Chapter 8: "Rustlers and crooked agents"

I went down to the loading pen right behind the agent as he left to inspect the cattle he was buying. Yep, them cattle were Bar J Bar all right, and I had no notice that ranch was shipping cattle yet this season. I walked up to the two men when they started talking, and I said, "Pardon me, Gentlemen, but I need to speak to both of you on a very important matter. I have been hired by Mr. Johnson to look into any sale of cattle branded with the Bar J Bar brand. He has been hit by rustlers several times, and he has hired me to do something about it."

The cowboy said, "Hey, hold on a minute! I ain't no rustler!"

The agent said, "Mister, you have to be mistaken about these being rustled cattle! I have seen the bill of sale for the cattle signed by Mr. Jimmy Johnson."

I said, "Okay, it is possible that I have made a mistake. If you will show me the bill of sale and let me check it out, we can settle this right away. If I am wrong, I will apologize to both of you and ask your pardon for my suspicion."

The agent opened his coat to reach under it, but he had little chance to do anything before the cowboy tried to draw his pistol. As usual, he carried his weapon in a holster tied to his thigh, and I had no trouble beating him to the draw. I put a bullet into his chest just as the agent pulled a derringer from under his coat.

A derringer may be a tiny gun, but it is nothing to fool with. The original derringer was a .51 caliber cap and ball weapon, but most had been converted to shoot the new .410 shotgun shell loaded with three #00 buckshot balls. It was no good beyond 10-15 feet, but it was a killer up close. Luckily for me, I was able to get my Starr DA swung around and pointed at the agent's belly in time to fire before he did. The derringer was single-action, and it could no compete with my double-action Starr.

People had started to run in our direction just after the first shot was fired. The fact that I was the only one who had gotten off any bullets was telling, but not necessarily in my favor. Several people demanded to know what was going on, and I told them that I was employed by a Cattleman's Association to try to stop the rustling that was running rampant in that there section of the county. I had just finished my explanation when the marshal of Hips Junction showed up.

I repeated my story and showed him my papers stating that I was, indeed, an employee of the Cattleman's Association. I also asked him to compare the signature on the bill of sale with the authentic one that I was carrying. He did, and he said that he could see that the signatures were not the same with half a glance. The marshal ruled that the killings were justified and he asked for four-bits to pay the undertaker.

I gave him the 50¢, but I demanded the right to anything valuable that either man was carrying. The marshal agreed that I was justified in that, so I picked up $340 from the moneybelt of the agent and $4 from the cowboy. There was nothing else that either man had that I wanted, so I left the rest to be taken by the marshal and the undertaker. I also warned the marshal that there could be more killings in town if the other rustlers tried to get revenge for my shooting of their friend.

One of the papers I had made me the selling agent for the seven members of the Cattleman's Association. I went back to the middle of town to find a buyer for the Bar J Bar cattle that looked like prime stock to me. I sold the cattle for a reasonable price and pocketed the 10% that I was allowed as the sales agent. Mr. Johnson still made a nice profit on the cattle, especially since he had none of the expenses of driving them to market.

The next day was quiet, but the following evening I was sitting in a saloon having a bottle of Mexican beer when four men walked in. Uh-oh, this looked like trouble when one of the men talked to the bartender. That worthy pointed me out, and the four men started walking toward me. A quick glance told me that they had all flipped the retainer from their guns, so they were expecting to use them very damned soon.

I set my beer down on a chair next to me and advised a saloon whore I had been talking to to get away before she got hurt. I did not have to argue with her; that woman was smarter than most people gave her credit for! She did reach over and grab my beer before she scooted, though. I stood up and waited for the ruckus to start.

The man who had talked to the bartender did not say a word. He got to about 10 feet away from me and went for his gun. The poor fool did not know of the speed advantage I had, so he was dead before his gun cleared the holster. The other three men were expecting something else, so they did not try to draw until I had fired.

Unfortunately, they could not change their minds in time and followed through on the command to draw that their brain had sent to their body. I had expected this, so I fired one shot at the man on my right as I dodged to my left. The other two men were using the Colts that many men had and were just not able to keep up with me.

I had been practicing dodging and shooting, so I was a lot more accurate than I had been when I faced the Maddox brothers. My second shot hit the middle man of the three low on his breastbone and put him out of action, even though he was not yet dead.

I was not so lucky with the third man. He got off a shot at me that clipped me on my left side just below my holster. The bullet dug into me but ricocheted off a rib which it broke and exited before it did any more damage. Him I managed to shoot in the chest just to the left of his breastbone and must of punctured his heart. Anyway, he fell dead, and now I had time to finish off enemy number three with a head shot. I paused to swap cylinders before going any further.

I was busy looting the bodies of the four dead men when the marshal came in. Somebody had called him, and he was making a routine visit to the scene of a saloon fight. He was kind of surprised to see four dead men and me bleeding from a wound in my side.

All of the four men were strangers in town, so the marshal and I figured that they must of been a part of the rustler gang. We did not worry about the rest of them because they had undoubtedly scattered to safer locations. The marshal did recommend a doctor who could clean and sew up my wound, so I thanked him and went to find the doctor.

Luckily for me, the doctor was sober enough to do an adequate job of cleaning and sewing my wound closed. He also applied a tight bandage around my chest so that the broken rib did not hurt so much when I moved. He told me to go easy on my twisting movements until the rib had time to heal, which he thought would be in the neighborhood of three or four weeks. I paid him $2, more for being sober than for being such a good doctor, but he was happy.

I sent a letter to Mr. Hopkins detailing what I had done so far and asking what I should do with the money for Mr. Johnson. His answer was for me to deposit Mr. Johnson's money in a local bank under Mr. Johnson's name, but to start an account in my own name. I should take out my expenses from Mr. Johnson's money and my wages so far. The Cattleman's Association would settle up among themselves once I had finished my assignment. That sounded plenty fair enough to me, so that was what I did. Of course, I was keeping an account of my expenses.

Things were quiet for eight more days before another batch of rustled cattle showed up. This was a herd from the Circle Heart ranch. These cattle were mostly scrubs what was a breeding mix of longhorns and Herefords. You never saw such a miserable looking bunch of cattle. Mr. Heart had been trying to get the good characteristics of the two breeds by mixing them, but he had not had much good luck so far.

The big surprise for me was that Jake Holbein was the man what came into Hips Junction looking for a buyer. Several agents turned him down, but he finally found a buyer. He never expected to get top dollar for them scrubs, but they were worth something. The demand for beef in the East had gotten so heavy that almost anything with two horns could be sold, so Jake knew that all he needed was a little patience, and he would find a buyer.