It was the middle of June and Jake Muldoon was gingerly crawling along the hot rocks to spy on the rustlers rounding up his cattle. He could feel the heat from the sun-baked stone through his thick leather gloves and even more so through his thin gray flannel shirt. But he gritted his teeth and continued to crawl like a scorpion looking for trouble. Finally he reached the top of a particularly large rock. He peered over it, pushing back his wide-brimmed hat to get a better view. His pale blue eyes widened in his dust-smeared face at what he saw.
Down in the small canyon, six men on horseback were noisily herding fifteen head of Jake's finest longhorn cattle this side of Texas into a makeshift corral where three other men were busy heating up branding irons at a small fire. One of the men pulled an iron out of the fire and spit on it and Jake could see a puff of steam rise indicating the iron was ready. The other two men grabbed a cow from the herd and held it while the first man carefully lined up the branding iron over Jake's own JM brand then pressed it home. A curl of smoke rose from the burned hide before the man let the iron up and the other two quickly got out of the way of the annoyed cow. They quickly grabbed another and the process continued.
Jake mumbled angrily to himself. "So that's how they do it! And that explains how Octavius Macintyre's herd has grown so quickly these last two seasons. And that explains why Macintyre was so set on getting that circle-OM brand. Damn him!"
Jake pulled his trusty old six-shooter and lined up on the closest of the men on horseback. Jake was well-known in these parts as being one of the best shots with a hand gun but he had no illusions about actually killing anyone from this distance. He just wanted to scare the cattle to try and save what he could. He would explain later to the sheriff. Unfortunately, at that moment, his boot slipped and knocked a rock into a small cascade of even more rocks.
The man on horseback Jake had his sight on looked up and saw the brim of Jake's hat over the rock. "Hey! There's someone in the rocks up there! Take cover!" he yelled as he quickly drew his own gun and started firing blindly at Jake's hat.
Jake ducked back behind the rock as the bullets from four guns and two rifles began spanging off the rocks all around him. He quickly withdrew and smiled with grim satisfaction as he heard the cows panic from the gunfire and the yells of the men on horseback as they got caught in the cattle's rush to get out of that dead-end canyon.
Jake quickly leapt and jumped from one rock to another trying to avoid breaking an ankle as he quickly got out of there before the men could climb up and ambush him. Finally he hit level ground running and took off for his own horse tied up some distance away. His hat fell to his back, caught by the chin strap he regularly used for just such an emergency. Jake jumped up on his horse which started at his sudden weight. Jake grabbed the reins and pulled the horse's head hard to the right to turn it, giving the horse the spur and taking off at full gallop.
The shouts and cattle noise quickly faded behind him as his horse quickly put distance between the canyon and himself. It would be a hard hour's ride but Jake aimed for town just the same and pushed his horse for all its worth. He leaned low over the saddle, ignoring the burning sun on his face as his hat would just get blown off again. His full black beard helped keep most of the dust out of his mouth and nose but he would definitely need a drink when he got back to town.
Just under an hour later, pedestrians in the fast-growing town of Muddy Wallow scattered off the dusty street as Jake came pounding into town, his horse sweating and foaming at the mouth. Jake pulled up outside the sheriff's office and leapt out of the saddle, throwing the reins over the hitching post allowing the horse to drink from the trough. Jake burst into the office, looking for the sheriff.
"Sheriff! Sheriff Boswell! Where are you?"
A tired and haggard voice drifted out from one of the cells. "What's with all the racket? Can't a man get some sleep around here?" A tall, lanky man dressed in a red and white checked shirt tucked into tan pants which were in turn tucked into black cowboy boots got up from the cot in cell number two and strode out of the open cell door. He stretched and yawned as he slowly made his way over to the black potbelly stove to pour a cup of coffee. After he had taken a slow sip from his cup, he came over to the desk and sat down to rub his hands over his clean-shaven face before he looked up at Jake with startling green eyes.
Boswell looked thoroughly bored as he combed back his shaggy red hair. "Jake Muldoon. I might have known it was you. What is it this time? Seen any more cougars lately?"
Jake looked like he had just downed a heavily-watered whiskey. "No, sheriff. I just saw a gang of men re-branding fifteen of my herd up at Dead-End Cull. They started shooting at me and the cattle stampeded out of there but they'll be back, mark my words!"
Boswell sat up at Jake's story, his keen eyes narrowing, suddenly all business. "What did this gang look like?"
"Let's see, there were six on horseback and three on foot doin' the actual branding. Three, no four of 'em on horseback were dressed in soldier pants with tan shirts. The other two wore black pants and brown shirts. The three men doing the branding had on black or brown pants with white shirts. All wore black hats that were exactly the same. Which was rather strange, come to think of it, since the rest of their clothes didn't match." Jake paused to stroke his beard in thought.
