Chapter 13

Susan Hopewell assured us that she and her husband would be fine, so Sam and I returned home. We got back in time for supper and had to give a blow-by-blow description of our adventure with the Hopewells. After we told our story, the first question Jane asked was, "Was she pretty?"

I assured Jane that Susan Hopewell couldn't hold a candle to her own beauty. I doubted that this satisfied Jane, but she did drop the subject, much to my relief. The rest of the evening went past in general conversation about the ranch, the weather, etc.

That night, in bed, Jane, again, brought up the subject of Susan Hopewell. I tried to reassure her that I didn't have any interest in any other woman, but Jane just wouldn't let the subject go. That was when the other shoe dropped! It dawned on me that Jane must be pregnant, again, and she was just feeling unsure of herself. I took her in my arms and assured her that I really loved her and couldn't care less about any other woman. After a few more words and kisses, Jane relaxed and went to sleep with a smile on her face.

The next day, Jane made it official! She was, indeed, going to have a baby, and wanted to be sure that I, too, wanted it. I hugged her and kissed her and carried on about the baby until she relaxed, and the subject of Susan Hopewell never came up, again.

The next few weeks were quiet, and I only had some routine sheriff-business to worry with. Christmas came and we all happily made fools of ourselves in our efforts to give Mary Jane a Christmas to remember. Of course, she was too young to remember any of it, but we had fun!

When January came around, we received a letter from the El Paso and Pacific Railroad telling us that they would start construction on our section of the track in early March. We had anxiously waited for this notice and were relieved when it finally came. They said that they were planning to build a station and water tank abutting our property and offered us the opportunity to name it. The whole family talked it over and agreed on "Buckley Station" for the name.

We were thrilled by the news that this station was to serve both Hixville and Johnson. The station would be only about a mile from Hixville and a great boon to the town, but we were afraid the 12-mile separation from Johnson might cause that town to wither and die. However, there was nothing that we could do about it, so we just hoped for the best.

By putting a station where they planned, the railroad jumped the value of our ranch at least three-fold, because we would be able to load our cattle directly onto the train for market without having to drive them anywhere. We would have to allow others to cross our land to reach the station with their herds, but we didn't see this as a hardship. People might want to pay us for temporary grazing rights while they were waiting to load their cattle on the train, so this was another way for us to make money from the existence of the railroad.

I figured that this news was too good to keep, so Sam and I rode into Hixville to spread the good word. And where better to spread such news than at the saloon run by Walt Smith? We waltzed up to the bar, and I said, "Howdy, Walt. Heard any good news, lately?"

"Howdy Bill, Sam. Naw, nothin' special. Why, have ya got sumpthin' ya want to say?"

"Yep, as a matter of fact, we do. We just got a letter from the railroad sayin' that they're gonna start construction in early March an' they're gonna put in a station 'bout a mile from Hixville, next ta my property."

"Shit, Bill! That is good news! I'll spread the word and let everybody 'round here be happy. Does Sol know yet?"

"Naw, not yet. That's where we're goin', next."

"No need, Sol's comin' in the door right now. Shall I tell 'im, or do ya want ta?"

"Go ahead, Walt. It'll help yer reputation to be the source of the news, an' it might sell a little more beer."

Walt laughed and said, "Howdy, Sol. Heard the news?" as he winked at me.

"Howdy Walt, Bill, Sam. No news today. What do ya know that I should hear?"

Walt told the story as only a bartender could manage. There were embellishments that I couldn't even imagine, and it took over 15 minutes to tell the whole thing.

Sol said, "Well, shit, Bill! Why didn't ya tell me first, instead of me havin' ta hear it from this lazy, no-count barkeep?"

"The answer ta that question is easy. I just told Walt in about 2 minutes what he told ya in over 15. Now, wasn't his story a hell of a lot better than mine could of been?"

"OK, Bill. Ya're right 'bout that. I guess I ain't mad at ya, after all. Anyway, congratulations for fallin' in the cesspool an' comin' out smellin' like a rose, again."

We all laughed and talked for a while and I bought a round of beers. Even Walt joined in on the celebratory liquid refreshment. Sometime later, we walked out to the street in time to see a couple of yahoos riding fast up the street and shooting off their pistols.

Sol held up his hand for them to stop, which they did. "What's the cause of all the excitement, boys? Ya look like ya just found gold, or sumpthin'!"

"We did, Marshal! We wuz camped back in the hills west of here at a little stream an' while I wuz rinchin' out the coffee pot, I spied sumpthin' yeller in the water. Damned if it wuzn't this here gold nugget. It must be worth a couple hundred dollars!"

Sol looked at the yellow metallic rock that the cowboy held and said, "Mind ifen I run a little test on it? I'd like ta see how pure it is."

The cowboy handed the nugget to Sol, and Sol drew his bowie knife and tapped the back of the blade hard on the rock. There was a flash of sparks and Sol said, "I shore hate ta be the one to tell ya this, but that ain't gold. It's iron pyrites, what some folks call 'fool's gold.' 'Bout the only thin' it's good fer is ta make sparks ta start a fire."

"Ah, shit, Marshal! Ya ain't funnin' me, are ya?"

"No, 'fraid not. 'Bout the only other thin' it's good fer is funnin' some poor soul. Give it to somebody an' let 'im think that ya jus' gave away a gold nugget. Then ya strike it with steel an' watch the sparks fly. Ya'll either git a laugh or a bullet fer yer trouble!" Sol grinned at his own joke and handed the rock back to the cowboy.

"Well, shit, Marshal. It was fun while it lasted! I'm obliged ta ya fer keepin' me from looking like a fool any more than I already have."

"Don't fret 'bout it, son. That sort of thin' happens ta everybody some time or other."

The cowboys rode away, much less excited than when they had ridden up.

I said, "Sol, I'm much obliged ta ya, too. I think that was the Circle JB he was talking 'bout, an' all we need is a bunch of yahoos runnin' aroun' trying to find gold! Gold prospectors kin shore leave a place in a mess!"

We bid each other goodbye, and Sam and I rode back to the ranch.

Things sure had been quiet the last couple of months, and I began to wonder if I could justify keeping 10 deputies on the payroll. I thought that I had better take a ride around the county and see for myself what was or wasn't going on. I made the necessary arrangements and left one morning to ride around the county.

I figured to head to Lomax first, since it had been the longest since I had been there. I pulled into town and went to find Athro Godding. I asked at the first saloon I came to and was directed to his home. It seemed he kept an office there. I could hardly find fault with that, so I went around to see him in my official position as his boss.

Mrs. Gooding greeted me at the door and said that Godding was out on a case. She asked me to come in and wait in the sitting room. She thought that Gooding would be back within an hour. He showed up just as the hour was running out. When he came in and we had engaged in the usual small talk for a while, I asked him what case was he working on.

He and I both laughed as he described the situation. This was a crazy one. Two ranchers were accusing each other of stealing cattle from each other. These two had been enemies since they had come to NMT nearly 30 years ago and were constantly looking for ways to get the other's goat. So far, it had not gone farther than verbal sniping at each other, and Gooding was working to keep it that way.

The problem was that both men really were losing cattle to rustlers, but each was so sure that the other one was the guilty party, that they weren't much help in finding the real rustlers. He was just back from checking out a complaint from Jacob Huntley that he had lost 36 steers the night before, and he was certain that his neighbor Harley Sampson had stolen them.