The Taylor County War (14 page)

The two shook hands and parted
company. Eddie spun on his heel with a smile on his face.

The expression triggered a flash of
inspiration and Wesley’s memory clicked. In that instant, he knew
where he’d seen the man and a cold chill washed over him. Wesley
had run into Benton a few years back in a saloon in South Texas and
had watched him kill a harmless drunk who’d sloshed whiskey onto
his boots.

Only, his name wasn’t Eddie Benton.
It was Benton Kingsberry. Benton was a hired gun, one of the best
in the business, but that wasn’t how he’d made his reputation. He
was an indiscriminate killer, the lowest of the low in Wesley’s
mind. Killing a man who was looking at you with a gun in his hand
was one thing. Cold blooded murder was something else entirely.

Could he face down Benton
Kingsberry if he had to?

Wesley knew he was skilled with a
gun. He practiced every day and as of yet, no one had even come
close to beating him. Yet that didn’t mean there wasn’t a faster
man out there.

Andrew Rogers climbed into the
saddle and rode away quietly. Benton headed back toward the ranch,
passing within a few feet of Wesley without spotting him.

After he passed, Wesley followed
along behind Benton, wanting to give Rogers time to clear out.
Wesley pulled his Army Colt. “That’s far enough, Kingsberry.”

Benton froze in his tracks at the
sound of the hammer being pulled back.

“Quaid?”

“That’s right. Turn around slow and
keep your hands in the air.”

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me.”
Benton laughed and turned slowly. “If you know who I am, you know
you’ll never beat me.”

“Almighty sure of yourself, ain’t
you?” Wesley stepped closer, eyeing the man closely. He didn’t
appear to be armed. Not obviously, anyway.

“Give me a gun and find out how
fast you are.”

“My mama didn’t give birth to no
idjits.”

“I think she did. You’ve caught me.
Now what are you going to do with me?”

“Well, for one, I ain’t about to
let you harm that old man in yonder or his son. They’re good
people, better than you and me put together. Well, the old man is,
anyways, and the son pays my salary.”

Benton threw back his head and his
laughter echoed into the night. “You know better than that, Quaid.
They’re sheep. Lambs to be sheared. Nothing more.”

“That’s the difference between you
and me, Benton.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I still have my honor. You lost
yours long ago.”

“Hell, Quaid. I never had any to
begin with.” The man lunged forward, catching Wesley off guard.
Benton grabbed his wrist and they struggled for control of the
gun.

Wesley’s finger tightened on the
trigger and the Colt fired into the air. Benton raised a knee
toward Wesley’s groin, but he was no stranger to a rough and tumble
fight and blocked the maneuver by twisting his body to the
side.

Using both hands, Benton flung
Wesley’s gun hand as hard as he could, trying to dislodge the Colt.
On the third effort, the gun sailed away into the darkness.

Benton backhanded Wesley across the
face.

Wesley tasted blood and staggered
backward, gazing frantically around for the Colt. He swiped the
back of his hand across his mouth and stepped forward, swinging a
roundhouse right hand.

Ducking low, Benton avoided the
blow and caught Wesley with a wicked uppercut to the stomach.

Wesley grunted and stepped away.
Benton swung again, but Wesley blocked it with an upraised left arm
and swung a right that grazed his opponent’s cheek.

Benton lowered his head and
charged. Wesley stepped to the side and caught him with a rabbit
punch to the kidney as he rushed past.

As Benton gasped in pain, Wesley
rushed him and planted a left jab directly against his teeth. The
man’s head bobbed backward and Wesley pressed his advantage by
stomping on Benton’s instep and then head-butting him in the
nose.

Blood gushed and Benton clamped
both hands to his face. Wesley kicked him in the stomach and when
the man doubled over, he introduced his knee to Benton’s
forehead.

The man dropped like a poleaxed
steer.

A door banged shut at the ranch
house and lights began bobbing toward him. Wesley let out a deep
breath and rolled Benton over. The man was still breathing, but was
bleeding profusely.

“Who’s the idjit now?” Wesley
asked.

Benton seemed too dazed to bother
with a reply.

Footsteps pounded to a halt and the
lantern light revealed Billy Below wearing nothing but his union
suit.

“You caught him? Who was he meeting
with?”

“Rogers.”

Tobias Breedlove lumbered to a halt
and stood for a moment gasping for air. “You mean to tell me Eddie
was a spy?”

