The King Hill War (18 page)

“I’ve learned that if you lie to try and spare someone’s feelings, you only wind up hurting them more,” Hawke
said.

“Oh, how did this ever get this far?” Hannah asked. “Why can’t we just live here in peace?”

Hawke didn’t respond to her question, because he had no answer for her.

“You are right not to see her anymore,” Carlisle said.

Jesse was driving the surrey, His father was by his side and his mother was in the back seat, weeping quietly.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Jesse said. “She didn’t have anything to do with killing Johnny.”

“Sure she did.”

Jesse looked at his father in surprise. “What do you mean, sure she did?”

“It’s like a war,” Rome said. “In the war, there were many in the South who had nothing to do with killing us. But they were part and parcel of what caused the war in the first place, so everyone who lived in the South was our enemy. Well, we are in another war. Only this war is between the ranchers and the sheep herders. And every sheep herder, whether they were out there with guns the other night or not, is our enemy. It would be the same thing if you had been around during the war as having a girlfriend who lived in the South.”

“I…I guess if you put it that way,” Jesse said.

Carlisle looked sternly at his son. “And if you have anything to do with that girl, Jesse, you are our enemy too.”

Jesse didn’t answer his father. Instead, he stared straight ahead as the team continued to pull the surrey, their hoofbeats the only sound for a long moment.

“I know that’s harsh, Jesse. But that’s the way it is.”

Jesse wiped a tear from his eye, and Rome reached over to put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“You do see that, don’t you, Jesse? You are the only son
I have left now. I don’t want to lose you, especially like this.”

“I understand,” Jesse said in a choked voice. “It’s hard, but I understand.”

“You’re a good boy,” Rome Carlisle said.

“WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS, WHEN IS THE SON
of a bitch going to earn his pay?” Fenton asked angrily.

Once again the cattlemen were meeting in Joshua Creed’s parlor.

“Because as far as I can tell, all he’s done from the first moment he got here is sit on his ass in the saloon, drinking beer and playing solitaire,” Fenton continued.

“Yeah,” Wilson said. “Maybe if he had gone out with our boys the other night, we wouldn’t have gotten four of them killed.”

“He said he didn’t want to go out,” Creed said. “He said he would handle it his way.”

“Well, when does ‘his’ way get started?”

“I’ll talk to him,” Creed promised.

“Get out of my light,” Morgan said as he played a red jack on a black queen.

“I beg your pardon?” Creed replied.

“I said, get out of my light,” Morgan repeated. “I can’t see the cards.”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry,” Creed said, moving, and watching his shadow clear the table.

“What do you want, Creed?”

“Well, I was wondering…that is, some of the other ranchers were wondering…” Creed let the sentence hang.

“Wondering what?”

“When…” Creed cleared his throat nervously. “When, uh, you are going to get started.”

“You were wondering that, were you?”

“Yes,” Creed said. “After all, Mr. Morgan, we have paid you a great deal of money. I’m sure that even you would agree to that. But so far you haven’t actually done anything.”

“Are the amateurs finished?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Morgan played a black nine on a red ten. “The amateurs,” he said. “Do they plan any more of their nighttime raids? Are they going to go out and get themselves shot up again?”

“No,” Creed said. “I do not intend to send them out again.”

“Then I’ll get to work,” Morgan said.

“Good,” Creed said. “I’m sure that we will all appreciate that.”

“Are you squeamish?”

“Squeamish?”

“Are you going to change your mind once I get started?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Creed said. “What, exactly, are you going to do?”

“I’m going to run the sheep herders off. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but how are you going to do it?”

“How I do it is of no concern of yours,” Morgan said.

“No, I…I suppose not,” Creed said. “And to answer your question, no, I’m not squeamish. I saw all the posters on the wall in your office back in Boise City. I know that people who cross you wind up getting killed. As far as I’m concerned, that’s one of the reasons I hired you.”

Morgan collected his deck of cards, stuck them in his pocket, then squared his hat on his head.

“I’m glad we see things eye to eye,” he said.

She did not know what awakened her in the middle of the night, but when twelve-year-old Lucy Wright opened her eyes, she saw that the walls of her bedroom were glowing orange.

She lay in bed for a long moment, just staring at her walls, trying to figure out what was causing this unusual sight. Not only were the walls glowing, they seemed to be waving.

Then she heard a horse, not the ordinary whinny they sometimes made in the night. This was a high-pitched scream of terror.

Suddenly, Lucy knew what was happening, and she jumped out of bed and looked out of her window. The barn was on fire!

“Mama! Papa!” she shouted. “The barn is burning! The barn is on fire!”

