Chapter 9: The Ranch

Clint’s first stop was the mercantile once more. He stood over in the corner by chance, away from the exit, but also across the store from the clerk. He was looking at a clothing rack with shirts when a pair of men entered. Clint looked at them and instantly got an uneasy feeling in the pit of his gut. He made his way around the shelving, keeping a wary eye on the two. They had stepped up to the sales counter and started a disturbance. Clint decided it was time to interfere.

He stopped a young boy from entering the store.

“Hey, Tommy, over here,” he whispered with his finger to his lips, making the universal shushing signal. “Go run for the Sheriff. There will be trouble here soon. Be quick and there’ll be two bits for you when you get back.”

The lad took off at a gallop. The men at the counter were ignorant of that action. Clint moved to position himself so that he’d have a good line of sight for each gunman without endangering Mr. Jorgensen, who was behind the counter.

The bigger one was dressed like a Mexican Vaquero, including black vest, red tie, and large colorful sombrero. He was tall and lean, and exhibited a long purple scar across the left side of his face, extending from above his ear to his jaw. The other guy was medium height and build, and was wearing an ornate double gun rig. The guns were pearl handled and looked new. They were a contrast to his clothing which were shabby. Clint doubted that he was the original owner of such fine equipment.

Mr. Scarface brought things to a head with a feigned indignation at a perceived slight by Jorgensen. “You are a blight on this town, Senor. You overcharge for your goods so that a poor working man like myself cannot afford to shop for food here.”

He backed up two steps from the counter and invited Jorgensen to back his words up with lead. “You are a weasel of a man, cheating one and all. You should take your ugly face away from here so that you would not cheat the decent citizens of this fair town.”

“I will do no such thing,” the indignant Jorgenson replied. “Why I’ve always been fair to all my customers. I even grant credit to the widows and orphans in town. And I never...” Jorgenson didn’t get the chance to finish.

The Mexican interrupted him. “You mangy cur. Leave town or draw.”

His partner pulled his gun from its holster as this scene unfolded, but held it hidden by his side. Clint situated himself where he found a clear view the men. He did the mental calculation and knew something was rotten in Denmark. He drew his guns without a sound and crept forward in response. Jorgensen was not a gunfighter and never carried a gun.

The shopkeeper’s pacifism angered the Vaquero more, and he tired from waiting. As the Mexican began his draw, Clint swung into action.

The bandit brought his gun up. Blam! Clint’s gun exploded.

Clint shot the old revolver out of the man’s hand, ruining the Vaquero’s fingers at the same time. Clint stepped forward and pushed the barrel of his other gun into the side of the accomplice.

“It’ll be a lot healthier for you if you relax and stand down. You should drop your gun now, too.”

The other man froze and dropped his revolver as Clint had ordered.

Smiley Roberts came running into the store right on cue. He had brought several deputized men to help.

“Looks like you’ve been busy again, young fella. I see you captured Scarface and Will Smith. They want these guys for their dastardly deeds in seven states and Mexico. They get seldom worse than these two.”

The Deputies dragged both would be robbers off while Smiley listened to the account of what happened as told by Jorgensen and Clint.

Sheriff Roberts told Clint that he’d check the wanted posters back at the office, but Scarface was one outlaw he recognized.

Clint said, “I’m glad that I could be of help. I’ll come by later to hit you up for the reward slip and the guns.”

There were two sweat covered horses tied to the rail outside the store.

“Them two galoots done rode in on them two horses,” Mr. Miller from the feed store testified.

“Tommy,” Clint called, “Take these two down to Mr. Akin at the stable. Here’s the two bits I promised for your trouble.”

Clint paid the boy the promised two bits and gave him another as a tip for immediately taking them down to the stables. The boy was pleased.

Clint purchased a few items from his list, including more ammunition for the Colt. He had to order in shells for the 45-110 Sharps. Most people around there didn’t use that caliber. Closest to it was the 45-70 Government cartridge used in the smaller Sharps Carbine and the Army’s Gatling gun which no one never, ever mistook for a rifle.

His next task was to find the office of Chester A. Oonk, Attorney at Law. Clint decided that he needed a good barrister with the assets they had discovered. Smiley had recommended the man, stating that he was honest as the day was long ... in the middle of summer. That was a high recommendation in this day.

Clint stated his purpose after being introduced to Lawyer Oonk by the man’s assistant.

“I need you to prepare an irrevocable trust for me. Please note in it that all my assets, now owned or gained at some future date, are to be part of that trust. List myself and my wife, Jane, named as executors of that trust. Is that something you can do?”

