Showdown at Dead End Canyon (14 page)

“You people are trespassing,” the man in the business suit said.

“Who the devil are you?” Dorchester asked.

“I know who he is, Father,” Pamela said. “His name is Addison Ford. He is Administrative Assistant to Secretary of Interior Columbus Delano.”

Ford looked more closely at Pamela, then at Hawke.

“It’s you!” he said in a disgruntled voice. “I recognize you two. You are the people from the train, the ones who forced us to move to another car.”

“Yes,” Pamela said.

Ford smiled. “Well, well, now isn’t this a bit of sweet irony? You ran us out of the rail car, now I am running you off this property.”

“Are you responsible for this dam?” Dorchester asked.

“I authorized it, yes,” Ford said.

“And I designed it,” the unarmed man in jeans said proudly. “My name is Jason White. I’m a civil engineer.” White stepped forward and stuck his hand out, but Dorchester made no movement to take it.

“You are trespassing on property belonging to the Sweetwater Railroad Company,” Ford said.

“Yes, I saw the sign. But I’ve never heard of the Sweetwater Railroad,” Dorchester replied. “What is it?”

“The Sweetwater Railroad is a railroad that will be built from Green River to South Pass.”

“My daughter said you were with the Department of Interior.”

“That is right.”

“Then I don’t understand. What does the Department of Interior have to do with the Sweetwater Railroad? Since
when did the U. S. government get in the business of building railroads?”

“The government isn’t building it. It is being built by a private company. We are merely providing the incentive.”

“The incentive?”

“According to the Railroad Land Grant Act of 1862, any approved railroad company is entitled to a four hundred foot right of way, plus ten square miles of property for every one mile of route.”

“You mean the government gives land to people who build railroads?” Dorchester asked in surprise.

“How do you think the transcontinental railroad was built? Without the land incentive, it would never have been completed.”

“Yes, well, I can’t believe Miller sold his land to the government without first checking with me. He knew that I would have bought it if he had put it up for sale. And he knew that I would give him a fair price for it.”

“I’m afraid Miller had no say in the matter,” Ford said smugly.

“What do you mean he had no say in the matter?”

“We acquired his land by eminent domain.”

“In other words, the government stole Mr. Miller’s land,” Dorchester said.

“It’s not stolen. The land was acquired by a writ of eminent domain, with provisions, of course, for the landowners to apply for reimbursement.”

“To apply? You mean they aren’t automatically compensated?”

“No. But as I have explained to everyone whose land we have acquired, there are provisions in place for them to apply for, and receive, compensation. That is, if they meet the guidelines.”

“Oh? And what is the government paying for prime land?”

“A dollar an acre,” Ford replied.

“That is robbery.”

“No, that is democracy in action,” Addison Ford insisted.

“All right, so you have government authority to steal Miller’s land,” Dorchester said. He pointed to the dam. “Why in heavens name did you dam up Sugar Creek?”

“I’m sure you know how steam engines operate,” Ford replied patronizingly. “They require water to generate steam. If the railroad is to succeed, it will have to have a ready and plentiful source of water.”

“Why, you bloody rascal, you have not only stolen land, you have squeezed dry every drop of water from Sugar Creek! I have other sources of water, but those property owners below me are totally dependent upon Sugar Creek. What will happen to them?”

“I’m afraid that is really none of my concern,” Ford said. “I am acting on government orders. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the United States Land Management officer.”

“And who might that be?” Dorchester asked.

“Why, that would be Mr. White,” Ford said, pointing to his son-in-law and laughing out loud.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, you bloody bastard,” Dorchester said, wagging his finger in Ford’s face. “I don’t roll over that easily.”

“Gentlemen, I do believe I’m being threatened,” Ford said.

The two armed men reacted to Ford’s comment. The one with a rifle operated the lever, while the one who was holding the double-barreled shotgun came back on the hammers of both barrels.

“Luke Rawlings. What are you doing here guarding this dam?” Hawke asked. “I thought you had made a lot of money gold mining.”