Lucy heard her father bolt out of his bedroom. He was still wearing his sleeping gown as he ran by.

“Turn out!” Ed shouted. “Janet, Lucy, Cindy! Turn out! We’ve got to save the horses!”

By the time they reached the front porch, the barn was totally enveloped in flames, and the high-pitched scream of the horses was louder than the roar of the fire. Wright started toward the barn.

“Ed, no!” Janet called to him.

“I’ve got to save the horses!” her husband called back.

“Ed, no, you can’t!” Janet said. “You can’t get in there!”

Just as Wright reached the barn, the front half of it collapsed, sending up a shower of sparks. Wright threw his arms across his face and backed away to keep other pieces of flaming debris from falling on him. It wasn’t until then that he realized that the horses weren’t screaming anymore.

On top of a hill, about a quarter of a mile away from Wright’s house, a lone rider, dressed in black, sat on his horse and watched as the barn continued to burn, folding in on itself as the fire consumed more and more of the structure. Then, rubbing the scar on his cheek, he turned his horse and rode away.

Chris Dumey was the first one to arrive at the Wright ranch the next morning. When he came out for his early toilet, he saw a wisp of smoke curling up from the Wright place, and he woke his family and took them over to see what they could do. Chris sent his fifteen-year-old son Andy around to the other sheep ranches to spread the word, and by noon nearly everyone had arrived, all bringing food.

“I know damn well the fire was set,” Wright said as he and the others picked through the smoldering remains, which included the charred bodies of four horses.

“Did you see anyone, Ed?” Emerson Booker asked.

Wright shook his head. “No, I didn’t see anyone. And I got no proof that I can go to the sheriff with, but I know damn well it was set.”

“The sheriff,” Allen Cummings said, making a spitting sound. “A lot of good he would do.”

“I think the sheriff is a good man,” Ian said. “He’s just got more than he can handle right now.”

“Which means it’s all up to us,” Dumey said.

“Yes, we’ll have to fight this ourselves.”

“I’m not fighting,” Wright said. “If I can interest any of you in buying my sheep, I’m going to take the money and buy a team of mules, and we’re going back to Kansas.”

“Ed, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Ian said. “Don’t you see? That is exactly what Creed wants you to do.”

“Well, then Creed ought to be happy,” Wright replied.

“Look, I’ve got a couple of extra horses I can let you have until you get back on your feet,” Ian said.

“And I’ve got some lumber,” Mark Patterson put in.

“I have some too,” Emerson said. “And some shingles.”

“I’ve got the nails,” Ian said. “We could get your barn rebuilt for you?”

“What do you mean ‘we,’ Ian?” Dumey teased. “We’ll rebuild his barn for him, but what are you going to do? You just got your casts off…you can barely walk.”

“I’ll have you know that I put a roof on my barn, with these broken legs,” Ian said. “And that’s when I was still wearing casts.”

“How in the Sam Hill did you do that?” Emerson asked.

Ian laughed. “Well, it wasn’t all that easy.” He went on to explain how Hawke was able to pull him up to the top, using the hay bale hoist.

“You men would do that for me?” Wright asked.

“You’re damn right we will,” George Butrum said.

Wright looked back at Janet, who was standing with several of the other women.

“Janet, what do you think?” he asked.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I think it is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard,” she said.

“Yeehah!” Wright said, jabbing his hand into the air. “All right, boys, when do you want to get started?”

“I’ll be over here first thing in the morning with a wagonload of lumber,” Patterson said.

“As will I,” Emerson said.

The others made their own commitments as well, then after a shared lunch and half a day of commiserating with the Wrights over the loss of their horses, they started back to their own homes.

“Ian,” Cynthia said as they rode back home in the buckboard. “Do you think Ed was right? Do you think someone set the fire?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind,” Ian answered.

“But who? Who could do such a thing?”

“Is there any doubt?” Ian replied. “You know it was Joshua Creed.”

“That’s frightening,” Cynthia said. “Why, if he burned Ed’s barn, he could burn someone else’s barn as well. He might even burn their house.”

“That’s a possibility,” Ian said. “We’re just going to have to keep a closer watch on things, that’s all.”

The next morning, true to their promises, everyone showed up ready to work. Ian brought two horses, plus a keg of nails and hammers, saws, a plumb, and a carpenter’s square. Other wagons arrived with lumber, shingles, and other supplies so that everything necessary for building a new barn was there.

The first thing they had to do was clear away all the debris from the barn that had burned. While doing so, Mitch Arnold found a can marked
KEROSENE
.

“Well, here’s the cause of your fire,” he said, holding up the can.

