A Question of Bounty: The Shadow of Doubt, page 7
“Straight back to Texas.”
Dedrick looked down the bridge of his nose from his perch on the porch. “A man comes off a long drive like that is due for a little rest.”
“Long drive with seventy-five head of cattle, my ass.” He stepped into his saddle. The boys followed his lead. “I’ll tell you something else, Moses. You got a new business here feedin’ these miners. If I have to come back here again chasin’ Long Rail beef, I’ll burn this claptrap of yours to the ground and hang you and your brothers from that gate over yonder.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“See you do.”
The Long Rail crew lit out and swung west. “Where we headed?” Roth asked.
“Whiskey Jim’s.”
Whiskey Jim’s
It started as a trading post that expanded into lodging for traders and travelers. The proprietor, James Greathouse, better known as Whiskey Jim, had a nose for business. Trading was easy when you started with whiskey. The clientele followed along with the rest of the merchandise. Many of those who frequented Whiskey Jim’s found they could use a hot meal and a comfortable place to spend the night or a few days. The rooming house most called the Greathouse was a rambling two-story clapboard affair perched on a low hill beside the adobe trading post and cantina. Business boomed with the discovery of gold at White Oaks, forty miles to the east. If a man wanted a little civilized relief from the rugged conditions of a tent-top mining camp, Whiskey Jim had the place.
Bowdre had had enough cards for a spell. He sat at a rough hewn table in the shade of a thatched roof patio that served the cantina as a porch. The breeze was hot, but the air was fresh. He needed it. Good thing too. If he hadn’t, they’d never have seen the riders coming. They didn’t amount to much more than a dust cloud at first. Soon enough he made out riders, stirrup to stirrup in a tight knot. He didn’t recognize them at a distance, but five hard-riding men was enough to rouse the suspicion of a man on lookout for law trouble. He slipped out of his chair and retreated into the stuffy cantina. A stale haze of tobacco smoke dulled the mid-afternoon glow. He spotted Billy at a back corner table with O’Folliard, Scurlock and Whiskey Jim. He crossed the packed earthen floor on long strides.
“Riders comin’.”
All eyes turned. “Trouble?” the Kid asked.
“Won’t know ’til they get here.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
Chairs scraped back. They followed Bowdre out to the patio.
“Recognize ’em?” Greathouse asked.
The Kid squinted. “Maybe. I can’t be sure. If I’m right, we ain’t here.”
Greathouse nodded. “You boys slip out the back. Get over to the rooming house and lay low.” He lifted his chin. “Leave them jaspers to me.”
Billy and the boys disappeared back into the cantina and out the back way. By the time Chisum and his men rode up to the cantina, Whiskey Jim sat on the patio nursing a drink.
“Afternoon, gents. Jim Greathouse is the name. Light down and make yourselves to home. We can take care of most whatever you need.”
They swung down. The tall one and the big black man took the horses. The older man strode onto the patio, flanked by a pair of young guns.
“Greathouse, John Chisum.” He extended his hand. “This here’s Johnny Roth and Ty Ledger.”
“Mr. Chisum, your reputation precedes you. Welcome to Whiskey Jim’s. What can we do for you gentlemen?”
“We’re lookin’ for some men.”
Greathouse chuckled. “Well we see lots of ’em. Do these men have names or something they look like?”
“The leader goes by the name Antrim.”
He scratched the brushy beard on his chin. “Antrim, Antrim.” He shook his head. “Cain’t say that rings any bells. What do you want with him?”
“He run off some of my cattle.”
“That’s a serious charge.”
“Dead serious.”
“Sorry I cain’t be more help. We can sure fix you up with a hot meal or a room, though.”
“No thanks. We’ll water our horses and be on our way.”
“Corral and watering trough are yonder past the rooming house.”
Chisum touched the brim of his alkali-stained hat. “Much obliged.” He led Roth and Ledger back to collect their horses.
“Where to now?” Roth asked.
“Lincoln.”