"Black hats, you say?" Boswell opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a black cowboy hat with a shiny black leather band around it. "Like this one?"
Jake's eyes grew big. "Yeah! Just like that! Say, do you reckon you know who they are, sheriff?"
Boswell nodded slowly as he put the hat back into the drawer. "They're part of Gunther's gang out of Denver. Last I heard, Gunther had nearly twenty men working for him, striking all up and down the territory. Banks, cattle, burning homesteads. The works."
Boswell gestured to the wanted posters on the wall behind Jake who turned to look at them. "That one on top, the mean son-of-a-bitch, is Gunther."
Jake stepped towards the poster to get a better look. The black and white drawing showed a beefy man with squinty eyes and a scraggly black beard. A scar was depicted crossing his left eye and cheek but the eye was apparently unharmed. This was the image of a man Jake did not want to cross at any time and here he was telling the sheriff about Gunther's men stealing his cattle.
"There's a fifteen thousand dollar reward for Gunther's capture, dead or alive." Boswell said, getting to his feet. He opened another drawer and pulled out his belt and guns, strapping them on. He was the kind of man to use two guns at once and was a dead shot with either hand. The silver-plated revolvers shown in the sunlight as Boswell checked each one to make sure it was loaded, spinning the barrel with a deft hand before holstering it and tying it down.
The sheriff then came around the desk and snagged his tan wide-brimmed hat from the hook on the center post between the cells and put it on. As he walked out, he said to Jake "Let's go see what's been going on at Dead-End Cull."
Jake quickly followed the sheriff out into the afternoon sun, putting on his own hat to block the glare. He grabbed the reins of his horse and followed the sheriff around back where the sheriff's big black horse was corralled. As the sheriff saddled his horse with practiced ease, he looked over at Jake's still-sweating horse.
"Jake, that animal isn't going to make it out there again. Get down to the stables and tell Old Caracatus I told him to lend you Betsy. He'll know what I mean."
Jake nodded and quickly ran down the street to the stable, towing his tired horse behind him. He went inside the big open door, stopping in the sudden shade to look around for Caracatus Beans. Jake spied the old man off to the side mending a broken saddle. He quickly went over to the old man, towing his horse behind him.
Caracatus Beans looked up with his sun-seamed face and stared with angry brown eyes at the sorry state of Jake's horse. "Ya yunguns! Always inna hurry! Can't spare a thought fo' the po' beast ya ride ta death!"
"Caracatus! Sheriff Boswell told me to tell you to lend me a horse. He said it was called Betsy! We're in a hurry!"
"Keep ya shirt on, ya young whippersnapper! What was that? Betsy, you say?" The old man cackled at that, making the hair on Jake's thick neck stand on end. "Hee hee hee! Betsy, is it! Hee hee hee!" Caracatus casually ambled to the back of the stable, rubbing his bald head with a dirty hand.
"Come on, old man! I'm in a hurry!" Jake pleaded with Caracatus.
"Ya jus' keep ya shirt on! I'm movin' as fast as I can." Caracatus called out from the back of the stable. He came back leading a horse as he mumbled "Young folks these days! No patience! No courtesy!"
"Wha--!" Jake's eyes almost popped out of his head at the sight of the most magnificent horse he had ever had the fortune to lay eyes on. "Where have you been all my life?"
Caracatus stopped the horse so Jake could admire the lines and what lines they were! The horse stood easily eighteen hands high. It was solid dark brown with two white forelocks. There was a white diamond patch on the head and the mane was jet black. The horse looked at Jake as though saying "I will let you ride me but I am boss. You are just along for the ride."
Caracatus handed Jake the reins then deftly saddled the magnificent beast which stood there just staring at Jake. Jake had to swallow hard to not look afraid. Caracatus cackled again at Jake's discomfiture. "Ya take good care o' Betsy and she'll take good care o' ya! I'll just go and take care of that po' beast ya nearly rode ta death."
Jake nodded slowly not hearing what the old man was saying. He tentatively stepped to the side of Betsy and put a foot in the stirrup. As he swung his leg up and over the saddle, Caracatus called out one final warning.
"Don't use the spurs, young man! It'll only make her mad." The old man cackled gleefully, shaking his head as he lead Jake's horse into a stall and began working on it.
"Man, this is a big horse!" Jake thought as gulped again and looked down from his high perch. He looked way down to Caracatus and said "I promise to bring her back, Mr. Beans." He clicked his tongue and almost put the spur in before remembering the old man's warning. He gently tapped the reins on Betsy's neck and she started walking immediately. Jake was amazed at how well-trained the horse was as he headed out of the barn, having to duck to avoid banging his head on the upper edge of the door frame. "Man, this horse is big!"