“His name ain’t Eddie Benton. It’s
Benton Kingsberry.”

“Killer Kingsberry?” Billy
asked.

“That’s the one. And Rogers is
planning a raid.”

“A raid?” The old man sucked
several deep breaths. “Where?”

“On the T-Bar-B. He intends to burn
this place to the ground.”

Tobias turned to Billy. “Put your
britches on and ride to Wolf Creek. Bring the sheriff out here as
fast as you can.”

“Yes sir.” Billy spun on his heel,
heading for the bunkhouse.

“Hey, Billy,” Wesley said.

The cowboy gazed over his shoulder
but didn’t slow his pace. “What?”

“If someone takes a shot at your
posterior, don’t forget to turn the other cheek.”

Chapter Six

Sheriff G.W. Satterlee had
developed the habit of rising fairly early during his days as a
buffalo hunter, so it wasn’t that unusual to find him out and about
not long after the sun rose. Today he was on his way to Ma’s Café,
next to John Hix’s barber shop, in search of a cup of coffee as the
light of a new day filled Wolf Creek’s streets.

That light revealed a figure
running toward him along Fourth Street from the direction of the
town marshal’s office. Satterlee paused just outside the café door
to see what was going on. A frown creased his forehead as he
recognized the man from both his diminutive size and the awkward
gait, a result of the recent wound to his hindquarters.

Billy Below was in a hurry. And
every lawman’s instinct in Satterlee’s body told him that meant
trouble.

The presence of Marshal Sam
Gardner, who was following Billy at a more deliberate pace, seemed
to confirm that.

Billy winced as he came up to
Satterlee and stopped. He put a hand on his aching backside and
said, “I sure am glad to see you, Sheriff. Marshal Gardner said
you’d probably be here at the café. Mr. Breedlove sent me to fetch
you out to the ranch. There’s fixin’ to be plenty of trouble.”

“Tobias believes that, does he?”
Satterlee said.

“It’s not just a hunch, Sheriff.
Ira sent that fella Quaid out there to give us a hand if Rogers
tried anything else, and he grabbed himself a spy! Said his name
was Benton Kingsberry.”

Satterlee’s frown deepened. He knew
that name, and after a second he recalled where he had seen it.
Kingsberry was a known gun for hire and a cold-blooded killer.

“Kingsberry’s working for Andrew
Rogers?”

“That’s what Quaid said.”

For the next few minutes, Billy
filled the sheriff in on everything Wesley Quaid had discovered.
When the cowboy was finished, Satterlee asked, “Just what is it
that Tobias Breedlove wants me to do?”

“Well, he didn’t say exactly, but I
figure he’s gonna have a showdown with Rogers, and he wants you to
come along so he can make sure he don’t get in trouble with the
law. Mr. Breedlove’s one of the old-timers who likes to stomp his
own snakes, but he knows we got law and order here in Taylor County
now, too.”

Satterlee grunted. Law and order’s
grip on the county was pretty slippery. The old ways could bust
loose without much warning, and that might be exactly what happened
if Tobias Breedlove confronted Andrew Rogers. Somebody would reach
for a gun, and that would be all it took to set things off.

“All right, we’ll go see if we can
straighten this out.” Satterlee tried not to sigh as he thought
about the coffee he was going to miss out on. “Sam, you want to
come with us?”

“The T-Bar-B’s not in my
jurisdiction,” Gardner pointed out.

“No, but if an actual range war
breaks out between Breedlove and Rogers, it’s bound to spill over
into town sooner or later. Then it’ll be your problem. Might be
easier to settle it now.”

“You’re right about that. And I
said I’d be with you when you went after that bastard.” Gardner
shrugged, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Besides, it might be fun.”

“I’ll go get my horse,” Satterlee
told Billy.

“I need a fresh mount, too, if you
think Mr. Tolliver will loan me one. My nag went lame on the way
into town. Reckon I was pushin’ him a mite too hard. All I wound up
doin’ was makin’ it take longer to get here.”

“You said Rogers told Kingsberry he
isn’t expecting those gunmen for a few days yet,” Satterlee said.
“We ought to have plenty of time.”

“That’s the way Quaid told it. I
didn’t actually hear the conversation myself.”

As the three men headed for the
livery stable, Gardner asked, “Do you think we ought to let Ira
know about this, G.W.? He might want to come with us.”