NINE
Lincoln
They rode out of the hills into town under a hot, dusty midday sun. Chisum led the way at a jog flanked by Roth and Ledger. Caneris and Swain trailed behind. He wheeled into the hitch rack at the new courthouse and stepped down. Down the street Dolan had the Tunstall store refurbished and reopened for business. Chisum handed his rein to Swain.
“Wade, you and Deac put the horses up over at the Wortley. Get us rooms for the night. We’ll start back to South Spring in the morning. Johnny, you and Ty come along. We’ll see what Kimbrell has to say about our rustling problem.”
Caneris and Swain collected the horses and started across the street. Chisum squared his shoulders and led the way up the courthouse steps. They found Kimbrell in a stuffy, small first floor office. He glanced at the clock on the wall, wiping his brow with a bandanna.
“I guess it’s good afternoon, Mr. Chisum. What can I do for you?”
“Afternoon, Sheriff. We’ve come to report a cattle rustlin’.”
“I see. What happened?”
“They hit us last week, took seventy-five head or so from our river valley herd. Near as we can tell they changed the brands and drove ’em up to White Oaks. Sold ’em to Moses Dedrick and his brothers.”
“Any idea who done it?”
“Trail sign says five of ’em. Dedrick claims he bought the herd from a man named Antrim. That mean anything to you?”
He shrugged. “Cain’t say it does. That don’t mean much though. Men dealin’ in stolen cattle ain’t given to usin’ real names that often. Dedrick have any idea where this Antrim went?”
“Sounded like they headed for Whiskey Jim’s. We rode over there to have a look. Greathouse says he never saw ’em.”
“You say they changed the brands.”
“Yeah, took a runnin’ iron to Long Rail and come up with a Rocking H.”
“Rockin’ H. They could use that on a Flying H too. Mr. Dolan will want to be on the lookout for that.”
“What’s Dolan got to do with the Flying H?”
“I guess you haven’t heard. The court awarded it to him in payment of Mrs. McSween’s debt.”
“So Dolan’s in the cattle business.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Chisum. We’ll keep an eye out for this Antrim feller and any stock runnin’ a Rockin’ H brand. I don’t know what more we can do unless we manage to catch ’em in the act somehow.”
“That’s it?”
“I reckon so.”
Chisum reddened. A vein throbbed in his neck. “You be sure to warn Jimmy Dolan like a good little soldier, Kimbrell.”
The sheriff blinked a watery eyed question. “I’m sure Mr. Dolan will appreciate the warning if that’s what you mean.”
Chisum turned on his heel and led the boys out the door.
The supper crowd at the Wortley dining room arrived with Chisum and the boys. Cooking smells mingled with the scents of coal oil, beeswax and furniture polish, though the exact sources of the last two didn’t appear obvious. Table lamps gave the room a muted glow. Caneris and Roth pushed two tables together to make seating for all of them. The cook, waiter, bartender came around to take drink orders. Chisum brooded at the head of the table, plainly unhappy at Kimbrell’s treatment of the rustling report. It felt like the same old problem all over again. They’d never fix it until they got the sheriff’s office out from under Dolan’s thumb. He could see only one way to do that, but how?
The bartender returned with a bottle and glasses. The boys passed them around. Caneris poured. Chisum tossed off his drink and poured another. At the other end of the table Roth tilted his chin in Chisum’s direction. “He’s thinkin’ pretty hard on somethin’, Ty. What do you make of it?”
“Rustlin’, I’d guess. That was most of his stake in the war. It don’t look like much has changed from here.”
“You think it’s Dolan up to his old tricks after all?”
“No way to tell for sure. Kimbrell acts about the way Brady used to back when it was Evans’ Seven Rivers boys doin’ Dolan’s dirty work. If it is Dolan, this Antrim feller must be somebody new. I ain’t heard of him before.”
Roth shook his head. “Me, neither.”
“It don’t matter much anyway. The problem is Kimbrell won’t do nothin’ about it. Without real law, we’re right back where we started.”