Jake tickled Betsy into a trot as he turned her towards the sheriff's office where Sheriff Boswell was out front sitting on his own black horse. Jake pulled to a stop along side the sheriff. Despite how big Betsy was, the sherriff's eyes were still level with Jake's. The sheriff wore a slight smile at Jake's clear discomfort on being on such a big horse. However, he said nothing, just nodded to Jake and started off on the ride to Dead-End Cull. Jake gritted his teeth, gulped again and his dry throat reminded him too late he didn't get that drink he wanted as he hurried to catch up to the sheriff who was heading off at a slow gallop.
After an hour's ride in the afternoon sun, Sheriff Boswell and Jake turned into Dead-End Cull and slowed to a walk. The sheriff was leaning over his saddle, studying the ground as they went. When they reached the end of the small canyon, both men dismounted. Jake was amazed that neither the sheriff's horse nor Betsy were sweating and barely even showed being winded. Jake had some difficulty getting his mind off Betsy to watch the sheriff do what he did best.
Sheriff Boswell slowly paced over the ground, stopping frequently to study the tracks in the hard-packed dust. He studied where the corral had stood, the thin logs used in its construction now scattered and broken by the panicked cattle. He looked carefully all around the fire, stooping to pick up something half-buried in the dust. He looked at it closely and then put it in his pocket. He continued scanning the ground until he finally straightened up and strode back to Jake and the two horses.
"Well, Sheriff? Was I right?" Jake said anxiously, curious as to what the sheriff had found.
The sheriff looked at Jake with a careful gaze then slowly nodded. "You were right, Jake. Someone was here branding cattle. A quick and dirty little operation from the looks of things. But they were also very careful about cleaning up after themselves. They left only this." The sheriff pulled the object out of his pocket and tossed it to Jake who deftly caught and held it up to look at it.
It was a brass button shiny with use, well-worn but with a distinctive impression on it of two strands of wheat curving around the outside edge, around the thread holes. The back side held no other surprises and Jake tossed the button back to the sheriff who carefully pocketed it.
"That sure is a pretty button, sheriff, but how does it help me get my cattle back from Octavius Macintyre."
The sheriff raised his eyebrows at Jake. "Are you still going on about Octavius stealing your cattle? How do you know he's behind this? From your description, I still think it's the Gunther gang."
Jake scowled as he spoke. "As you know, I have been losing cattle for two years now. No more than a dozen to fifteen at a time. But each time I lose cattle, Macintyre's herd seems to grow by the same amount. You remember checking those brands. All his cattle bore the circle-OM brand. But I just know my cattle were among his. I just know it."
"What makes you so sure, Jake?"
"I heard Macintyre went to great pains to get the circle-OM brand that was just the right size and shape. If you overlay the circle-OM on my JM brand, you can't tell where the brands have been redone. That's why I'm so sure."
The sheriff nodded thoughtfully. "Might be, might be. But that doesn't explain why the Gunther gang is mixed up in this."
"I just described what I saw, sheriff."
"So you did, so you did. Well, there is nothing more to be learned here. Let's ride out to Octavius Macintyre's spread and see what can be seen." With that, the sheriff lightly mounted his horse and headed back down the canyon. Jake quickly remounted Betsy and followed.
About an hour and half later, Sheriff Boswell and Jake Muldoon stopped in front of the large, rambling one-story house on the Macintyre ranch. They dismounted and tied their horses to the brass ring on the white-painted iron hitching post, a clear sign of money in these parts, and went up the stairs. The sheriff knocked on the door, Jake anxiously standing behind him.
"Calm yourself, Jake." the sheriff said as he waited for the door to be answered. "We're not here to stir up trouble, just sniff around a little. No outbursts, you hear?"
Jake swallowed hard and nodded, gritting his teeth against his anger.
The door opened and the sheriff turned to look at the middle-aged black man in a full butler uniform standing there.
The sheriff smiled at the man and said "Trotter, can you please inform Mr. Macintyre that Sheriff Boswell and Jake Muldoon would like a friendly word with him."
"Very good, sir." Trotter replied in a deep voice as he turned and ushered the two inside and closed the door behind them. "You can wait in the library, there." he gestured to a room to their left and walked off to find his master.
The sheriff and Jake took their hats off and entered the library. Jake had never seen so many books before. There must have been almost a hundred lining the shelves. There was even a carpet on the floor with an intricate and exotic design of reds and blues. An ornately-carved cherry wood table stood in the center of the room flanked by two cherry wood sofas facing each other. The sofas were upholstered in a dark red velvet. The shelves were all dark mahogany and glass-fronted to keep the dust off the precious books. There were several elegantly-carved crystal kerosene lamps on small cherry wood tables next to the couches for reading at night. On one table was a crystal decanter holding some dark liquid which made Jake's throat ache in desire. The window drapes were also a rich red velvet and were currently open to let the afternoon sun in. To Jake, the whole place stank of money and he just looked around with his jaw open, momentarily forgetting where that money came from.