“What’s that?” Wright asked.

“You were keeping a can of kerosene out here,” Arnold said. “It probably fell over, maybe a horse’s hoof kicked up a spark and—”

“That’s not my kerosene,” Wright said.

“What do you mean? I found it here.”

“I only have one can of kerosene, and it’s in the house.” “I can go get it right now and show it to you.”

“Then where did this—” Arnold said as he held out the can, then he stopped in mid-sentence. “I’ll be damn,” he went on. “You’re right. Somebody used it to start the fire.”

“Not somebody. Joshua Creed,” Wright said bitterly.

“I doubt that Creed did it himself,” Ian said. “But I have no doubt but that he paid someone to do it.”

“Well, we knew what we were getting into when we decided to take him on,” Emerson said. “Come on, boys, standing around and talking isn’t getting the barn built.”

The barn was up before dark, and a tired but exhilarated group headed back to their homes that night, chased by the heartfelt thanks of the Wrights.

THREE DAYS AFTER THE BARN RAISING AT ED
Wright’s place, Hawke was having his morning shave when he saw two wagons approaching. Both were laden with furniture and personal belongings. George Butrum was in the first wagon, his wife Anna and his twelve-year-old son Marvin riding on the seat with him. Mitch Arnold was driving the second wagon, with his wife Susan and fifteen-year-old daughter Ellie Mae.

Hawke wiped off the remaining lather, then walked over to the main house and stepped into the kitchen where Cynthia and Hannah were busy making breakfast.

“Good morning, Mason,” Cynthia said brightly, pouring him a cup of coffee. “I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thanks,” Hawke said, taking the coffee. “Is Ian awake yet?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Maybe he had better come outside.”

“Why?” Cynthia asked, a puzzled expression on her face. “What is it?”

“Butrum and Arnold are coming.”

“Oh?”

“They are both driving wagons,” Hawke said. “The wagons are full, and they have their entire families with them.”

“Hannah,” Cynthia said. “Go get your father.”

Hannah hurried toward the back of the house.

“Oh, dear, I hope I have enough eggs gathered to feed them breakfast,” Cynthia said. “I wish they had given me some warning.”

“I don’t believe this is a social call,” Hawke said.

Ian came into the kitchen then. “They’re pulling out, aren’t they?” he said.

“Yes, I believe they are,” Hawke replied.

By the time Hawke and Ian were outside, the two wagons were just rolling in. The drivers called to their teams, then set the brakes.

“George, Mitch,” Ian said. He was leaning on the two canes. “Good morning to you.”

“Morning, Ian, Hawke,” Butrum said. When Cynthia came out onto the porch, Butrum touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Macgregor.”

“Mr. Butrum,” Cynthia replied.

“Mama, can I tell Hannah good-bye?” Ellie Mae asked. At fifteen, Ellie Mae and Hannah were the closest in age of all the sheep ranchers’ daughters.

“Yes, dear,” Susan Arnold replied. “But be ready to leave when Papa calls.”

“I will,” Ellie Mae said as she climbed down from the wagon.

“George, Mitch, what’s this all about?” Ian asked.

“Me ’n’ Mitch have talked it over,” Butrum said. “We’ve, uh, we’ve…” Butrum paused, unable to complete his thought.

“We’ve sold our places to Creed,” Mitch said.

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “How many pieces of silver did he give you?” he asked.

“Ian!” Cynthia scolded.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “Cynthia’s right. I have no business questioning what you do.”

“We got two hundred dollars apiece,” Butrum said.

“Two hundred dollars?” Ian said in surprise. “Why, your places are worth five times that.”

“To who? Would you pay us a thousand dollars? For that matter, would you pay us two hundred dollars?”

Ian shook his head. “I don’t have the money,” he said.

“No, and neither does anyone else, except for Creed.”

“What happened?” Ian asked. “Just the other day, when we all got together to build Ed’s barn, you two were as anxious as the rest of us to get him to stay. Now you are hell-bent on leaving. Why?”

“When we got home from Ed’s place the other night we found every window in our house broken out, and both doors smashed in,” Butrum said. “Tar was poured all over the floors and over most of our furniture.” He nodded toward the wagon. “We salvaged what we could, but there’s scarcely enough left to set up housekeeping at our next place.”

“I’m sorry, George,” Ian said. “But we could’ve helped you get back on your feet, same as we did with Ed.”

“What good would that have done? They’d just do it again.”

“What about you, Mitch?”

“Just like George said,” Arnold replied. “Windows and doors smashed, tar over everything.”

Ian was quiet for a long time. “So, you went to see Creed?”