The waiter served steak, potatoes, biscuits and beans. The hungry men fell on their food. Conversation went still. By the time the apple cobbler came along, Chisum looked as though he come to some decision.
“Johnny, you, Wade and Deac head back to South Spring in the mornin’. Ty you come with me.”
“Where we goin’?” Ty asked.
“Fort Sumner.”
Old Fort Sumner
By the time they rode into Fort Sumner Ty understood Chisum’s thinking on what to do about the rustler problem or more particularly about the sheriff problem. They needed to get control of the sheriff’s office away from Dolan. Somebody needed to run against Kimbrell in the next election. The first night out, Ty had the uncomfortable feeling John thought he might be the man for that job. He’d made his decision on that. He was a rancher now with a wife. He wasn’t going back to bein’ a law dog. Chisum seemed to understand that. It turned out they were on their way to Fort Sumner with a second candidate in mind.
Blue shadow followed the last spears of sunlight over the western peaks as they jogged into town. Chisum led them up Roswell Road to Beaver Smith’s Sumner Saloon. He wheeled his big buckskin into the hitch rack. Business came first. They could worry about a place to stay later. He needed to have this conversation before the saloon crowd picked up for the evening. He stepped down and looped a rein over the rail. He trod the boardwalk to the batwings with Ty at his heel.
Garrett held his usual place at the end of the bar, polishing an endless parade of glasses in need of a wash and dry polish. The place was all but deserted. Faint rays of sun fought back shadow in a faded blue light that beckoned the unlit lamps. He nodded in greeting as Chisum and Ledger sidled up to the bar.
“Mr. Chisum, Ty, what brings you up to Old Sumner?”
Chisum smiled. “Evenin’, Pat. Just a little friendly conversation.”
Garrett cut his eyes around the empty saloon with a shrug. “Hell of a long ride for a little conversation. Sorry there ain’t much of it here this early.”
“It’ll do. Bring us a bottle and a glass for yourself. I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Garrett looked puzzled. He collected a bottle and three glasses. He followed Chisum and Ledger to a back table. He set the bottle and glasses down and scratched a lucifer to light. He lifted the chimney of a nearby wall sconce, lit the lamp, snapped out the match and trimmed the wick. He poured three drinks and pulled up a chair across from the two ranchers.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chisum?”
“John, please.” He lifted his glass and knocked back a swallow. The others followed. “The Lincoln war may be over Pat, but the problems ain’t. Rustlers still have free run of the range. Law enforcement is left up to a sheriff who dances to Dolan’s tune. Dolan’s been known to turn a profit on rustled beef, maybe still does. He don’t give a shit about the ranchers’ complaints, so nothin’ gets done.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Chisum’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Right to the point, I like that. Pat, some of us been talkin’. We think you’re the man to run for sheriff against Kimbrell next year.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You got the grit to do the job. You’re honest. We can trust you.”
“Who’s we?”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You do get to the nub of things. The Cattle Growers Association has the worst of the problem. Those of us who’ve been talkin’ can deliver the backing of the rest of the members. That ought to be enough to get you elected.” Garrett wrinkled his brow.
“You’ll have to move to Lincoln to establish residency.” He poured another round. “We’ll see to it you get work and enough campaign contributions to make it worth your while.”
Garrett turned the idea over. Sheriff was a plum job what with tax collection and all. If the Cattle Growers Association backed his candidacy, that’d likely get him elected.
“Dolan ain’t likely to take kindly to the idea.”
“That bother you?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Then you’re just the man we thought you were. Shall we drink to it?”
Garrett shifted his gaze from Ledger to Chisum. He lifted his glass. “Looks like you got yourself a candidate.”
TEN
Santa Fe
Office of the Governor
September 1879
Wallace clasped his hands behind his back and paced the sun splashed tiled office floor. Without the Kid’s testimony the case against Dolan had fallen apart. The Santa Fe Ring’s roots ran deep. You could smell it from here. The Kid broke out of protective custody the night before the trial was to begin. Dolan must have seen it coming and gotten to him somehow. Either that or the Kid figured out he’d never get the promised pardon. Either way Dolan got off. Wallace shook his head. He should have paid more attention to his star witness, kept his trust at least until the verdict was in.