They only had to wait a couple of minutes before Octavius Macintyre entered the library, closing the door behind him. Octavius was a small man, standing maybe five foot four but he more than made up for his height in his girth. He was clean-shaven with a fringe of brown hair around his prematurely balding head which he made no attempt to hide. He was dressed all in white with creased trousers, vest complete with gold watch chain, and a creased coat. His dark eyes peered through his round face as he came in, all smiles.
"Ah, my dear Sheriff Boswell! How good it is to see you again!" The sheriff was just as good as Octavius at faking smiles as the two shook hands.
"And Jake Muldoon! What a pleasure to see you again!" Octavius said, his smile fading just a little. He didn't offer to shake Jake's hand which was just as well as Jake was ready to throttle the little varmint.
"Care for a brandy, gentlemen?" Octavius didn't wait for an answer as he headed over to pour himself a small glass from the cut crystal decanter containing the dark liquid.
"No thank you, Octavius." the sheriff declined.
"None for me, thanks." Jake mumbled, desperately wanting a drink for his dry throat but he couldn't stomach drinking it after the little man offered it so freely.
"Too bad! This really is a fine vintage." he took exaggerated care in sipping the brandy, making it clear they were missing out on the taste of their lives. Jake quietly ground his teeth, swallowing down his rising bile. Octavius smacked his lips in satisfaction then turned to the sheriff. "What can I do for you today, Sheriff?"
"I was wondering if you had taken on any new men recently, say in the last couple of weeks?" The sheriff asked calmly. Jake was surprised as he fully expected the sheriff to confront the little toad.
"New men, you say?" Octavius looked in his brandy for answers. "Something wrong, sheriff?"
"There was some trouble earlier today and I just wanted to see if any one new has been around who might be the cause of it. Nothing big, just asking around, doing my job."
"Aha! I see, I see! Well, as a matter of fact, sheriff, I did hire a whole new crew to help with my expanding herd just last month. Must have been about twenty men, I believe. I had to fire my old crew after I caught them selling some of my head to the Indians. Can't have that sort of thing going on, now can we?" Octavius clucked his tongue then took another sip of brandy, sighing at how good it was.
"Twenty men, you say?" the sheriff asked calmly.
Octavius nodded. "Yes, that's right. Twenty men, all well-skilled in the tasks I hired them for. Don't know why I waited so long to get rid of that last shiftless bunch."
"Where did the old crew go, Mr. Macintyre?"
"I sent them packing, telling them that if they ever showed their face around here or in town I would have them horsewhipped to the next county. Haven't seen any of them since."
"I see." the sheriff said, running his hand through is hair. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Macintyre. We'll just see ourselves out."
"Come by any time, sheriff, any time." Octavius said smiling as he shook the sheriff's hand. His eyes narrowed as the two men walked out of the room and out the front door. He was not smiling after they left.
The sheriff and Jake unhitched and mounted their horses and rode off. Finally, Jake had all he could stand.
"Why didn't you tell him about the rustlers? We could've scared the truth out of him!"
"I don't work that way, Jake, and you know it. Octavius has a lot of money and money talks in this territory. I can't go making accusations without proof."
"You have that button for proof!"
"One button is not enough to take before a judge, Jake, so just calm yourself."
"Well, why didn't you search the men to look for a matching button?"
"Because that would have alerted them and they would have hightailed it out of here before I could arrest them. We need to catch them in the act. I have some nasty suspicions about Octavius and his twenty new men but I first need to wire sheriff Cole in Verdant Springs in the next county. I want to find out what the old crew have to say. I remember them and they were a straight bunch and not likely to go selling their employer's beef without his say-so. Things are not adding up, that's for sure."
The sheriff would say no more as the two men rode back to town. As the sheriff stopped in front of the telegraph office, he turned to Jake. "Keep an eye on your cattle and if you find any more missing, get in touch with me as soon as you can. I will try to be out near your place tomorrow around noon to look around."
"Alright, sheriff. You know best." Jake sounded disappointed that no action was going to be taken right away.
"Cheer up, Jake!" the sheriff said. "Maybe tomorrow we can catch them in the act. You scared them out of branding any more of your cattle so they will have to make up for that somehow."
Jake smiled at that thought. "Yeah! And I'll be there to get 'em!"
"We'll be there, Jake." the sheriff warned. "Now off with you. See you tomorrow." With a wave, the sheriff entered the telegraph office to send his wire.
