Range War Along the Pecos, by John Theron Crow

Range War Along the Pecos

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

 
Dan Bolton, along with Roy Baldridge and the other three BAR-O cowhands were buried on the top of the small hill overlooking the Bolton ranchhouse. Angus Murdoch delivered the eulogy and surprisingly enough, did so as eloquently as many preachers would have. Joe Bolton was still puzzled at the fact that not only had Maggie Baldridge requested that her husband be buried on the Bolton spread rather than at their little homestead, but had adamantly refused to attend the services. When Joe had asked why, her only reply had been, "You'll know why in a day or so I reckon. an so will everyone else. My man'll understand."
After the service had been completed, and the bodies buried, Murdoch and his crew headed off. Murdoch wanted to get back to the ranch as soon as he could. After riding with them for a couple of miles, Charlene Lancer told them that she was going out to check on Maggie Baldridge, and see if she needed anything, and would then return to town, pack up her belongings, and head back to the Murdoch ranch. Jesse Logan had departed the ranch first however, deciding to ride down to the area below the Glass Mountains which Captain Fogg was now claiming as his own, in order to bring Nighthawk up to date on the fact that he was being framed for Sheriff Orr's murder.
First though, he'd stop at Olsen's Falls. He only hoped that Tanner had not already managed to stir up the town enough to form a posse, in order to pursue the halfbreed. Were that the case, there would be no point in attempting to warn Nighthawk. His pursuers would have had too much of a head start.
He need not have worried on that score though. Although the town was plenty stirred up due in part to the front page article of the Olsen's Falls Tribune which had openly referred to Nighthawk as the sheriff's killer, Tanner had no plans to go after the Foggs as of yet. First, he wanted to observe the public reaction to another atrocity which by his calculations, would be occurring very soon. At the moment, besides the death of the old sheriff, the talk of the town was about temporarily appointing a new sheriff, and possibly a town marshal as well.
At Tanner's behest, the Tribune had championed the idea of having both a sheriff and marshal. But since it would take some time to elect one, the paper suggested that the town council meet together the next day and appoint temporary lawmen for the job. Thus, anyone who had any suggestions as to who these temporary appointees ought to be, were to write them down, place them in an envelope, and leave them in a box provided at the post office for that purpose. The suggestions would be taken into consideration at the town council meeting the following evening.
Bill Wyler brought Jesse Logan up to date on all of this as Logan nursed a beer at the bar. "I hope you don't mind, but I dropped your name in as a suggestion, an from what I hear, I ain't the only one neither." Wyler said to Logan.
Jesse was a bit surprised. "Naw Bill, I don't mind. But mark my words, Tanner will have at least one of his men appointed no matter what the people want."
Over at the nearest table, Swede Larson had been drinking. He had an abnormally fierce temper and sullen disposition to begin with, but when fueled with whiskey, it became magnified tenfold. He had overheard the conversation and remarked sarcastically, "Hell, why not hire all Murdoch men? That's what you'd like, wouldn't ya Wyler, you damned ass-kisser? I'll tell you what, if they do appoint you Logan, I'll be the first one ta tie a knot in your tail for you. This town don't need no cowards fer a sheriff or marshal, specially, if they work for Murdoch!"
"Larson, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and finish my beer." Logan said quietly.
"Hell yeah you will, cause if you don't, I'll kick your ass right now, or shoot it off for ya. Just because you outgunned that greenhorn Wilson don't mean nothin'. I could'a done that blindfolded and hog-tied. I didn't like him none, but he worked for the same brand, and that makes him my compadre. Maybe I ought to call you out on the street right now."
Logan turned away from the bar, his expression turning suddenly harsh as silence filled the saloon. "You won't have to, you big, blond, son of a bitch, I'm calling YOU out." Logan said through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing and seemingly turning to an icy gunmetal gray as they locked onto those of the big Swede.
Larson wasn't surprised at Logan's reaction, in fact, he had counted on it. The fact that he'd missed out on any of the gunplay the night before had left him stewing. Logan's reputation meant nothing to him. He had had his share of gunfights, some of which had been against so-called experts. Each time, he had won easily. Nevertheless, Logan's gaze sent him into an almost uncontrollable rage. He rose from his seat and deliberately kicked the table over. "I'll see you outside." He said, and then strode though the batwing doors of the Boar's Head and out onto the street.
Just before Larson kicked over the table, Jack Duane, Colt Ballard and Johnny Lancer were leaving Ma Cunningham's after a late lunch. "Where's the best place around here for a fella to grease his pole?" Lancer asked.
"Hell, you're as bad as Ballard." Duane said disgustedly.