“It ain’t none of your business what me ’n’ Percy’s doin’ here,” Luke replied. “The thing is, we are here, and we’re telling you to leave.”

“I don’t think we’re ready to leave yet.”

Luke pointed his shotgun at Dorchester.

Hawke drew his pistol then and pointed it at Luke.

“Luke, you want to ease those hammers back down before someone gets hurt?” he asked.

“What are you doin’ here, anyway? This is none of your affair,” Luke said.

“I just made it my affair.”

“Looks to me like you are a day late and a dollar short,” Luke said.

“Not really,” Hawke replied. “I have the advantage.”

“Yeah? How is that?”

“Neither of you are pointing a gun at me. On the other hand, I am pointing my gun at you.”

“Maybe not, but we are pointing them at your friend.”

“My friend isn’t armed—I am. And if you shoot him, I’ll kill you. In fact, I will kill all four of you.”

“What?” Ford suddenly shouted. “What are you talking about? You are going to shoot all four of us? Do you realize that you are threatening a representative of the United States government?”

“Mister, every man I killed during the war was a representative of the United States government in one way or another. Now, you tell your men there to lower their guns, or I’m going to start shooting.”

“You two men put your guns down,” Ford said in a frightened tone.

“I think he’s bluffing,” Luke said.

“I said put the guns down! Now!” Ford ordered, his voice nearly breaking.

The two men lay their weapons on the ground.

“Back away from them,” Hawke ordered.

When neither of the two men moved, Hawke shot at Luke’s foot, coming so close that he took a small nick from the sole of Luke’s boot.

“What the hell!” the man shouted in sudden fear, dancing back from the impact of the round. He looked down at his boot and saw the little nick. “You just barely missed blowing off my toe,” he said angrily.

“I didn’t miss,” Hawke said. “If I wanted to hit your toe, I would have. Now, back away, or the next one
will
take off a toe.”

The two men backed away. Hawke kept waving them back until they were at least twenty yards from the guns.

“Mr. Dorchester,” he said quietly. “Perhaps now would be a good time for us to leave.”

“Yes,” Dorchester said. “Yes, I do believe you are right.”

Just before they crossed back onto Dorchester’s land, a lone rider came out from behind a rock outcropping. He placed himself right in front of them.

“Father!” Pamela said with a gasp.

The rider was Ethan Dancer.

“You folks are trespassing on private property,” Dancer said in a low, evil, hissing voice.

“We were checking on why the water stopped flowing,” Dorchester replied.

“Next time you come onto this land, get permission,” Dancer said.

“And if we don’t?” Hawke asked, putting himself between Dancer and the others.

Dancer stared at Hawke for a moment. “You’re the one they call Hawke, aren’t you?”

“That would be Mr. Hawke to you,” Hawke replied.

He held Dancer in a gaze that was fully as intense as it had been in the mirror on their first encounter. Dancer’s face twitched a couple of times and he ran his finger across his scar. Why wasn’t this man afraid of him? he wondered. Who was he? Was this someone he should know?

“Who the hell are you?” Dancer asked.

“I thought we had settled that. I’m Mr. Hawke.”

“I wouldn’t get too smart…Mister…Hawke.”

“Yes, well, it’s not very likely that you would,” Hawke said.

Dancer’s eyes narrowed for a second. He had the idea that he’d just been insulted, but he wasn’t sure exactly how.

Despite the tension of the moment, Pamela couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

Dancer pointed at Hawke. “One of these days, you’re going to find yourself dancing with the demon.” Slapping his legs against the side of his horse, Dancer rode off quickly.

When he was gone, Pamela shuddered. “What do you suppose he meant by dancing with the demon?” she asked.

“I’ve heard tell that’s what he says to someone just a’fore he shoots ’em,” Willie said.

“Oh!” Pamela said, putting her hand to her mouth and looking at Hawke with fear in her eyes. “Hawke! He just said you were going to dance with the demon.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it.” He smiled. And to ease her fear, he joked, “My dance card is already full.”