Jake had Betsy slowly walk back to the stables. He was a man of action and all this waiting just grated on him.
Jake dismounted outside the stable and led Betsy in. "Caracatus? You still here?"
"Of course I'm still here, young fella! Where else would I be?" Caracatus came out of one of the stalls, carrying a horse brush and a bucket of water. "Ah, so it's you! The horse-beater!"
"I don't beat horses, old man." Jake grumbled.
"Hah! After what ya did to that po' animal!?"
"Is there something wrong with my horse, old man?"
Caracatus shook his head in dismay at the younger man's callous attitude. "Ya nearly rode that horse ta death and ya ask if anything's wrong. Of course there's somethin' wrong, ya young fool! Ya're horse is lame in the hind leg and can't be ridden for at least two weeks. That's what's wrong!"
"Two weeks! I need that horse, Caracatus!" Jake was suddenly all polite and pleading.
"Two weeks, young man! Not a day sooner! Ya can have Betsy in the meantime. She eats a lot so ya feed her right and proper, ya hear!"
Jake couldn't believe his good fortune. "Uh, yeah, of course I will Mr. Beans, of course I will! Like she were my own horse." Jake gulped as he realized what he had just said.
Caracatus exploded. "You will take better care of Betsy than you would a wife, Jake Muldoon, or I will have the hide off you faster than you can spit! Do you understand me?" the old man glared at Jake who couldn't believe so much anger could exist in such a frail body.
"Y-yes, sir, Mr. Beans, sir! Better than a wife, sir! Yessir!" Jake stammered as he quickly led Betsy back out of the stable and climbed up in haste to get away from the scary old man.
"Remember! Or it's your hide!" Caracatus yelled at the quickly retreating man. He shook his head, turned and headed back into the stable to tend to the wounded animal. "I suppose I shoulda warned him about Betsy bein' picky about what she eats. Oh well, he'll learn, he'll learn." Caracatus cackled at the image of Jake trying to feed Betsy dry hay and set about carefully rubbing down Jake's lame horse.
Jake quickly rode out to his own ranch, getting there just before sunset. He dismounted outside his barn and walked Betsy inside. Peter, the stable boy, came out of the small office and his draw hit the floor at the sight of Betsy filling up his barn. He slowly came over to the big horse, his blue eyes bulging in awe.
"Now that's a big horse, Mr. Muldoon!" Peter said, as he slowly walked around Betsy and Jake.
"Her name is Betsy and she is on loan from old man Beans in town."
"Sh-shall I take care of her, Mr. Muldoon?" Peter asked tremulously.
"No, Peter, I'll take care of this horse myself. Just go fetch the best hay we have, will you?"
Peter snapped his jaw shut, nodded, and ran off at top speed to do as Jake asked. Jake lead Betsy to an empty stall which Peter kept scrupulously clean. He carefully removed the huge saddle, draping it over the edge of the fence. He removed the blanket and the reins, hanging them up for Peter to attend to. He went to the office and returned with two curry brushes and proceeded to give the big horse a thorough rubdown. From the sounds Betsy was making, Jake knew his touch was still there even though he hadn't done this for years. He smiled as he worked, remembering how close he had gotten to the horses in his care over the years, wondering why he had stopped. He remembered just getting more and more busy with the ranch and having less and less time to spend with the horses until one day, he simply stopped. By the same token, he never had time to court a wife and now, in his late thirties, it wasn't likely he was going to meet any pretty young women to court at all.
Peter came back with an armload of hay still green from being cut the day before. He carefully maneuvered around Betsy in the stall and plopped the armload in front of her. She sniffed at it several times before deigning to nibble at it.
"Remember the water, Peter." Jake said as he continued to rub down the horse.
"Right away, Mr. Muldoon." Peter dashed off and quickly returned, staggering from the weight of a large bucket slopping over with water. Peter carefully set the bucket down near the hay and Betsy obligingly took a drink to wash down the hay. After half an hour, Jake finished rubbing down and brushing the enormous horse, wiping the sweat from his own brow generated by his efforts. But he knew Betsy was happy with the treatment and apparently was pleased with the hay and water.
Jake handed the brushes to Peter who had watched in wonder at the amount of horsehide Jake had to cover. "Here, get these cleaned up and then tend to the saddle and tack. I will need them in the morning." He headed out of the barn.
"Yes, Mr. Muldoon. Good night, Mr. Muldoon!" Peter called out after his boss.
"Good night, Peter!" Jake said over his shoulder as he headed up to the house and to bed.
The next morning, Jake was up with the sun. He ate quickly the breakfast his cook made him and then he headed out to the barn. Peter had already saddled Betsy and was reaching up to pat her neck as Jake came in. Jake tousled Peter's sandy-blonde hair as he came up next to the boy, once again admiring Betsy.