Butrum shook his head. “We didn’t have to. Lonnie come around to the house to make us an offer, sittin’ up on his horse, suckin’ on that little piece of rawhide he’s always got in his mouth. ’Course, he acted all surprised about our house bein’ messed up like it was, said he didn’t know nothin’ about it. He said his pa was just wantin’ to make a friendly offer to buy the place.”

“And you took his offer?”

“He didn’t come right out and say it, Ian, but it was pretty clear that if we didn’t take the offer, somethin’ even worse would happen next time. I’ve got a wife and kid, I didn’t want to see anything happen to them.”

“He came to see you too?” Ian asked Arnold.

Mitch Arnold nodded. “Yeah, probably within an hour after he was over at George’s.”

Ian sighed. “Well, I don’t suppose I can really say that I blame you. But we are going to miss you.”

“Ellie Mae is my only friend,” Hannah said.

“I know, darlin’,” Susan Arnold said. “And believe me, she is going to miss you.” Susan looked at her daughter, who was weeping quietly.

“George, we need to get going,” Arnold said.

“Yeah,” Butrum answered. He started to climb back on his wagon, then turned and looked back toward Ian. “Oh, Ian, me ’n’ Mitch turned our sheep out. We figure they’ll probably join your flock, since you’re the closest to us. If you sell ’em an’ get ’nything for ’em, we’d appreciate it if—”

“Just let me know where to send the money,” Ian said. “I’ll see that you get it.”

Butrum nodded but didn’t say anything. He climbed back onto the wagon seat, then clucked at his team. His wagon, and Arnold’s behind it, pulled away slowly.

“It’s not fair,” Hannah said, choking back a sob. “It just isn’t fair.”

“No, darlin’, it isn’t,” Cynthia said. “But it is life.”

“Mama?” Hannah said later that same afternoon.

“Yes, dear?”

“Someone’s coming.”

“This
has
been our day for visitors, hasn’t it?” she said, drying her hands on a towel. She walked over to look through the same window as Hannah, and saw three riders approaching the house. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, my. I believe that is Mr. Creed.”

“And Lonnie and Clay Morgan,” Hannah said.

“Clay Morgan?”

“He’s the gunman that the cattlemen hired.”

“How do you know that’s Clay Morgan?”

“I saw him when I went into town with Mr. Hawke,” Hannah said. “I think we should tell Papa.”

“No need,” Cynthia said, pointing toward the barn. “Ian has seen them too.”

Ian was walking out to the front of his house. He wasn’t using canes.

“Oh, my!” Cynthia said, gasping.

“What is it?”

“Ian is carrying his rifle. Oh, please God, don’t let Ian start anything.”

Joshua Creed, Lonnie, and Morgan rode into the front yard. None of the three dismounted, but they stopped their horses about twenty feet away from Ian. Lonnie was chewing on his ever present string of rawhide, the end of it dangling down.

Cynthia went out into the front yard quickly, then came up behind Ian and put her hand on his shoulder. Hannah realized then that her mother was putting herself in a position to prevent Ian from doing anything rash. She went out to join them. Then she saw Hawke walking toward the house from the barn. She noticed, also, that though he didn’t always wear his gun around the ranch, he was wearing it now.

Hawke stopped at the edge of the house and leaned back against the front porch with his arms folded across his chest.

“Mr. Macgregor, Mr. Hawke, good afternoon to you,” Creed said.

“Afternoon,” Ian replied.

Hawke said nothing, but maintained his same casual pose against the front of the house. Hannah knew that his casual look was deceptive. She had learned a lot about him since he arrived, and knew that despite his outward appearances, he was as poised for action as a cat.

“What do you want, Creed?” Ian asked.

“You know my son,” Creed began. “And this gentleman has recently come to work for me. His name is Clay Morgan.”

“I know who they are,” Ian said.

“Yes, well, I wonder if you might invite us inside so we could talk a little business?”

“No need to invite you in. I can’t imagine any business you and I might have to talk about,” Ian replied. “And anything else you have to say, you can say it out here.”

“Oh, I think when you hear my offer, you might change your mind,” Creed said.

“What offer?”

“My offer to buy this place,” Creed said. “I am prepared to be very generous. I’ll buy your spread, your house…I’ll even buy your sheep.”

“Ha!” Ian said. “Are you telling me you want to go into the sheep business?”

Creed laughed. “That is a good one. No, the first thing I would do would be to take your sheep down to the railhead and ship them to market. Like I’ve been saying all along, this is cattle country.”