The war may be over but the situation in Lincoln was far from settled. Now there were new reports of rustling troubles. That old problem had contributed to the start of the war in the first place. He’d seen enough of Sheriff Kimbrell to know he couldn’t be counted on for serious law enforcement. Dolan and his friends could easily manipulate the man. He might even be sympathetic to the Dolan faction. Brady was reported to have such sympathies. So was Peppin. He needed to do something about law enforcement in Lincoln. He’d soon enough see what he had in Marshal Sherman. As though completing his thought, a rap sounded at the office door.
“Marshal Sherman to see you, sir.”
Wallace motioned to his aide. “Send him in.”
The door swung open. US Marshal for New Mexico Territory John E. Sherman stepped past the aide.
“You sent for me, Governor?”
“I did, Marshal. Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” He motioned to a pair of leather upholstered chairs drawn up before his desk.
Nephew to the Civil War hero William Tecumseh Sherman, the marshal may have owed his lean wiry frame to family resemblance, but little more than that. He had nowhere near the fiery disposition of his famous uncle, tending instead to a more considered demeanor, sensitive to the winds of political power and influence.
“How may I be of service, Governor?”
“It’s the situation in Lincoln. The war may be over, but the trouble is not.”
“So I understand. What would you like me to do?”
“I recently returned from Lincoln. I went to look into the Chapman murder personally. The opposing sides have made some sort of treaty, but that doesn’t mean law and order has come to Lincoln. We had a solid case against the two men responsible for the murder with an eyewitness in protective custody. The witness broke custody the night before the trial and the case fell apart. I don’t think Sheriff Kimbrell is capable of standing up to the lawless elements. He may just be next in the line of Lincoln sheriffs who do James Dolan’s bidding.”
“How can I help, Governor?”
“I want you to appoint a special deputy for Lincoln County, someone who will actually enforce the law.”
“You understand the limits of federal jurisdiction I’m sure. Much of what happens in Lincoln County falls under local jurisdiction.”
“Yes and that would be the afore-mentioned Sheriff Kimbrell. I am also aware that federal officers have been known to make, shall we say, creative interpretations of their jurisdiction in times of need. These are needy times, Marshal. In this case, I’ll take half a loaf. It is decidedly better than none.”
Sherman nodded. “In that case, I know just the man we need, if he’ll take the job.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Name’s Ty Ledger. Rob Widenmann used him as a deputy when he worked down there. McSween got him appointed sheriff to serve out Brady’s term. He resigned when Peppin took over the five-day war. He must have done a pretty good job. I got a letter from Susan McSween recommending him for a similar appointment shortly after Chapman’s murder. For what it’s worth she agrees with your opinion of Kimbrell.”
“McSween, doesn’t that put this Ledger chap on their side of the war?”
“I don’t think so. Even Dolan admitted Ledger stood up to McSween’s Regulators when they assaulted his store. Ledger tried to head off the battle for Lincoln. He called for the army. Governor Axtel chose to answer a later call.”
“Let me guess. From the Dolan side.”
Sherman nodded. “That put the army on the side of the Dolan faction. If that didn’t cause the five-day battle, it sure settled it.”
“Will Ledger take the job?”
“I don’t know. I hear he took to ranchin’ after he resigned as sheriff. The only way to find out is to ask.”
“Then ask.”
Fort Sumner
Autumn turned golden. Late afternoons turned to long blue shadow before sunset and a sharp chill blew out of the mountains. Paulita sat at the kitchen table peeling potatos for the stew pot. Deluvina cut meat at the counter. She’d watched the girl go about in sadness for weeks. She knew the problem. It was the boy. So often it was the way with men. A woman had one thing in her heart while the man had another somewhere else. Life must go on. This could not.
“Paulita.”
“Si.”
“What is the matter with you? Are you sick?”