"Thanks, Peter. I'm off to do the rounds of the cattle. I'm expecting Sheriff Boswell around noon today, so keep a sharp eye out." With that, he lead Betsy out of the barn, mounted up, and galloped off towards the nearby grazing fields.
All that morning, Jake rode around the fields, counting the head, talking with his small crew. He had worked with all of them for nearly five years now, ever since he started the herd and they were all happy to hear the sheriff was going to put an end to the stealing. They were a good bunch, Jake knew, and would back him in any fight over his cattle.
As the sun climbed overhead, Jake headed back to the house. He had found three head missing and those would be accounted for by the ones he saw re-branded yesterday. Jake saw the sheriff pull up in front of the house as he himself rode up.
"Howdy, sheriff!" Jake greeted the man.
"Hello, Jake. Any lost cattle?"
Jake scowled. "Nope. All except three are accounted for and those three were the ones I watched being re-branded yesterday."
"We'll get them, Jake, don't worry. Now, is there something to drink around here?"
Jake chuckled as he dismounted Betsy and handed the reins to Peter who had come out to see who had arrived. He led the sheriff inside and poured them both a couple of whiskeys. Suddenly, one of Jake's crew came busting in, winded from a hard ride.
"Mr. Muldoon, Mr. Muldoon!" the man said, leaning on the door frame, gasping for breath.
Jake jumped to his feet followed closely by the sheriff. "What is it, Jack? Out with it!"
"A dozen men." Jack gasped. "A dozen men just rode in and cut out thirty head of cattle. Jason and Mitch were gunned down and I managed to get away to warn you."
Jake strode over and grabbed his gunbelt and strapped it on. He headed for the door. "Jack, as soon as you can, get back and round up the rest of the men and meet us at Dead-End Cull. I'm sure that's where they're going to go since that's the best place to do what they plan to." He strode out, the sheriff right behind him.
The two men quickly mounted and galloped off towards Dead-End Cull. Jake was furious at losing two good men like that. Those murdering thieves were going to pay! Betsy could feel her rider's anger and slowly picked up the pace. The sheriff's horse stretched his own legs to match the quicker pace. Very quickly, they came to the canyon. They could hear sounds of cattle echoing from the canyon walls as they dismounted and led their horses off to one side.
"Jake! Watch yourself! We are up against at least twelve men here and I don't want either of us getting shot up for acting rashly."
"I hear you, sheriff, don't you worry. It's them that's got to worry." Jake's face was one of grim anger.
"Jake. No killing unless you have to. I want them before a judge and that means alive, Jake. Understand?"
Jake fumed but nodded. "Yes, sheriff. I understand."
"Good. Now, let's see what we're up against." Both men untied their guns and quietly climbed the rocks to one side of the canyon, following the same path Jake had used the day before. As they drew near the end of the canyon, they could hear someone with a gruff voice yelling to keep it moving, faster, faster! The two men pulled their hats back and peered over the rocks. The sheriff immediately pulled back, yanking Jake's shirt to pull him back as well. They sat there with their backs to the rock.
"I count twenty men." the sheriff said quietly and Jake could hear worry in his voice. "And I think I saw Gunther himself."
Jake's eyes grew big. He had counted seventeen men himself but he didn't see any one resembling that wanted poster. "How're we going to handle this, sheriff?" Jake said in a low tone.
"How many men do you have, Jake?"
"Seven, not counting Jason and Mitch. However, all are excellent shots."
"That makes nine against twenty-one. Not very good odds. We need more help and I think I know where we can get it." The sheriff stood up. "Jake, go back to the mouth of the canyon and stake your men around the entrance to pick off any riders coming out. Expect all the cattle to be coming down the chute at a run as well so stay out of the way. Remember, no killing if you can help it. Off you go." he clapped Jake on the shoulder as Jake nodded and quietly ran off.
The sheriff turned and slowly snuck around the rock for a better vantage point. He was able to see all of the canyon floor from his new position and, if he remained still, he wouldn't be noticed where he sat. He confirmed the presence of the big man named Gunther. He watched as the men were double-teaming the cattle to re-brand them. Gunther was egging them on to move even faster and the men were falling over themselves trying to stay out of Gunther's way as they worked frantically. The sheriff knew that some of the brands were going on crooked and smiled at the additional evidence being piled up against these men. Gunther was mean but he wasn't smart and that was something the sheriff could use against him.
