North to the Salt Fork (20 page)

“Was his name Hiram Sawyer?”

Penskey remained silent, but Jack could tell he'd hit the nail on the head.

“If you don't have a recorded mortgage on livestock, can they be moved out of state for sale?” Jack asked, switching tracks.

“Certainly. Why do you ask?”

“I'm putting together a cattle drive to Kansas and Hiram Sawyer is forcing people to ship their cattle with him rather than me, claiming he has a mortgage on them and they can't be moved without his permission.”

“Is it recorded?”

“I doubt it. But Hiram acts like he's law around these parts.”

The office assistant returned with Jack's file and Penskey dismissed him.

Jack leaned forward and tapped the file. “Tell me about the correspondence on this case. I need to know who's behind this. Someone pointed a finger at me that started all this business.”

Penskey read through several documents and nodded. “Well, it seems that a Mr. Sawyer of Bexar County brought you to the attention of the state police regarding the matter of this murder.” Penskey looked up, puzzled. “Bexar County?”

“Bexar has jurisdiction over lots of land in south-central Texas since there's no organized government in those places,” Everett explained.

“Who is this Sawyer?”

“A back-pocket banker who lends money at high rates and rips off honest, hardworking people,” Jack said, trying not to sound too embittered.

“Why is he after you?” Penskey asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

“I married a woman he had intentions on and whose ranch he's been coveting since she was widowed. But she'd never marry the likes of him and I can't say that I blame her.”

Penskey processed the information. “There was a creditable enough witness at your bond hearing who claimed you were in Kansas at the time of the shooting. I see no reason why the charges can't be dropped. I'll initiate the paperwork and make sure the bond gets refunded to you.”

Everett slapped him on the back. “How does that feel?” he asked.

Jack stood and shook Penskey and Everett's hands. “It's a big load off my shoulders. Thanks very much, gentlemen.”

“Let's go find some lunch, Jack. Penskey, I'll expect those release papers on my desk in a few days,” Everett said.

 

Out in the sunshine, the relief of his dismissal made him weak-legged as he headed for a nearby restaurant with Everett. He had never been quite aware of how serious the effects could've been if he hadn't found a good attorney and a reasonable state prosecutor to drop the charges. Hiram Sawyer could've ruined his life—or worse, got him shot or hung.

“What happens next, Jack?”

“I get ready for Kansas; or better yet, Kansas better get ready for me.”

Both men laughed.

 

After he left Austin he rode south to San Antonio and went to the county records office with a list of names of people he knew or suspected had loans with Sawyer. None were listed as having liens on the books. Just as he suspected, Sawyer was too cheap to come down and file the liens. All that Sawyer had were pieces of paper with no legal value. Jack rejoiced, but he had to keep that knowledge quiet until the herd was in Indian Territory in the Nations. Sawyer'd really have no say once he was there.

 

His weeklong odyssey ended when he was back at the D-T ranch gate. He led Gray through and rechained him. From the top of the hill he could hear the dogs barking. Shanes ran out to wave at him, along with Lucy and Tally. Jack felt as good as he ever had in his life.

“I'm a free man,” he said as he embraced Lucy and shook Shanes' hand. “They've dropped all the charges.” He hugged her close again, lifting her feet off the ground.

“Better news yet. If we don't force Sawyer's hand till the end, he can't stop us.”

“How's that?” Lucy asked, leaning back in his arms to search his face.

“I'll explain it all later.” Recalling her delicate condition, he set her down gently.

She swept the hair back from her face and shook her head. “You must be exhausted.”

He handed the reins to Shanes. “I'm not, but Gray is. We've been to Austin and San Antonio. Grain him good, Shanes.”

“I will,” he said. He and Tally headed for the corrals and saddle shed with the horse.

Lucy linked his left arm in hers. “Tell me all about it.”

He recounted the details all the way to the kitchen table. The stiff Texas north wind outdoors made him glad to be inside the cozy house.