Dedrick looked down the bridge of his nose from his perch on the porch. “A man comes off a long drive like that is due for a little rest.”
“Long drive with seventy-five head of cattle, my ass.” He stepped into his saddle. The boys followed his lead. “I’ll tell you something else, Moses. You got a new business here feedin’ these miners. If I have to come back here again chasin’ Long Rail beef, I’ll burn this claptrap of yours to the ground and hang you and your brothers from that gate over yonder.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“See you do.”
The Long Rail crew lit out and swung west. “Where we headed?” Roth asked.
“Whiskey Jim’s.”
Whiskey Jim’s
It started as a trading post that expanded into lodging for traders and travelers. The proprietor, James Greathouse, better known as Whiskey Jim, had a nose for business. Trading was easy when you started with whiskey. The clientele followed along with the rest of the merchandise. Many of those who frequented Whiskey Jim’s found they could use a hot meal and a comfortable place to spend the night or a few days. The rooming house most called the Greathouse was a rambling two-story clapboard affair perched on a low hill beside the adobe trading post and cantina. Business boomed with the discovery of gold at White Oaks, forty miles to the east. If a man wanted a little civilized relief from the rugged conditions of a tent-top mining camp, Whiskey Jim had the place.
Bowdre had had enough cards for a spell. He sat at a rough hewn table in the shade of a thatched roof patio that served the cantina as a porch. The breeze was hot, but the air was fresh. He needed it. Good thing too. If he hadn’t, they’d never have seen the riders coming. They didn’t amount to much more than a dust cloud at first. Soon enough he made out riders, stirrup to stirrup in a tight knot. He didn’t recognize them at a distance, but five hard-riding men was enough to rouse the suspicion of a man on lookout for law trouble. He slipped out of his chair and retreated into the stuffy cantina. A stale haze of tobacco smoke dulled the mid-afternoon glow. He spotted Billy at a back corner table with O’Folliard, Scurlock and Whiskey Jim. He crossed the packed earthen floor on long strides.
“Riders comin’.”
All eyes turned. “Trouble?” the Kid asked.
“Won’t know ’til they get here.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
Chairs scraped back. They followed Bowdre out to the patio.
“Recognize ’em?” Greathouse asked.
The Kid squinted. “Maybe. I can’t be sure. If I’m right, we ain’t here.”
Greathouse nodded. “You boys slip out the back. Get over to the rooming house and lay low.” He lifted his chin. “Leave them jaspers to me.”
Billy and the boys disappeared back into the cantina and out the back way. By the time Chisum and his men rode up to the cantina, Whiskey Jim sat on the patio nursing a drink.
“Afternoon, gents. Jim Greathouse is the name. Light down and make yourselves to home. We can take care of most whatever you need.”
They swung down. The tall one and the big black man took the horses. The older man strode onto the patio, flanked by a pair of young guns.
“Greathouse, John Chisum.” He extended his hand. “This here’s Johnny Roth and Ty Ledger.”
“Mr. Chisum, your reputation precedes you. Welcome to Whiskey Jim’s. What can we do for you gentlemen?”
“We’re lookin’ for some men.”
Greathouse chuckled. “Well we see lots of ’em. Do these men have names or something they look like?”
“The leader goes by the name Antrim.”
He scratched the brushy beard on his chin. “Antrim, Antrim.” He shook his head. “Cain’t say that rings any bells. What do you want with him?”
“He run off some of my cattle.”
“That’s a serious charge.”
“Dead serious.”
“Sorry I cain’t be more help. We can sure fix you up with a hot meal or a room, though.”
“No thanks. We’ll water our horses and be on our way.”
“Corral and watering trough are yonder past the rooming house.”
Chisum touched the brim of his alkali-stained hat. “Much obliged.” He led Roth and Ledger back to collect their horses.
“Where to now?” Roth asked.
“Lincoln.”