IT TOOK FOUR DAYS FOR JAY DUPREE AND HIS LITTLE
wagon train to reach South Pass. Three of the wagons had precut lumber, windows, doors, and other building items, and the fourth had furnishings.

At the time of Dupree’s arrival there were no permanent structures in the mining camp, so the fact that he had the building material was enough to attract notice. But what really got the attention of the prospectors in the camp were the three beautiful women riding in the surrey with him. Though less than six weeks old, the mining camp, which called itself South Pass City, had nearly a thousand residents. It was now the third largest settlement in Wyoming, but the three women with Jay Dupree made up the entire female population of the settlement.

The men flocked down to the edge of the road and walked alongside the convoy, keeping pace with it and looking on in awe. Libby, Lulu, and Sue smiled, waved, and blew kisses at the men.

The shelters were tents, though many of the tents, including the saloon, had wooden floors.

Jay drove until he reached what he considered a suitable location. There, he stopped, stood, and called back to his drivers, “We’ll unload here!”

“What is all this?” one of the men from the gathered crowd shouted.

Jay held up his hands to call for quiet, then addressed the men who had crowded around.

“Gentlemen, I bring you greetings.” He paused for a second, and with a broad smile continued. “But greetings are not all I bring. I bring you also three of the most beautiful women this side of the Mississippi River. Take a look at them, boys. Am I exaggerating?”

He made a sweeping gesture to draw attention to the three women with him, and the men cheered loudly and lustily.

“As you can clearly see by the beauty of these women, they are not your ordinary soiled doves. And you’ll never find these girls keeping a crib, working in a bar, hustling drinks, or walking the streets. No sir. These ladies are beautiful, talented, intelligent, and gracious. Stand up, ladies.”

The three women stood up, smiled, waved, blew kisses again, and flirted outrageously with the men in the crowd.

“I’m sure you understand that ladies of this quality do not come cheap. They are reserved for those of the most discriminating tastes, those who are knowledgeable enough to understand that something worth having is worth paying for. They are reserved for you. So, there you have it, gentlemen, the three lovely ladies I have brought to help me run the Golden Cage. As proprietor of the Golden Cage, I promise you a place to come to relax, have a few drinks from my specially selected stock of beer and blended whiskey, enjoy a good meal, and spend some very interesting private time with one of these beautiful women.”

“What do you mean by very interesting private time?” someone called from the crowd. “I mean, you said they was
intelligent, but I ain’t interested in any of ’em readin’ no poetry to me, or anything like that.”

The other men laughed.

“By private time, I mean just that. You, and the young lady of your choice, will retire to her room. Whatever you do there is strictly between you and the young lady. Now, propriety and common decency prevents me from spelling out exactly what you can do there, but I guarantee you, they won’t be reading poetry.”

Again the men laughed.

“Yeah, but what will we be doin’?” the man asked again.

“Mister, if you are in a private room with a beautiful woman, and you can’t figure out what to do, then perhaps you have no business going in there with her in the first place.”

This time the laughter turned to hoots and howls. “Jimmy, my boy, I tell you what,” one of the men said. “You pay for me, and I’ll invite you to come along and watch and learn.”

That elicited more laughter.

“Of course,” Dupree continued, “none of this can happen until we get our establishment built. I’m wondering if there are any carpenters among you who would volunteer to build it? Those who help will be given ten dollars credit toward drinks, food, or women.”

As Dupree knew there would be, more than a dozen men rushed forward to offer their services.

“Thank you, gentlemen, thank you,” Dupree said. “I think you will find everything that you need to begin construction in the wagons.”

In Green River, nearly every business had closed down for Roy Hilliard’s funeral. Hilliard had been an exceptionally popular man in the town. He was active in the Holy Spirit Episcopal Church, a volunteer in the Green River Militia,
and a member of the Green River City Band. On the Fourth of July he had played a trumpet solo at the Green River Independence Day picnic.