"Just cause most of us are human, unlike you, ain't no call ta play Mr. high-an-mighty on us Jack." Ballard said. "Well fact is, I ain't sampled the town's sportin' ladies yet, but I hear tell that the Boar's Head has one spicy little Mexican filly name of Conchita Mireles that know's just how ta scratch a man's special itch. What say we go over an have a look. We can flip a coin over who gets her first and the loser can play cards with ole Jack here, an listen ta him get drunk and spout his pheelosophy all over the place." Ballard continued.
"Sounds good ta me. Lancer agreed cheerfully.
As the three gunmen approached the entrance to the saloon, they heard the crash of the table being overturned and saw Swede Larson striding angrily and purposefully outside, followed shortly by Jesse Logan. All three could see what was about to take place. The two men walked out to where they were about twenty-five feet apart and faced each other.
Out of the corner of his eye, Logan had noticed grimly that Johnny Lancer was with Duane and Ballard, two other MT gunmen. He wondered if they would consider Larson one of "their" compadres, and just what if anything, Lancer would do. He appeared to be mighty thick with the two MT gunman right now.
"What's goin' on, Swede. Somebody light a fire under your ass?" Ballard asked.
"Yeah, that little runt Logan did, an I'm fixin' ta send 'em to meet his maker right now." Larson replied.
"Duane, ignoring the big Swede addressed Jesse instead asking, "Logan, is this something between the Murdoch and Tanner brands, or is it personal?"
Johnny Lancer was now becoming extremely uncomfortable. He had grown to like both Duane and Ballard, and was afraid that now, he might have to make a decision between them and his old friend.
"Why don't you ask your friend, Duane?" Logan suggested, his eyes never leaving those of Larson.
"I'm not asking him, I'm asking you." Duane said pointedly.
"Well I'm answerin', an its personal. I don't like you ignorin' me none either. You got a question, you ask ME! When I'm finished with this one, you're next Duane. I never did care much for your high-fallutin' ways nohow!" Larson said indignantly.
"At your convenience, big man, I'll be waiting right here." Duane said undisturbed, then lounging back against the wall of the saloon, calmly began rolling a cigarette.
Larson, moving with surprising swiftness, grabbed for his gun---which went spinning from his hand as Jesse Logan, fanning his 44, sent two bullets into the Swede. The first, one hit him in the heart and the second, almost at the same instant, caught him in the mouth and exited out the back of his head.
As the big gunman hit the ground, Logan holstered his gun, then turned his attention back to Duane. Now, you were asking ME, if it was between the M and MT, or if it was personal. Well it was personal, in his case, but it can be personal with you too, if you want. I ain't particular." Logan said matter-of-factly, looking him straight in the eyes and awaited his response.
"If its not for the brand, then I have no quarrel with you Logan, unless you're trying to start one now."
"C'mom, Jack, there's no problem here. You heard it, it was personal. Let it go." Ballard said, casually slapping Duane on the back and trying to steer him toward the door of the Boar's Head.
"Yeah, Jesse, let it go, Duane didn't mean nothin'. Why don't ya come in and have a drink with us?" Lancer said.
"You one of them now Johnny?" Jesse asked quietly.
"Nope, not yet, but I might be after I think it over." Lancer said.
"You best think it over real careful, Johnny. Don't forget who your friends are. Be seein' ya." Logan said then turned and walked away.
"What's eatin' him?" Ballard asked.
"Don't know, unless it because he don't like the idea a me joinin' up with Tanner. Maybe he thinks you boys are evil companions out to corrupt my good moral character." Johnny said grinning.
"Why hell, we wouldn't do that now, would we Jack? Seems ta me that ole Conchita can handle that little chore all by herself." Colt said chuckling.
"Why did you try to keep me from fighting Logan, Ballard?" Duane asked. "Hell Jack, I wasn't protecting you, I was protecting him. We've been gettin' along so well here with Lancer that I didn't want ta spoil things by havin' you kill one a his ole buddies." Ballard replied.
"I wouldn't be too sure it woulda worked out that way Colt. Logan's mighty good. Hell, I taught 'em." Lancer said as they sat down to a table in the Boar's Head.
Duane said nothing but after ordering three beers, Colt said, "He'd have to do better than that to beat either me or Duane, pard, and that's the truth, no braggin' intended."
"He can pardner, believe me, he can." Lancer said, knowing that he himself could as well. He had watched Logan, and remembering from their childhood days, had noticed that Logan had been almost casual. For whatever reason, he had not drawn as fast as he could have. Lancer could tell by the way Logan had set himself for the fight. When Logan was trying his hardest, he would always be taut, like a coiled spring, ready to explode. Unless he had changed considerably, Logan must not have taken Larson seriously at all. Even so, he'd easily won. Johnny felt somewhat proud of him. After all, it was he who, when they were teen-agers, had first taught Logan how to quick-draw a pistol. Suddenly Ballard let out a whistle as Conchita Mireles made an appearance at the top of the stairs.

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