The King Hill War (20 page)

“Mr. Morgan, let’s be reasonable here,” Patterson said. “If you think my friend insulted you, I’m sure he will apologize.”

Morgan shook his head. “It’s too late for an apology. There’s only one way to settle this now. Draw your gun whenever you are ready, schoolteacher.”

“No,” Emerson said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to draw on you. If you kill me, you will have to do it in cold blood, in front of all these witnesses.”

Abruptly, Morgan drew his gun and fired, the shot explosively loud in the confines of the room. Mark Patterson let out a shout of pain, then collapsed to the floor, holding his bleeding knee. Morgan put his pistol back in his holster.

“You’ll draw on me, or I’ll shoot his other leg,” Morgan said.

“My God,” Emerson said. It wasn’t a curse, he was actually calling on God. “You really are crazy.”

Emerson made a desperate grab for his pistol. Morgan smiled at him, and watched as Emerson actually cleared his holster and brought his pistol to bear. Then—just as Morgan knew he would—Emerson hesitated.

Morgan pulled his pistol, fired, then returned his pistol to his holster. He smiled as Emerson was slammed back
against the bar by the bullet he’d fired. Emerson fell, his head but inches away from Patterson, who was still lying on the floor, clutching his knee.

After the sound of the gunshot receded, the saloon remained in dead silence for several seconds, with everyone too stunned by what they had just witnessed to talk.

“Dan,” Creed finally called to the bartender.

“Yes, sir?” Dan replied, staring wide-eyed at the two men on the floor.

“I think this unpleasantness has been a shock to us all. I’m sure everyone could use a drink. Set them up, I’ll pay.”

“Yes, sir,” Dan answered.

EMERSON BOOKER WAS BURIED ON SUNDAY, THE
third of July. After the funeral, the sheep ranchers had yet another meeting.

“It is now obvious to me that if we don’t leave, Creed is going to kill every one of us,” Dumey said.

“He isn’t going to kill every one of us,” Patterson said. “Not if we don’t give him cause.”

“What cause did Emerson give him?” Cummings asked. “You said yourself that Clay Morgan egged him into drawing.”

“Emerson was going to Mountain Home to get the court order lifting the injunction, directly from the judge,” Patterson said. “He was going to leave one copy with the U.S. Marshal, and he made no bones about what he was going to do. Yes, Morgan egged him into a fight, but that was the real reason.”

“I still think we should leave,” Dumey said.

“You can leave if you want to,” Patterson said. “I’m not going to.”

“Mark, I would think with you getting shot like that, you’d be the first one to leave,” Dumey said.

“That’s exactly why I’m not going to leave,” Patterson replied. “I’ve got too much invested in this now.”

“Look,” Ian said. “Don’t be so hasty. Monday is the Fourth of July, let’s all go in and have a good time. Afterward we can meet again and decide what to do.”

“All right,” Cummings said. “If Mark is going to stick around, I guess I can too. Chris, you stay too. At least until after the Fourth.”

Dumey sighed. “All right, I guess I can stay a little longer.”

On the morning of the fourth all thought of the war going on between the cattlemen and the sheep ranchers was put aside. Like all western towns, the Fourth of July was a major holiday, not only because it was a celebration of the nation’s birthday, but also because it enabled the small, isolated towns to feel a kinship with the rest of the country on that day.

The town of King Hill planned a parade, a band concert, a demonstration by the firemen, fireworks, and a dance.

There was a picnic as well, and a very long table had been laid out along Main Street to receive the food brought by all the visitors. There were several hams, dozens of fried chickens, beef roasts, and legs of lamb. There were vegetables too, selected from the local gardens. And, of course, cakes, pies, puddings, and cobblers.

A large wooden floor had been put down in the park and various bands provided music for dancing.

“Hannah, may I have this dance?”

Looking around, Hannah saw Jesse. She smiled at him. “I thought we had said good-bye,” she said.

“Yes, well, I can’t seem to get that job done,” Jesse replied. He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

With a glance toward her father, who nodded his approval, Hannah went out on the dance floor with Jesse.

“My pa is going to talk to your pa today,” Jesse said.

“What about?”

“A truce.”

“A truce?”

“Pa heard about what happened to Mr. Booker,” Jesse said. “He said that was wrong and this has all gone too far.”