Because of his popularity, the entire town turned out for his funeral, and the band, wearing black armbands, led the cortege from the church to the cemetery. Behind the band was the glass-sided hearse, brought by train from the St. Louis Carriage Company just two months earlier. Behind the hearse was a buggy, its wheels laced with black bunting. Cindy and Roy Jr. rode in the buggy. The rest of the town fell in behind and followed it to the cemetery.

Hawke attended the funeral, along with Dorchester and Pamela. In addition to Dorchester, there were several other ranchers present to pay their last respects to their friend.

When the hearse reached the cemetery, it stopped in front of an already opened grave, and the pall bearers—a mix of ranchers and townspeople—moved the black-lacquered coffin from the hearse to the grave, then lowered it by ropes. Cindy and Roy Jr. sat on folding chairs under a canopy. Father Cumbie, the vicar, stepped to the head of the grave and began reading from the
Book of Common Prayer.

“‘Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.

“‘In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?

“‘Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Savior, deliver us not into the pains of eternal death.’”

The vicar nodded at Cindy, and she and Roy Jr. stood up, then walked over to the mound of dirt alongside the grave.
Cindy picked up some dirt and put it in Roy’s hand, then picked up a handful for herself.

The vicar continued, “‘For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased brother, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for the general Resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come, through our Lord Jesus Christ.’”

Cindy and Roy Jr. dropped dirt on the coffin, then, weeping, she turned away. Dorchester stepped up to her and, putting his arms around her, led her back to her chair.

Later, Dorchester brought her out to Northumbria for a meal and to relax after the funeral.

“I can’t get the sight out of my mind, of Roy lying dead while that horror of a man stood over him with his gun in his hand,” she said. “He was one of the most frightening creatures I’ve even seen.” She made a motion across her face with her finger. “He was disfigured by a terrible scar.”

Hawke, who had been quiet till then, looked up when he heard that. “Ethan Dancer,” he said.

“Ethan Dancer?” Pamela said. “What was he doing out there? He’s working for Bailey McPherson.”

“That’s a good question,” Hawke said.

“What will you do now, Mrs. Hilliard?” Dorchester asked.

“I don’t know. Go back to Pennsylvania, I suppose,” Cindy answered. She shook her head. “I really don’t know what else I could do.”

“What about money?”

“I have enough money for railway tickets back home. Once I get there, I will find something to do, some way to raise Roy Jr.”

“How about your cattle? How many head do you have?”

“We had five hundred head,” Cindy said.

“Why, at thirty dollars a head, that’s fifteen thousand dollars,” Dorchester said. “That should be enough to keep you and your son quite comfortable for a while.”

“I don’t have them anymore. When they took our land, they said I had twenty-hours to move the herd. All I could think of was poor Roy lying there dead. I mean, to come through the hell of Andersonville, only to wind up like this.” Cindy sighed. “Anyway, there was no way I could have moved the herd, even if I had tried. There was just simply no way it could be done.”

Dorchester shook his head in sympathy. “That’s too bad. If you could have gotten the herd here, I would have bought your cattle.”

“Mrs. Hilliard, did they give you a piece of paper when they took your land?” Hawke asked.

“Yes. I wasn’t even going to take it, but they said I would need it if I planned to apply for compensation.”

“I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Cindy said. She looked through her handbag, took out the paper, and handed it to Hawke. He looked at it for a moment, thanked her and handed it back.

“Mr. Dorchester, could I speak to you in private for a moment?” Hawke asked.

“Yes, of course,” Dorchester said. Then, to Cindy and Pamela, “Would you ladies excuse us?”

Dorchester and Hawke left the parlor and stood out in the hall, next to one of the suits of armor.

“Were you serious about buying the cattle if she had brought you the herd?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have paid the same price Mr. Hilliard would have gotten at the railhead, but I would have paid a fair price.”

“What if the herd was delivered to you now? Would you still buy it?”

“Well, of course I would,” Dorchester replied. “But how is the herd going to be delivered to me?”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Hawke said.