The sheriff pulled one gun and carefully aimed it. Jake may be known as the best gun in this county and the next but if he had known the sheriff's history, he would have bowed down to that legendary name, Lobo Blanco, a name given to the sheriff years ago by an Indian chief in southern Texas. The White Wolf. A strange name for someone who always wore a black hat with a shiny black leather binding, a hat suspiciously like those on the heads of the men down below in the canyon. The sheriff smiled grimly and squeezed off a shot. A man who was just getting ready to apply a brand to the next cow suddenly spun around and fell as the bullet caught him in the right shoulder. The iron went flying, hitting a second man in the back who yelled in pain, the brand burning right through his thin red shirt.
Instantly, everyone was running around shouting, guns drawn. "Where'd it come from?" "I don't know, maybe the rocks again?" "Did anyone see anything?"
Sheriff Boswell smiled grimly as he squeezed off a second shot, hitting in the head a man sitting on a horse. The man fell off and under the feet of the cattle who were beginning to panic again. The sheriff immediately pulled back and moved to a different position as a hail of bullets blasted his just vacated position. The sheriff maneuvered around to another location some distance away and quickly squeezed off three more shots, and three more men dropped. The cattle were now in full panic and started stampeding back down the canyon. The sheriff spotted another man unable to get out of the way in time fall under the hooves of the cattle. The sheriff quickly moved down the canyon edge, stopping to fire twice more, dropping two more men from horseback. That left fifteen including the two he wounded and Gunther. Shame he couldn't get a shot at him but the sheriff wanted that one alive.
The sheriff ran back down to the mouth of the canyon. He could hear guns blazing ahead as Jake and his men opened fire on those coming out with the cattle. The sheriff quickly took up position above the mouth and picked off three more men in quick succession. He stopped to reload both guns and made his way down to ground level. The cattle had dispersed by this time as Jake and his men got up and reloaded. The sheriff quickly ascertained that Jake's men had dropped ten men, leaving two, Gunther and one other.
"Careful, Jake! Gunther and one other are still around!" the sheriff called out. The men slowed their advance on the canyon mouth, checking the bodies carefully.
Most of the downed men were still alive, a testament to the skill of Jake and his men. However, none of them had any fight left in them. Still, Jake motioned that his men should stay back and watch the wounded. Then he and the sheriff slowly made their way up the canyon, looking for the remaining two men.
As they came around the last bend, a shot whined past their heads, forcing them to dive for cover.
"Someone's a lousy shot." the sheriff said as he worked his way to a better position to see around into the end of the canyon.
"That's for sure." Jake replied as he crawled forward on his belly through the churned up dust to peer around a boulder. A bullet splashed in the dirt near his head and he quickly pulled back. "But not lousy enough."
"I bet that's Gunther. He always fancied himself a good shot."
"Great. Can this get any better?" Jake mumbled as he followed the sheriff who was picking his way through the broken canyon wall debris.
Another shot whined through the air but it wasn't even close this time. The sheriff whispered "That must be the other man."
Jake kept silent as he followed the sheriff. They were quickly running out of cover and sooner or later, they were going to have to break cover. Suddenly, the sheriff stopped with his back to the canyon wall. One more step and he would be out in the open.
The sheriff yelled out to the two men. "This is Sheriff Boswell! Thrown down your guns and give yourself up. There is no way out of here except past me and the men at the mouth of the canyon! Give it up, Gunther!"
Several shots whined through the air and ricocheted off the ground and canyon wall in response.
"Come on, Gunther! Do you really want to end it this way?" The sheriff quietly checked both his guns and held them ready. Jake clutched his, tension knotting his shoulders.
"You're gonna have to come in and get me, sheriff!" a gravelly voice full of nastiness and hate yelled back.
"If you are sure you want to do it this way, Gunther!" the sheriff yelled. Jake could see a bead of sweat sliding down the sheriff's forehead. With a sudden, catlike movement, the sheriff dove out into the open, rolled and came up shooting both guns. Before Jake could even react, the sheriff fell under the return gunfire.
"Ha ha! Sheriff! You may have got Tim but not me! So much for the law around here!" the gravelly voice called out in nasty smugness. Jake held his gun ready as he could hear spurs jangling as someone walked heavily towards the sheriff's body. Jake was still hidden by the canyon wall as a big man dressed in tan shirt and pants with black leather chaps and a scraggly black beard, sporting a scar on his left cheek under his black hat, swaggered into view. The big man had his gun drawn and slowly aimed at the sheriff's head. "I'm gonna enjoy this, sheriff." Gunther drawled as he smiled nastily.
Jake reacted instantly and leveled his gun and fired. His well-placed shot, impossible to miss at this range, hit the big man's gun barrel, knocking the gun out of his hand with numbing force. Gunther snarled but didn't react as Jake expected. Instead, Gunther charged Jake and knocked him over as he continued running down the canyon. Jake quickly scrambled to his feet and ran after Gunther. Jake didn't bother trying to find his gun which had been knocked from his own hand. He could see from the back the big man's shirt was bloody and realized the sheriff had actually hit Gunther but he was too ornery to know it.