NINE
Lincoln
They rode out of the hills into town under a hot, dusty midday sun. Chisum led the way at a jog flanked by Roth and Ledger. Caneris and Swain trailed behind. He wheeled into the hitch rack at the new courthouse and stepped down. Down the street Dolan had the Tunstall store refurbished and reopened for business. Chisum handed his rein to Swain.
“Wade, you and Deac put the horses up over at the Wortley. Get us rooms for the night. We’ll start back to South Spring in the morning. Johnny, you and Ty come along. We’ll see what Kimbrell has to say about our rustling problem.”
Caneris and Swain collected the horses and started across the street. Chisum squared his shoulders and led the way up the courthouse steps. They found Kimbrell in a stuffy, small first floor office. He glanced at the clock on the wall, wiping his brow with a bandanna.
“I guess it’s good afternoon, Mr. Chisum. What can I do for you?”
“Afternoon, Sheriff. We’ve come to report a cattle rustlin’.”
“I see. What happened?”
“They hit us last week, took seventy-five head or so from our river valley herd. Near as we can tell they changed the brands and drove ’em up to White Oaks. Sold ’em to Moses Dedrick and his brothers.”
“Any idea who done it?”
“Trail sign says five of ’em. Dedrick claims he bought the herd from a man named Antrim. That mean anything to you?”
He shrugged. “Cain’t say it does. That don’t mean much though. Men dealin’ in stolen cattle ain’t given to usin’ real names that often. Dedrick have any idea where this Antrim went?”
“Sounded like they headed for Whiskey Jim’s. We rode over there to have a look. Greathouse says he never saw ’em.”
“You say they changed the brands.”
“Yeah, took a runnin’ iron to Long Rail and come up with a Rocking H.”
“Rockin’ H. They could use that on a Flying H too. Mr. Dolan will want to be on the lookout for that.”
“What’s Dolan got to do with the Flying H?”
“I guess you haven’t heard. The court awarded it to him in payment of Mrs. McSween’s debt.”
“So Dolan’s in the cattle business.”
“Well I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Chisum. We’ll keep an eye out for this Antrim feller and any stock runnin’ a Rockin’ H brand. I don’t know what more we can do unless we manage to catch ’em in the act somehow.”
“That’s it?”
“I reckon so.”
Chisum reddened. A vein throbbed in his neck. “You be sure to warn Jimmy Dolan like a good little soldier, Kimbrell.”
The sheriff blinked a watery eyed question. “I’m sure Mr. Dolan will appreciate the warning if that’s what you mean.”
Chisum turned on his heel and led the boys out the door.
The supper crowd at the Wortley dining room arrived with Chisum and the boys. Cooking smells mingled with the scents of coal oil, beeswax and furniture polish, though the exact sources of the last two didn’t appear obvious. Table lamps gave the room a muted glow. Caneris and Roth pushed two tables together to make seating for all of them. The cook, waiter, bartender came around to take drink orders. Chisum brooded at the head of the table, plainly unhappy at Kimbrell’s treatment of the rustling report. It felt like the same old problem all over again. They’d never fix it until they got the sheriff’s office out from under Dolan’s thumb. He could see only one way to do that, but how?
The bartender returned with a bottle and glasses. The boys passed them around. Caneris poured. Chisum tossed off his drink and poured another. At the other end of the table Roth tilted his chin in Chisum’s direction. “He’s thinkin’ pretty hard on somethin’, Ty. What do you make of it?”
“Rustlin’, I’d guess. That was most of his stake in the war. It don’t look like much has changed from here.”
“You think it’s Dolan up to his old tricks after all?”
“No way to tell for sure. Kimbrell acts about the way Brady used to back when it was Evans’ Seven Rivers boys doin’ Dolan’s dirty work. If it is Dolan, this Antrim feller must be somebody new. I ain’t heard of him before.”
Roth shook his head. “Me, neither.”
“It don’t matter much anyway. The problem is Kimbrell won’t do nothin’ about it. Without real law, we’re right back where we started.”
The waiter served steak, potatoes, biscuits and beans. The hungry men fell on their food. Conversation went still. By the time the apple cobbler came along, Chisum looked as though he come to some decision.