“What? You mean you would steal the herd?”

Hawke shook his head. “It wouldn’t be stealing,” he said. “The paper they served her said that she had to vacate the land, and she had to leave the fixed property there. But it specifically granted her the right to take all movable property, including her livestock. And there was no time limit.”

“No time limit?”

Hawke shook his head. “It gives the property owner twenty-four hours to vacate the property, but it does not say when the livestock must be moved. Technically, even though the herd is still there, it belongs to her.”

“So you think if you just ride up and ask for the herd, they’ll turn it over to you?”

“I don’t plan to ask for the herd,” Hawke said. “I aim to take it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dorchester said. “That’s far too dangerous. I would hate to think of you getting yourself killed trying to do something for me.”

Hawke smiled. “Then let’s say I’m doing it for Mrs. Hilliard. And I don’t plan on getting myself killed.”

Dorchester drummed his fingers on the helmet of the suit of armor for a moment as he studied Hawke.

“Do you really think you can get the herd here?”

“Yes,” Hawke said. “I’ll need a few men to help me, but if you would pay a bonus to anyone who volunteers, I will get the herd to you.”

Dorchester smiled broadly. “Then, by Jove, let’s do it.”

Dorchester returned to the parlor. “Mrs. Hilliard, I am prepared to pay you $12,500 for your herd,” he said.

“What?” Cindy gasped in surprise.

“I don’t want to cheat you. You do understand, don’t you,
that you could get more for them if you delivered them to the railhead?”

“Yes, I understand that, but I don’t understand why you would make such an offer. I told you, I no longer have a herd.”

“Not according to Hawke.”

“What?”

“Tell her, Hawke.”

“According to the paper that was served you, Mrs. Hilliard, that herd still belongs to you. It is on confiscated land, but it is still your herd.”

“I thought he said twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours for you to leave. That has nothing to do with your herd.”

“That may be true,” Cindy said. She sighed. “But true or false, the effect is the same. Thank you for offering to buy my herd, Mr. Dorchester, but I still have the same problem. I have no way of getting them to you.”

“You let me worry about that,” Dorchester said. “If you are agreeable to the deal, we’ll go down to the bank and I’ll write out a draft for the sale and buy them where they stand.”

“I…I…Mr. Dorchester, I don’t know how to thank you,” she stammered.

“Don’t thank just me,” Dorchester said. “Mr. Hawke is the one who discovered the loophole in the contract. And he is the one who is going to deliver your herd to me.”

“Oh!” Pamela gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “But won’t that be very risky?”

“Life is risky,” Hawke said.

“Father, no. Don’t let him go,” Pamela pleaded.

“My dear, you have already observed this stalwart fellow in action. Do you think for one moment I could stop him from doing anything once he sets his mind to it?”

“No, I suppose not,” Pamela agreed. She looked at Hawke. “But please, Hawke. Be careful.”

Win Woodruff and Eddie Taylor had been cowboys at Northumbria for three years, but four weeks ago they quit their jobs. Buying picks, shovels, pans, and other supplies they might need for prospecting, they went up to the Sweetwater Mountains to try their luck.

So far their luck had been bad.

It was late in the day and the two men were exhausted, having spent the last three days breaking large rocks into smaller rocks, looking for any sign of gold. At the moment, Win was sitting on an old log smoking his pipe, while Eddie was a few yards away, near the campfire he’d made.

“Ha!” Eddie said aloud. “You shoulda seen that, Win.”

“I shoulda seen what?”

“I pissed this here grasshopper clean off a weed.”

“If it’s all the same to you, Eddie, I’d just as soon not watch you take a piss.”

“Well, it was just funny, that’s all,” Eddie said, buttoning his pants as he came back over to the log. “I mean that little grasshopper wrapped his arms and legs around that weed and was hangin’ on for dear life.”

“Grasshoppers don’t have arms.”

“Uh-huh. This’n here did,” Eddie insisted. Getting his own pipe out, he began filling the bowl with tobacco.