Jake was almost out of breath by the time they reached the mouth of the canyon. Gunther had caught two of Jake's men off-guard and had knocked them over. The other men weren't quite fast enough to draw a bead on the big man who darted among the boulders, surprisingly agile for one so big and wounded. Jake stumbled after the man, realizing too late that Betsy was in the direction Gunther was headed. Jake rounded a big boulder to see Gunther grab Betsy's reins and leap up into the saddle. The horse was startled by the presence of the nasty man but the man held the reins in an iron fist.
Gunther harshly wheeled Betsy around and drove the spurs into her flank for speed. Betsy suddenly reared up and then dropped suddenly down, kicking her hind legs up, tossing Gunther like a rag doll over her head. The reins flew free of his angry grip and he hit the ground and rolled, gasping in pain. Then Betsy did what she always did to anyone who would use spurs on her. She reared up and brought both of her feet, backed by all her considerable weight, directly onto Gunther's chest, caving it in like a rotten barrel. Gunther died instantly, with no idea of what had just happened.
Betsy gingerly stepped out of the big man's carcass and walked over to Jake, dust quickly covering the blood and gore on her hooves. Jake was sure she was thinking "And let that be a lesson to you, man." Jake gently grabbed the reins and patted her reassuringly on the neck as she nuzzled him. Jake then stooped and removed his spurs. He showed them to Betsy who nickered approval. From that day on, Jake never wore spurs again.
Jake quickly mounted Betsy and headed back up the canyon after checking to make sure his men were all right. They had tied up the wounded, roughly binding their injuries so at least they wouldn't bleed to death. Two of the men had ridden back to Jake's ranch for a couple of wagons to haul the wounded and dead back to town.
Jake dismounted and knelt by the sheriff's body. He felt for a heartbeat and was surprised to find one. He looked more closely and noticed one bullet had entered the sheriff's upper arm in the fleshy part and a second bullet had hit his left shoulder, just below the collar bone. In both cases, the bullets had passed cleanly through. Jake quickly bound the wounds with his and the sheriff's bandanas. He then recovered his and the sheriff's guns, picked up the sheriff and put him on Betsy who stood quietly in understanding and sympathy. Jake lead her back down to the mouth of the canyon to wait for the wagons.
It was a jubilant Muddy Wallow that night as the surviving gang members were locked up in the town's jail and the judge was wired for. The sheriff woke under the tender mercies of the doctor who told him he was not going to be shooting anything for many weeks but he would make a full recovery. Jake had the sorry duty of arranging the burial of Jason and Mitch and the whole town mourned their deaths. The rest of his men fortunately had survived unscathed.
Four days later when the judge arrived, the sheriff produced the button he had found. They found a match on one of the survivors which placed him at the scene of the first crime. Jack identified several others who had shot at him, Jason and Mitch, killing the other two men. And Gunther was positively identified by an eyewitness the judge had brought with him. Jake was officially given the reward money for the capture of Gunther and an additional bounty of five thousand dollars for the capture of Gunther's gang.
Octavius Macintyre came into town, spluttering how shocked he was that his new crew could do such a heinous act and promptly fired all of them on the spot, even the dead ones, much to the amusement of the townsfolk.
Jake was able to produce the cattle that had been badly branded with the circle-OM brand clearly overlaying his own JM brand. The judge found Octavius guilty of cattle stealing and ordered him to repay Jake Muldoon for the loss of his cattle over the last two years plus an additional thirty head as payment for grievances suffered. Jake just smiled as Octavius spluttered and moaned and carried on that the judge would rue the day he ever crossed Octavius Macintyre.
After the trial was over and the judge had left town with the rest of Gunther's gang in custody, Jake reluctantly returned Betsy to Caracatus Beans. With a heavy heart, he handed the reins over to the old man.
"Here you go, Caracatus." Jake said with a sigh. "She is a magnificent animal but I made a promise to return her."
Caracatus looked at him then at Betsy. Betsy nodded to the old man who smiled and patted her on the neck. He then promptly handed the reins back to a surprised Jake.
"Here ya go, young fella. Betsy approves of ya and so do I after hearin' what happened at the trial. She's yours. Keep her well, Jake Muldoon. She deserves the best."
Tears were in Jake's eyes as he looked at Caracatus then at Betsy who nuzzled him happily. "Thank you, Caracatus, Thank you! And thank you, Betsy!" he patted her nose in the way he had quickly learned she really loved.
Jake spent a fair portion of the reward money enhancing the stable back at his ranch just for Betsy who never lacked for good hay, good water, and a good rub down delivered special by Jake himself. And both lived happily ever after.