The next day he rode over to talk to McIntyre about the situation.

“So Sawyer turned you over to the state police?” he asked.

“One way to get rid of me. Almost.”

“I don't like night riders but this is a case when people need to take things into their own hands. He needs to be run out of the country, and that saloon needs to be pulled down to the ground.”

Jack shook his head. “I shouldn't be the point man on this one. It'll just give him more fuel to start the fire against me.”

“I can handle it,” McIntyre reassured him. If you want to be the little bird in the tree and watch, I'll send word when it'll happen.”

“I don't want you to endanger yourself or your neighbors on my behalf.”

McIntyre clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder. “We all owe you for what you've done. You haven't been here long, but you sure've made a difference in all our lives.”

Jack shook his head to dismiss the compliment. “That's water under the bridge.”

As he rode home, he thought about his conversation with McIntyre. Were night riders the answer? He didn't think so, but some folks would be up in arms when they learned the truth about Sawyer's cheating ways. Perhaps he better stay out of it.

 

Three days later, back to fence-building with Shanes, Jack was tamping in a new post when Jangles rode up.

“Howdy, Captain.” He leapt off his horse with a clink of his spurs.

“You boys been riding hard?”

“Yep, tracing out every clue or tip we get on them Injuns. They've been careful. Not riding in the open. Hard to keep track of them.” Jangles waved to Shanes, who was working down the line. Then he lowered his voice. “Captain, tonight's the night. They're closing the saloon and delivering Sawyer the word to get out or be burned out.”

Jack nodded and Jangles made a swift swinging leap into the saddle and nodded back. “Ten o'clock.”

He spurred his horse down to Shanes. The two spoke for a few minutes, then Jangles rode out with a wave. When the ranger was gone Shanes came over to Jack.

“Jangles ain't himself,” Shanes said grimly.

“How's that? I didn't notice anything.”

“Well, for one, he ain't singing.”

“Good observation. He must have some things on his mind.”

“Must be real serious.” Shanes took a drink from the water jug.

“I wouldn't jump to that conclusion. Anyway, let's call it a day.”

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Shanes looked back down the repaired section of fence line. “Lucy ought to be proud; we about have it fixed.”

“Hog-tight, goat-proof and horse-high.”

 

After supper that evening Jack excused himself and rode into Shedville. He kept to himself, letting other riders pass him, and trying to stay within the shade of the trees. When he reached Shedville, he sat back and watched the action from a distance. He saw a dozen riders ride up in flour-sack masks and go into the saloon. He didn't recognize any of them, but some of their horses looked familiar. There was a short scuffle inside and soon five men came outside with their hands in the air and rifles pointed at their backs.

Ropes were tied to the building and ponies were hitched at the other ends. Even from far away he could see their muscles straining as they moved forward in unison, bringing the rickety saloon down with a thunderous crash. Flames from the fallen lanterns, which had been hanging on the eaves, ignited the wreck, and a giant fire began to spread. The blaze grew higher in seconds, consuming the rotten wood of the former saloon. Jack heard the riders shout, “Leave town at once or you'll be lynched.” The arrested men looked terrified and Jack could see that one of them had wet himself.

The masked crew left the scene and rode like a funeral procession to Sawyer's place. Jack followed, still maintaining his distance. When they arrived they surrounded his house in a semicircle and demanded that Sawyer come out.

He appeared at the doorway wearing a nightcap and robe, a look of confusion on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

The leader of the group, whom Jack could only speculate was McIntyre, spoke up. “You have four weeks to move on. If you don't, we'll burn you out lock, stock and barrel.”

Sawyer's face was purple with rage. “You can't do this!”

“The saloon is gone now.” The masked leader pointed to the smoke rising over the hilltops. “See that blaze, Hiram? Your friends have even less time than you do to move on. If I were you I'd be close on their heels.”

“I'll foreclose on every one of you sumbitches,” Sawyer screamed, charging off his porch.

