good. That threatened to push his anger out of control. He stalked out of the barn, but stopped at the door when he realized that he should pull the saddle off his horse and turn it out in the corral. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken care of his horse. He thought about sending Lena back down there to do it, but decided she might mess up his supper if he did. Mumbling profanity to himself, he went back and took care of the horse.

As he was walking back to the house, it suddenly struck him how ghostlike the place had become since it was now deserted. He blamed the fix he now found himself in on the incompetence of the men he had hired to work for him. And now, thanks to their incompetence, he was left with a ranch unattended and a gunman that might even now be coming for him.

“Well, he'll find he's not dealing with some brainless hired gun, if he tries to come after me,” he muttered. “I'll shoot him as soon as he sets foot on this property.” There were any number of men working his mine who would be glad to work on top of the ground for a change, he thought. He would have a working crew inside a week. “Damn that worthless bastard,” he exclaimed when he thought of Fuzzy again.

Inside the kitchen, Lena heard him coming back, talking to himself as he stepped up on the kitchen steps. She instinctively went to the other side of the stove to keep it between them, hoping he would concentrate his anger on Fuzzy, now that he was gone, and ignore her. When he walked in the door, the look on his face told her of the rage burning inside him, and she immediately feared he might decide to release it on her.

“I'll have you some supper in just a little while,” she said, hoping to defuse his rage, “just as soon as these potatoes are done.”

He stared at her as if he was surprised to see her there. His eyes, dark under heavy black eyebrows, seemed to lash out at her, accusingly. “Why didn't you stop him?”

“Hell, how could I stop him?” Lena replied. “He didn't tell me he was going. He just packed up his things and left. There was no way I coulda stopped him.”

“You should have shot him,” Beauchamp said, meaning it. “He's left you with a lot of chores. You're gonna have to look after the stock until I hire on some help.”

“Look after the stock?” she responded in disbelief. “Who's gonna do the cooking and cleaning—you?”

“I expect you'll do it, if you know what's good for you.”

“The hell I will,” she fired back, having been pushed beyond her patience. “You're crazy if you think I can run this whole ranch and your house, too.”

Infuriated by her gall to back-talk him, he stormed around the stove, catching her arm before she was quick enough to escape him.

“You call me crazy? You dumb Indian bitch! I bought you, just like I bought everything else on this place. If I hitch you up to a wagon, you'll pull it and keep your mouth shut about it.”

“I'll bet you don't even know how to hitch up a wagon,” she replied, her anger swelling to meet his. It was the wrong thing to say. It only caused him to explode.

“Damn you!” he shouted, and struck her in the face with his fist, holding her arm as she fell to her knees. Then he struck her again. The sight of her blood oozing from her nose and lip seemed to cause him to want to see more, as he took his anger out on her. The only thing that stopped the merciless beating he was set on administering was a loud knock on the kitchen door. He paused, caught in his insane rage, confused for a moment until he realized what the sound had been. Recovering somewhat then, he dropped the helpless woman to the floor, pulled the revolver from his coat pocket, and went to the door. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It's me, Toby Bryan,” the answer came back.

Beauchamp forced himself to recover. “Oh, Sheriff,” he managed calmly, and opened the door partially.

“I just wanted to tell you that I took a pretty good look around the place, and there ain't no sign of anybody. You want me to stay on till mornin'?”

“No,” Beauchamp said, still with the door halfway open. “I think I'll be all right. I want to thank you for helping me, though. I'd invite you in for supper, but my cook has taken ill, so I guess that's all I'll trouble you tonight.”

“All right, then, if you're sure. I reckon I'll ride on back to town,” Toby told him.

The door closed, but not before he got a glimpse of the woman lying on the floor by the stove. Undecided whether or not he should say anything about it, he hesitated for a few moments, but then chose to call it none of his business. Beauchamp had said she was sick. Maybe she was. He stepped up into the saddle and headed back to town, thinking he had scouted the hills around the place thoroughly. He had not thought it necessary to search the barn, since Beauchamp had been there to take care of his horse. Both men were unaware of the determined executioner who had cautiously made his way into the back of the barn a short time after Beauchamp went to the house.

Beauchamp stood at the closed door, listening for the sound of Toby's horse departing. When he heard it, he put his pistol back in his pocket and turned in time to emit a sickening grunt as the long butcher knife plunged into his gut. Horrified, he reached instinctively for the woman glaring at him in vengeful hatred, her face a bloody mask. She backed out of his reach, watching him intently as he stared down at the knife, driven with such hateful force that it was in almost up to the handle. He reached down to pull it out, only to scream out in pain when he gripped it. His eyes wide with shock, he staggered toward her, reaching out for her. She continued backing away until she reached the corner of the stove and waited. Step by painful step, he advanced until she was almost within his reach. Just then remembering the revolver in his coat pocket, he fumbled to pull it out. Before he could free it from his pocket, she grabbed the iron skillet from the stove and slammed it against the side of his face, knocking him to the floor.