“Oh, Jesse, does he mean that?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if this whole thing between the cattlemen and the sheep men would end?”

“It’s not going to end,” Jesse said.

Hannah looked at him with a curious expression on his face. “But you said—”

“I said, as far as my pa is concerned, it’s going to end. And I think he will be able to convince most of the other ranchers as well. But that’s not going to stop Creed.”

“At least your family and mine won’t be enemies anymore,” Hannah said happily.

By the time Jesse took Hannah back, Rome Carlisle was already talking to Ian, and from the expressions on their faces, the talk was going well.

“I have to ride in the race,” Jesse said to Hannah. “Don’t forget to come watch me and cheer for me.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised.

Shortly after he left to get ready for his race, Hannah wandered over to the table to get a glass of fruit punch.

“I saw you dancin’ real close to Jesse boy,” a voice said.
“Now, why don’t you see what it’s like to dance with a real man?”

Hannah turned around to see Lonnie Creed standing right behind her. He was chewing on a string of rawhide and wearing the same leering expression he had on the day he, his father, and Clay Morgan had come out to her father’s house. And, again, she could almost see the red lights in the depths of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t dance with you, Lonnie Creed, if you were the last man on earth,” she said.

Jesse won the race, which was no surprise. Everyone knew what a good horseman he was, and many had bet on him. He came back to the congratulations and accolades of everyone, and then, after arranging to meet Hannah during the fireworks display, left to take care of his horse.

For the children, the fireworks was the favorite event of the day, and Hannah had agreed to watch over all the children of the sheep ranchers, as well as those of the Basque workers. The fireworks show was to take place down on the bank of the Snake River, and Tomas and Felipe had built benches especially for the children down at the end of Pitchfork Road.

Shortly after it got dark, firecrackers began going off, though these weren’t part of the official display. For the most part they were lit by people who were getting into the spirit of the Fourth.

When Jesse had finished ministering to his horse and looking for Hannah, someone threw a firecracker at his feet as he approached Ian, Cynthia, and Hawke. It popped, he jumped, and everyone, including Jesse, laughed.

“Let me congratulate you again on the fine race you rode,” Ian said.

“Thank you, sir,” Jesse replied, then asked, “Can you
tell me, Mr. Macgregor, where Hannah is? I thought she was going to be down at the end of Pitchfork Road with the children to watch the fireworks display.”

“You didn’t see her?” Ian replied. “She went down there half an hour ago.”

Jesse shook his head. “No sir, I’ve been there and didn’t see her.”

“Well, that’s odd,” Ian said. “I wonder where she is?”

“You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?” Cynthia asked her husband.

“I’ll go look for her,” Hawke said.

“Someone needs to be with the children,” Jesse said. “I’ll go back. Maybe she’s there by now.”

Hawke walked around the picnic area, looking for Hannah, then widened his search to the far end of town, away from the picnic tables, the dance floor, and the fireworks. There were no people at that end of town, but sensing something in a nearby alley, he stopped.

Not wanting whoever it might be to realize he’d seen them, he took off his hat and casually wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wasn’t surprised when two men suddenly stepped out of the alley to confront him. One had a yellow snaggletooth hanging in a gap of missing teeth. The other had a pockmarked face.

“Hey, piano man,” Pockmark said. “We got a message for you from Lonnie.”

Both men were holding pistols, and they were pointed at him.

“Oh?” Hawke replied. He kept his hat at his waist. “And what would that message be?”

“He says he wants you on the next train out of here. There’s one that leaves at nine tonight.”

“Is the train going east or west?”

“East or west?” The two men laughed. “What difference does that make?”

“If it’s going the wrong way, I may not want to be on it.”

“Yeah? Well, it don’t make no difference which way it’s goin’, you’re goin’ to be on it. That is, if you don’t want nothin’ to happen to that little ol’ sheep girl.”

“Does Lonnie have Hannah?” Hawke asked.

“Yeah. He’s got her,” Snaggletooth said.

“How do I know he does? He might just know that I’m looking for her and he’s running a bluff.”

“It ain’t no bluff, piano man. He has her, ’cause we snatched her and took her to him,” Snaggletooth said.

“You snatched her?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, she’s all right for now,” Snaggletooth said. “But Lonnie says if you ain’t on that train at nine o’clock tonight…well, let me just say this.” Snaggletooth rubbed his crotch. “I hope you ain’t on that train. ’Cause if you ain’t, well, Lonnie has done tol’ us we could have our turn.”