Satterlee made a face. “At this
time of day, Ira Breedlove is holed up in that saloon of his,
sleeping off a hard night of drinking and whoring. Besides, he and
Tobias haven’t seen eye to eye on anything in years. We’ll leave
him be for now. Shouldn’t need much help to handle this.”

“What is it you’re planning to
do?”

“I’ll pick up Kingsberry and tell
Tobias to stay put until I can question him. If Kingsberry is
willing to implicate Rogers, we’ll let the law take its course. In
fact, depending on what Kingsberry says when we get there, I may go
to the Rolling R and take Rogers into custody, too.”

Billy said, “I don’t reckon that
fella Rogers cares overmuch about the law, Sheriff. If you ask me,
he thinks he’s above it.”

“He’ll find out differently,”
Satterlee said, grim-faced.

They had to pass the school on the
way to the livery stable, so Satterlee wasn’t surprised when he
spotted Marcus Sublette ahead of them, on his way to his day’s
work. Billy saw the schoolmaster, too, and hailed him. Sublette
paused, looked at the three men, and waited for them to catch
up.

“There’s gonna be a showdown with
Rogers, Mr. Sublette,” Billy informed him. “He’s plannin’ to have
his men raid the T-Bar-B again, and this time they’ll burn the
place to the ground if we don’t stop ‘em!”

Sublette looked from Billy to
Satterlee and asked, “Is this true, Sheriff?”

“That’s what I’m on my way to find
out,” Satterlee replied. “To tell you the truth, though, I don’t
doubt it. From everything I’ve seen of Rogers, he’s capable of
it.”

“If that’s the case, I’d like to
come with you.” Sublette’s normally affable features settled into
bleak lines. “I haven’t forgotten what happened to Obie Wilkins. I
doubt if I ever will.”

Satterlee wouldn’t have thought to
ask for help from a schoolteacher in a matter like this, but he
recalled that, from what he’d heard, Sublette had given a good
account of himself during that earlier fight with the Rolling R
riders.

“It’s all right with me, but what
about your students?”

“I’ll run in at the school and
leave Miss Sloane a note asking her to take care of things until I
get back.”

“Come ahead, then,” Satterlee
said.

A few minutes later, the four men
were mounted and heading along North Street. Satterlee’s eyes
narrowed as he noticed a cloud of dust hanging over the stockyards
next to the railroad station on the eastern edge of town. As the
sheriff turned his horse in that direction, Billy Below said, “I
thought we was headed for the T-Bar-B.”

“We are,” Satterlee said. “I want
to see what’s going on over at the stockyards first.”

As they approached, they saw
punchers driving cattle into the pens along the railroad tracks.
Two men sat off to the side on horseback. Satterlee recognized the
older man as Ward Sparkman, owner of the Crown W. The rider next to
him was Jake Andrews, Sparkman’s foreman.

In the past few minutes, as they
were getting ready to ride, Satterlee had begun to worry a bit
about confronting Andrew Rogers, as it seemed likely he would have
to do. If the boss of the Rolling R was importing hired killers
like Benton Kingsberry and planning to burn out old Tobias
Breedlove, he might not be inclined to give too much respect to the
law. Rogers was more likely to listen to reason if he found himself
outnumbered. The answer to that dilemma was right in front of them,
thought Satterlee.

“Sheriff, I ain’t sure –” Billy
began.

Satterlee ignored him and raised a
hand in greeting to Sparkman and Andrews. He said, “I didn’t know
you were bringing in a herd to ship today, Ward.”

Sparkman sniffed. “Didn’t know I
had to have the sheriff’s permission to do that,” he said. He was a
crusty old-timer, having been around the area longer than just
about anyone else in Wolf Creek.

“You don’t,” Satterlee said. “You
must have started early this morning.”

“Depends on what you think is
early. I’m not one to lay a-bed half the day.”

“It appears you’re just about
finished here,” Satterlee said. “I was wondering if I could ask a
favor of you.”

Sparkman didn’t say anything, just
sat there with his hands crossed on his saddle horn and a stony
look on his lined and weathered face.

Satterlee cleared his throat and
went on, “You’ve heard about the trouble between the T-Bar-B and
the Rolling R, I suppose.”

“I don’t meddle in other folks’
business,” Sparkman said curtly. His shoulders rose and fell in a
tiny shrug. “But I reckon I heard talk about some shootin’. One of
John Hartman’s boys got hurt, and another kid was killed.”