“It would be my pleasure to assist you, Mr. Robertson.” Attorney Oonk replied. “I see that you are privy to legal precedent. I perceive that you want to shelter your property and give your wife control of that property if something untoward happens to you. You’ve come up with the perfect solution since women do not have a legal standing on owning property here in Kansas, but may be executors of trusts according to federal law.”

Clint smiled at the attorney’s response. In reality, Clint did not understand about current law. His parents possessed a similar trust for their estate in uptime. ‘Lucky me,’ he thought to himself.

Clint also ordered a will and power of attorney documents that would make Janie able to control or own any property they might now have or gain later. Who knows what the future held for them? It would also allow her to function in his name if he became incapacitated and unable to act on his own behalf.

“It should take about a week for us to get all the paperwork complete and ready for signatures.” Chet informed Clint that they should meet again to sign papers one week from today, and then get it recorded over at Smithville, the county seat six miles east of here. Satisfied, Clint shook hands with his lawyer, and was just about to leave when he turned back with a question.

“Where would I go to determine the validity of a Spanish Land Grant document?” he asked the lawyer.

“Easy, go to the Registrar of Deeds at the County courthouse. They have used him in that position for the last fifty years and he can tell you more about deeds than anyone in the state. He spent thirty years in the state land office in Topeka. If he doesn’t know, no one will.” Chester replied. “Six miles due east of here. His office is next to the County courthouse.”

The task took Clint a little longer than he’d planned. He unlocked the door to the suite and stepped inside around three in the afternoon. He floundered on the floor, covered in a blanket, the next minute. Blows rained down on his body. He assumed that the assailant was probably female by the weight placed on his back. He gathered his legs and arms together at his center of mass, and pushed off with an upward thrust. The weight and blanket went flying. Laughter filled his ears.

He swung around and captured his bride in a bear hug. She tickled him. He wasn’t ticklish, unfortunately, but it was a good attempt. Janie was very ticklish! Clint got her down on the rug and tickled her to the point of exhaustion.

“Quit!” she gasped. “I surrender, Husband. Please. I’m about to pee...”

Clint let her up. She threw her arms around the neck of her beloved and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Their tongues battled for supremacy. It was a draw. Clint’s hand drew up her back, caressing the supple strength of her muscles. They renewed their kissing for a while and naturally tapered off.

“I missed you,” she admitted, flirting with him. “Where did you go?”

“Well, that’s complicated. Let’s get off this hard floor, sit on the sofa, and I’ll tell you everything. It’s sort of like a surprise wedding present, anyway.”

The couple made themselves comfortable. Clint sat in the corner of the sofa and Janie sat up against him, her back resting against his chest. His arms encircled her torso, a hand resting on her belly while she reached back with one arm and stroked her hand through his hair.

“I think it’s a given that we will be here for a long time, soo...” Clint began, “I’ve taken steps to secure our lives and those of our future children.”

A little shiver of pleasure pulsed through Janie as his words. He had just gotten Janie’s full attention. She smiled to herself and snuggled in a little more. Her free hand wandered over his leg, softly stroking it.

Clint continued, “For that reason, I paid a visit to the County Registrar of Deeds. I spent several hours there as he showed me what was available. It was an interesting couple of hours. I found what I was looking for after an exhausting search. I had to take another ride to examine what we were discussing.”

“I returned to the deed office when I finished with that, and checked his records once more. I wanted to make sure that everything was in order and secured first, so I took part of the money we’d earned and paid the Registrar what I owed. He gave me this once everything got signed and dated.”

Clint handed a folio similar to the Land Grant folio to her. Janie took it with trembling hands. She was certain of the contents, but not exactly relative to the how much and the where. She opened it with extreme care and, yes, it was another deed. It was old, older than the town itself. It was another Spanish Land Grant. The King had given it to a minor official this time. The area was small by comparison to the other they held, but Clint considered this a prime piece of real estate. It included all the land west of the town, almost to the township line.

“The most recent property owner had fallen on hard times through mismanagement of his assets and the County had foreclosed on the land for taxes. Mr. Wilson, the previous owner, had become a drunk.” Clint related. “He committed suicide by getting eaten by the indigenous animal population.”

“The property deed had languished in the bowels of the County offices until I unearthed it. Counties allow the Registrar to sell the deed for any amount at his discretion. Now the Registrar of Deeds, Mr. Bob Bowen, cheated by Banker Barnes before, had been in town on County business when we made Barnes look like a fool. He seemed obliged to do me a favor.”