“Johnny, you, Wade and Deac head back to South Spring in the mornin’. Ty you come with me.”
“Where we goin’?” Ty asked.
“Fort Sumner.”
Old Fort Sumner
By the time they rode into Fort Sumner Ty understood Chisum’s thinking on what to do about the rustler problem or more particularly about the sheriff problem. They needed to get control of the sheriff’s office away from Dolan. Somebody needed to run against Kimbrell in the next election. The first night out, Ty had the uncomfortable feeling John thought he might be the man for that job. He’d made his decision on that. He was a rancher now with a wife. He wasn’t going back to bein’ a law dog. Chisum seemed to understand that. It turned out they were on their way to Fort Sumner with a second candidate in mind.
Blue shadow followed the last spears of sunlight over the western peaks as they jogged into town. Chisum led them up Roswell Road to Beaver Smith’s Sumner Saloon. He wheeled his big buckskin into the hitch rack. Business came first. They could worry about a place to stay later. He needed to have this conversation before the saloon crowd picked up for the evening. He stepped down and looped a rein over the rail. He trod the boardwalk to the batwings with Ty at his heel.
Garrett held his usual place at the end of the bar, polishing an endless parade of glasses in need of a wash and dry polish. The place was all but deserted. Faint rays of sun fought back shadow in a faded blue light that beckoned the unlit lamps. He nodded in greeting as Chisum and Ledger sidled up to the bar.
“Mr. Chisum, Ty, what brings you up to Old Sumner?”
Chisum smiled. “Evenin’, Pat. Just a little friendly conversation.”
Garrett cut his eyes around the empty saloon with a shrug. “Hell of a long ride for a little conversation. Sorry there ain’t much of it here this early.”
“It’ll do. Bring us a bottle and a glass for yourself. I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Garrett looked puzzled. He collected a bottle and three glasses. He followed Chisum and Ledger to a back table. He set the bottle and glasses down and scratched a lucifer to light. He lifted the chimney of a nearby wall sconce, lit the lamp, snapped out the match and trimmed the wick. He poured three drinks and pulled up a chair across from the two ranchers.
“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chisum?”
“John, please.” He lifted his glass and knocked back a swallow. The others followed. “The Lincoln war may be over Pat, but the problems ain’t. Rustlers still have free run of the range. Law enforcement is left up to a sheriff who dances to Dolan’s tune. Dolan’s been known to turn a profit on rustled beef, maybe still does. He don’t give a shit about the ranchers’ complaints, so nothin’ gets done.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Chisum’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Right to the point, I like that. Pat, some of us been talkin’. We think you’re the man to run for sheriff against Kimbrell next year.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You got the grit to do the job. You’re honest. We can trust you.”
“Who’s we?”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “You do get to the nub of things. The Cattle Growers Association has the worst of the problem. Those of us who’ve been talkin’ can deliver the backing of the rest of the members. That ought to be enough to get you elected.” Garrett wrinkled his brow.
“You’ll have to move to Lincoln to establish residency.” He poured another round. “We’ll see to it you get work and enough campaign contributions to make it worth your while.”
Garrett turned the idea over. Sheriff was a plum job what with tax collection and all. If the Cattle Growers Association backed his candidacy, that’d likely get him elected.
“Dolan ain’t likely to take kindly to the idea.”
“That bother you?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Then you’re just the man we thought you were. Shall we drink to it?”
Garrett shifted his gaze from Ledger to Chisum. He lifted his glass. “Looks like you got yourself a candidate.”
TEN
Santa Fe
Office of the Governor
September 1879
Wallace clasped his hands behind his back and paced the sun splashed tiled office floor. Without the Kid’s testimony the case against Dolan had fallen apart. The Santa Fe Ring’s roots ran deep. You could smell it from here. The Kid broke out of protective custody the night before the trial was to begin. Dolan must have seen it coming and gotten to him somehow. Either that or the Kid figured out he’d never get the promised pardon. Either way Dolan got off. Wallace shook his head. He should have paid more attention to his star witness, kept his trust at least until the verdict was in.