“I'd heed our warning,” the leader said. “The first foreclosure will be your last. We'll lynch you on the spot.”

Waving his fists, Sawyer shouted, “I'll have the law down here on all of you!”

“Find a suit and coffin on your way.” The leader turned his horse to leave and the rifle-bearing masked riders began to file out.

“I know who you are! I ain't moving! This is my land.”

Under the cold stars, hunched in his wool coat, Jack rode home. They'd run off Sawyer's men—there was no doubt in his mind that they'd heed the masked men's warning. But what worried him more was the next bunch that Sawyer would hire. They'd be tougher than the last bunch. Hiram wasn't the type to cut and run. But only time would tell.

He told Lucy about the saloon when he crawled into bed with her later that night.

He lay on his side and curled himself around her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. After all the nights he'd slept alone, there was nothing better than this. But it was best not to get too used to having her next to him. His bedroll would be mighty lonely for months on the drive north.

Jack, Shanes and Luke broke thirty acres of land that winter for spring corn planting. The ground was ready to be harrowed and sown. There was a lot of work ahead, but a good corn crop that size would save them from buying feed the following winter. The nearby thirty acres of short oats needed rain, but it was doing well and should furnish enough hay for the milk cows and horses. It was an ambitious plan, but they had bought a good used Oliver mowing machine, so Shanes would be able to handle the farming and cut some hay if the rains came while Jack was away.

Luke was going north with the herd, but only after a long talk with his mother. He'd be joining Jack's usual crew: Jangles, Cotton and Arnold. That made four, but he needed eight more drivers and a cook before he could leave. McIntyre said he could handle the scouting without them, but he needed the younger rangers to stay on patrol. Jack spent two days a week looking for more riders to hire.

Some came by the ranch and asked for work. He culled the ones who were too young, couldn't swim, couldn't ride a horse or just had bad attitudes.

He was offering forty a month plus a bonus if they got there in one piece. Word began to spread and three men rode in from Fort Worth to apply for jobs. Experienced riders, they'd heard about the generous pay and wanted to see for themselves whether it was true. Clayton, a lanky veteran of the war, Earl, a shorter version of Clayton, and Shanks, a tall, bowlegged drink of water, looked like good recruits to Jack. Clayton said he knew a good cook who'd be happy to join the crew. Two Mexican boys, Raul and Peso, rode in the next week. They were good hands with horses and both swore they could swim. Jack hired them, impressed with their demonstrated roping skills.

Once the beginnings of a crew were assembled they spent their time taking the hump out of the horses that Jack had collected. Some were branded range horses that the rangers had rerounded and brought down. Most of their owners either sold them to him or let him use them. He planned on taking a hundred of them. That gave each puncher a horse a day for a week. Not graining them would let the individual ponies have time to recover from a long workday and left plenty of mounts if things got tough. They'd lose some on the way, but that was unavoidable.

A Mexican youth named Estefan arrived and asked for the wrangler job. In the corral he showed Jack his roping skills. He was one of the best Jack had ever seen and he was hired on the spot.

Claude arrived strumming a small bug and singing some song about Texas. He was no kid, and his face was the color of saddle leather and the brim of his hat was pinned up. He looked the part of a cowboy, but Jack was uncertain.

“Where all have you been?” he asked.

“Well, Mr. Jack, I was in Sedalia, Missouri, Abilene and Newton. I brung plenty of them steers out of old Mexico.”

Jack was impressed and hired him, his crew nearly complete.

The last two to round out the group of drivers were teenage boys from a nearby town: Hank and Either. The latter had received his name from his pa, who'd been inebriated and ran off shortly after he was born. The name stuck.

The horses were costing him a rack of hay a week. By February the team divided into two and was going from ranch to ranch, trail branding the shipping stock with a bar burned high on the right side. It was a basic logistical necessity, but it also allowed Jack to see the quality of the livestock. He cut some of the older ones by looking at their long horns, wanting only the highest-quality steers on the drive. Jangles did the cattle appraisal for the second group.