“I see,” Hawke said.

“Is that all you got to say?”

“Yes.”

“So, what do you want us to tell Lonnie?” Pockmark asked.

“Oh, you won’t be telling Lonnie anything,” Hawke said. He eased his pistol out of his holster, the action hidden by his hat.

“What do you mean we won’t tell him anything?” Pockmark asked.

“Because you aren’t going to live long enough to tell him anything,” Hawke replied.

The two cowboys laughed again.

“Mister, maybe you ain’t noticed, but we’re both holdin’ pistols,” Snaggletooth said.

“So am I,” Hawke said, pulling his hat away.

“What the hell?” Snaggletooth shouted.

All three pistols fired at the same time. Hawke fired twice.

Snaggletooth and Pockface missed.

Hawke didn’t.

Because of the fireworks, nobody even noticed the gunshots.

Hawke put away his gun and continued down the dark street, looking for Lonnie and Hannah.

“Mr. Hawke,” a voice called from the darkness of one of the alleys.

Quickly, Hawke drew his gun and spun toward the sound.

“No, don’t shoot,” the frightened voice called from the darkness. “I don’t want no trouble.” The man came out in the open with his hands up in the air. “My name is Asa Crawford,” he said. “I ride for Crown Ranch. That is, I used to. I don’t no more, and I want to help.”

“Help, how?”

“I think I know where Lonnie has the girl.”

“Where?”

“The Creeds keep ’em a downtown apartment over the feed store. If I was a bettin’ man, I’d say that’s where he has her.”

“Thanks,” Hawke said.

“Mr. Hawke. I want you to know, I killed some sheep, but I didn’t have nothin’ to do with burnin’ that fella’s barn, and I didn’t have nothin’ to do with killin’ them sheep herders. I’m leavin’. I’ve had enough of this.”

Hawke looked at him for a moment, then nodded, and Crawford, with a sigh of relief, turned and walked away.

In the apartment, Lonnie Creed’s attention was focused on Hannah, who was tied up on the bed. She was also gagged so she couldn’t call out.

“I’m goin’ to get double duty out you, did you know that?” Lonnie said around the little string of rawhide hanging from his mouth.

Hannah stared at him through large, frightened eyes.

Lonnie ran his finger across her cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “A couple of my boys are tellin’ that Fancy Dan piano player right now that if he doesn’t want to see you hurt, he’ll get on a train and get out of town.”

He let his finger drop down to the hollow of her neck.

“He’ll do it too, ’cause he won’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Lonnie’s hand dropped down the top of her dress and jerked the camisole down, exposing her breasts.

“Whooee, you got some pretty titties there, you know that?” he asked lecherously. “Has ol’ Jesse boy ever seen them titties?” He rubbed himself. “You know what? I just believe he has seen ’em,” he said. “I’ll just bet you and Jesse boy have had a roll in the hay more than once.”

Lonnie reached out and touched each nipple. Hannah’s eyes welled with tears.

“But him bein’ no more’n a boy, he probably didn’t know what he was doing. Tell you what, girlie. Soon as I take care of the Fancy Dan piano player, maybe I’ll just show you what it’s like with a real man.”

At that moment, Hawke crashed through the window. Startled by the sound of breaking glass, Lonnie turned toward him.

Hawke reached for his pistol—only to discover that it was gone. He looked around in surprise. His gun had fallen out of his holster as he climbed onto the porch overhang to get to the second floor apartment.

Seeing that Hawke didn’t have his pistol, Lonnie’s panic suddenly turned to jubilation.

“Ha!” he said. “What are you going to do now, Mr. Fancy Dan?”

Lonnie raised his own pistol to shoot, but even as he did, Hawke’s arm flashed in front of him. Hawke held a large shard of glass from the broken window, and for an instant there was nothing more than a thin, red line across Lonnie’s neck. Then the line grew darker as blood began to gush from Lonnie’s severed carotid artery. He dropped his pistol and grabbed his neck even as the blood spurted through his fingers, then fell to the floor. After a couple of spastic convulsions, he lay still and the string of rawhide fell from his lips.

Hawke took his jacket off and put it around Hannah, removed her gag and began untying her.

“I’m going to take you home,” he said.