The war may be over but the situation in Lincoln was far from settled. Now there were new reports of rustling troubles. That old problem had contributed to the start of the war in the first place. He’d seen enough of Sheriff Kimbrell to know he couldn’t be counted on for serious law enforcement. Dolan and his friends could easily manipulate the man. He might even be sympathetic to the Dolan faction. Brady was reported to have such sympathies. So was Peppin. He needed to do something about law enforcement in Lincoln. He’d soon enough see what he had in Marshal Sherman. As though completing his thought, a rap sounded at the office door.
“Marshal Sherman to see you, sir.”
Wallace motioned to his aide. “Send him in.”
The door swung open. US Marshal for New Mexico Territory John E. Sherman stepped past the aide.
“You sent for me, Governor?”
“I did, Marshal. Thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” He motioned to a pair of leather upholstered chairs drawn up before his desk.
Nephew to the Civil War hero William Tecumseh Sherman, the marshal may have owed his lean wiry frame to family resemblance, but little more than that. He had nowhere near the fiery disposition of his famous uncle, tending instead to a more considered demeanor, sensitive to the winds of political power and influence.
“How may I be of service, Governor?”
“It’s the situation in Lincoln. The war may be over, but the trouble is not.”
“So I understand. What would you like me to do?”
“I recently returned from Lincoln. I went to look into the Chapman murder personally. The opposing sides have made some sort of treaty, but that doesn’t mean law and order has come to Lincoln. We had a solid case against the two men responsible for the murder with an eyewitness in protective custody. The witness broke custody the night before the trial and the case fell apart. I don’t think Sheriff Kimbrell is capable of standing up to the lawless elements. He may just be next in the line of Lincoln sheriffs who do James Dolan’s bidding.”
“How can I help, Governor?”
“I want you to appoint a special deputy for Lincoln County, someone who will actually enforce the law.”
“You understand the limits of federal jurisdiction I’m sure. Much of what happens in Lincoln County falls under local jurisdiction.”
“Yes and that would be the afore-mentioned Sheriff Kimbrell. I am also aware that federal officers have been known to make, shall we say, creative interpretations of their jurisdiction in times of need. These are needy times, Marshal. In this case, I’ll take half a loaf. It is decidedly better than none.”
Sherman nodded. “In that case, I know just the man we need, if he’ll take the job.”
“Who do you have in mind?”
“Name’s Ty Ledger. Rob Widenmann used him as a deputy when he worked down there. McSween got him appointed sheriff to serve out Brady’s term. He resigned when Peppin took over the five-day war. He must have done a pretty good job. I got a letter from Susan McSween recommending him for a similar appointment shortly after Chapman’s murder. For what it’s worth she agrees with your opinion of Kimbrell.”
“McSween, doesn’t that put this Ledger chap on their side of the war?”
“I don’t think so. Even Dolan admitted Ledger stood up to McSween’s Regulators when they assaulted his store. Ledger tried to head off the battle for Lincoln. He called for the army. Governor Axtel chose to answer a later call.”
“Let me guess. From the Dolan side.”
Sherman nodded. “That put the army on the side of the Dolan faction. If that didn’t cause the five-day battle, it sure settled it.”
“Will Ledger take the job?”
“I don’t know. I hear he took to ranchin’ after he resigned as sheriff. The only way to find out is to ask.”
“Then ask.”
Fort Sumner
Autumn turned golden. Late afternoons turned to long blue shadow before sunset and a sharp chill blew out of the mountains. Paulita sat at the kitchen table peeling potatos for the stew pot. Deluvina cut meat at the counter. She’d watched the girl go about in sadness for weeks. She knew the problem. It was the boy. So often it was the way with men. A woman had one thing in her heart while the man had another somewhere else. Life must go on. This could not.
“Paulita.”
“Si.”
“What is the matter with you? Are you sick?”
