Max Collins - The Legend of Caleb York

“Townspeople are pretty edgy, though,” Britt said. “We had five shootings around here in two days.”

Manning said, “I got a feelin’ some of them townsfolk liked seein’ two of our boys go down hard like that. And wouldn’t mind seein’ more of the same.”

Britt raised four fingers, tucking back his thumb. “Need to tally in Stringer and Bradley, too. Even if that was out on the range.”

Gauge said harshly, “What these lily livers would like to see happen, and what they’re gonna see happen, are two different things entirely.”

Sitting forward tentatively, Manning said, “Maybe we should just wait and see.”

Gauge almost spit the words: “Wait and see what, Lars?”

“Wait and see if the dude does move on. I mean, I don’t mind gettin’ rid of him, but if he’s already leavin’ of his own accord, why waste the ammunition?”

“You really think we can afford to let Old Man Cullen... and that stranger... get away with what they done?”

Rhomer swallowed some whiskey and said, “The mayor and them others on that citizens committee? Rode out of town together, maybe an hour ago. Headin’ out for a meetin’ at the Cullen spread, I’d wager.”

“Meetings,” Gauge said with contempt. “They’ve had plenty of those before. A handful of unarmed storekeepers, beatin’ gums at each other.”

“Yeah,” Rhomer said, “but the way they scrambled to have a powwow, right after somebody made a move against us? That’s somethin’ different. That’s new.”

Gauge sat forward and spoke through his teeth. “Maybe so, but they won’t have the occasion again.” He grinned at Britt. “Jake, you ain’t squeamish about a spot of bushwhackin’, are you?”

Britt shrugged. “I take your pay, don’t I? When?”

“Tonight. After dark, when the only thing awake on Main Street is the Victory. That’s where our dude will likely land. He said something about playin’ cards while he was in town.”

Rhomer jerked a thumb in the Victory’s direction. “I was just over there. The feller was doin’ just that, playin’ poker. Doin’ pretty well takin’ what little was left of cowpoke pay.”

The sheriff frowned in thought. “Was Lola around?”

The deputy nodded. “Talked to her a bit. Says she spent some time with the stranger in friendly conversation, but ain’t got a name out of him yet.”

Gauge thought, Maybe she didn’t get friendly enough.

Then he said to Rhomer, “You stop by the hotel like I told you?”

The deputy nodded. “Our man ain’t checked in yet. With the cowhands sobered up by now, some rooms’ll free up, and he’ll most likely check in tonight.”

“No, he won’t,” Gauge said, and his grin had a sneer mixed in. “He’ll be checkin’ out before he ever checks in.”

The sheriff, ever a gracious host, took the whiskey bottle and freshened the glasses of the two men he was designating for bushwhacking duty.

“Lars,” he said, “head over to the Victory and keep an eye on the stranger. When he makes a move to leave, slip out the side door and meet up with wherever Britt is waiting. You know the rest.”

“Have the horses ready,” Manning said, nodding, “and back Britt up. You got it, boss.” His grin was chaw-stained. “This dude may be fast, but he ain’t faster than two guns in back of him.”

Gauge frowned and shook his head. “No, can’t have that. You boys position yourselves in the alley on the way from the Victory to the hotel. On one side of the street, one on the other. When you see him comin’, when he’s in range, Jake, you step out shootin’. Lars, if by some miracle the dude gets his gun out, you come at him from the other side. Just watch out for a cross fire. Can’t have my men killin’ each other. Bad policy.”

That made Britt smile, but Manning, frowning, asked, “And if somebody sees?”

Gauge jerked a thumb to his chest. “If there are any complaints, that’s for the town sheriff to handle. You’re both deputies and your orders are to stop trouble before it starts, right?”

The two men nodded.

Gauge said, “This dude’s a known killer who was gettin’ ready to pull down on you. Do I need be any plainer than that?”

“Plain enough,” Britt said, then shrugged and got to his feet. “Not like we ain’t done it before.”

Manning was on his feet, too, but he seemed a trifle jumpy. “You think this feller really is Banion, Harry?”

Gauge smirked at his flunky. “What’s the difference, Lars, when it’s an ambush?”

Britt chuckled deep in his chest. “What’s the big fuss about Banion, anyway?”

“Are you kiddin’?” Manning said, wide-eyed. “He’s the man that killed Caleb York!”

“Yeah,” Britt said derisively. “ Bushwhacked him!”

They went out, the taller man shaking his head.

Gauge leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers, glancing at the remaining deputy. “And after the dude? Cullen goes.”

Rhomer nodded, sipped some whiskey. “Damn troublemaker. Blind ol’ buzzard. He’s the leader. Get rid of him, rest’ll tuck tail and run. But what about that daughter of his?”

“What about her?”

The deputy risked a small smile. “She even suspects you’re responsible for her old man’s death, you won’t have a chance in hell with that one.”

Gauge gave an easy shrug. “We’ll just have to be more careful about how we handle Mr. Cullen. An elderly feller like that, blind in both eyes? He can go out a whole bunch of ‘accidental’ ways.”

The door came open with considerable force and Gil Willart, the foreman at Gauge’s main spread — a medium-sized man with an oversized mustache — burst in. He was still in his chaps with the dust of his work powdering them, as well as his blue-striped silk shirt with weave designed to keep the wind out. His olive-shaped, olive-color eyes were bloodshot in a leathery face.

“Boss,” he said, his deep voice gruff, “we got real trouble.”

“No kidding.”

The new arrival swept off his battered hat. “I’m not talkin’ about town trouble. I ain’t interested in them kind of problems, that’s your business. Cattle is mine.”

Gauge gestured to an open chair. “Sit down. Sit down. Pour yourself one.”

“I’ll sit, but I won’t drink.” The foreman sat down heavily where Britt had been. “Dee and me just came in off Swenson’s Running C.”

“What about it?”

The foreman sighed, shook his head, his upper teeth bared in what wasn’t exactly a smile. “Harry, I told you not to pick up that mangy spread...”

Gauge sat forward. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

The dusty cowboy sighed again, shook his head again. “Half of those hundred and fifty head? Dead as hell. The others are in with our main herd, and if they spread that crap around, as they surely will, you won’t have a steer to your name to sell.”

Gauge was staring at the man as if he couldn’t bring him into focus. “Spread what around?”

“... The pox.”

It felt like the world had dropped out from under Gauge.

What the hell calamity next?

The sheriff was halfway out of his chair. “Damn it all to hell! How did this happen ?”

“Just does sometimes,” the foreman said with a resigned shrug. “Happens every time you mix infected cows in with healthy ones.”

“You didn’t just discover it?”

He shook his head. “Been gradual, over the past three days. We just started spottin’ them, scattered around, buzzard food. At first, I didn’t think it was so bad. Just a kind of isolated thing. Few sick cows... now ? It’s a damn epidemic. And people catch it, too, you know.”