During the conversation, Hannah began feeling uneasy, then realized why. Lonnie Creed had taken the rawhide string from his mouth and was now staring at her with eyes that were very deep and disturbing. She could almost believe there were tiny red dots way at the bottom.

“Mr. Creed, I’m not in the least interested in selling my place to you,” Ian said.

“Oh, don’t make up your mind so quickly,” Creed said. “As I said, I’m prepared to make you a very generous offer.”

“A generous offer? Like what you paid George Butrum and Mitch Arnold for their places?”

“Butrum and Arnold were small men with no courage, no influence, and of little importance,” Creed replied. “They got what they were worth. You, however, are different. You have proven yourself to be a man of courage and influence.” Creed smiled. “In fact, you have much more influence than I care to admit. You’ve been making things very difficult for me, Mr. Macgregor. Or should I say, Sergeant Major Macgregor. I can see, now, why we had such a difficult time defeating the South, if they had many men like you.”

Ian supposed it was meant to be a compliment, but he let it slide by with absolutely no recognition.

Meanwhile, as Creed and Ian were talking, Hannah noticed that Hawke and Morgan continued to look at each other with steady, unblinking, stares. Then Morgan got down from his horse, dismounting so slowly as to almost
make it a ballet, never taking his eyes off Hawke in the process. The gunfighter walked over to a nearby rosebush, cut off a bloom, then brought it to Hannah and held it out toward her.

Hannah’s heart almost stopped beating. If Satan himself had suddenly appeared before her, she did not believe she would be confronted with any more evil than what was standing before her now. She glanced toward Hawke, who had not taken his eyes off Morgan. With her eyes, she asked him what she should do.

Hawke gave a barely perceptible nod, and Hannah, holding her breath in fear, reached out to take the rose bloom from Morgan.

Morgan returned to his horse and remounted in a repeat of his dismounting, a slow, graceful, balletlike movement without once taking his eyes off Hawke.

“I am prepared to offer you one thousand dollars for your spread,” Creed said, “and another thousand dollars for your sheep.”

“Creed, you couldn’t buy me out with ten thousand dollars,” Ian said.

Creed sighed audibly. “Mr. Macgregor, I thought you were an intelligent man,” he said. “I had hoped you would be reasonable. Your sheep are going to die of starvation because you can’t feed them. You must know I have a court injunction preventing you and your friends from having access to the open range.”

“No, you don’t,” Ian said. “That injunction has been set aside, pending the hearing.”

Creed smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of mirth. “Maybe if you had hired a real lawyer instead of a schoolteacher, he would have told you that until Mr. Eckert has been served with papers that rescind that injunction, it is still in effect.”

“No,” Ian said. “That isn’t true. I heard the judge lift the injunction with my own ears. We are going to run our sheep on the open range.”

“As I said, the law is on my side of this question,” Creed said. He nodded toward Morgan. “And Mr. Morgan here, as a private detective, is duly authorized to enforce the injunction. I have hired him to do just that, and believe me, he will, with the utmost efficiency.”

“You have no right to do that. You can’t enforce that order,” Ian insisted.

“Oh, but I do have the right to enforce it, and I will,” Creed said. “Mr. Macgregor, I’m sorry we were unable to come to any kind of an accommodation. Regretfully, I must tell you now that any future meetings between us will be much less cordial.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Good day to you, sir.”

Creed and Lonnie turned their horses to ride off, but Morgan backed his horse up for several feet, all the while staring at Hawke. Finally, he turned his horse as well, then urged it into a gallop to catch up with the others.

“Oh, Ian, what are we going to do?” Cynthia said.

“Do? We’re going to do the same thing we’ve been doing,” Ian replied. “We are going to continue to run our ranch.”

“But Mr. Creed and that awful man with him…. I’m afraid we are going to lose the ranch.”

“Don’t be afraid, Cynthia,” Hawke said. “You aren’t going to lose this ranch.”

Those were the first words Hawke had spoken since Creed had arrived.

“Cynthia, do you have any coffee left?” Ian asked.

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I think I would like to have a cup.”

“I just might join you,” Cynthia said.

Hannah watched her mother and father go into the house. She watched, also, as Hawke walked casually back toward his room in the barn. She went after him.

“Mr. Hawke?” she called to him.

He turned and looked back at her. The hard, almost frightening expression she had noticed in his face while he was staring at Morgan changed now to a warm and inviting smile.

“Yes?” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Were you scared?” she asked.

“Yes, a little. Were you?”

“I was terrified,” Hannah said. “But you? You were scared? I didn’t think you were ever afraid of anything.”

“Oh, yes,” Hawke said. “A man would be a fool never to be afraid of anything. Fear is one of the tools of survival that God gives us.”