Episode 45

No Backing Down

As the townspeople, awakened by the havoc of the stampede, began to pick up the pieces and the bodies left in the wake of the catastrophe, Joe Wiley gathered his deputies together. Ben Temple stood with them.

Joe Wiley surveyed the damage and carnage. He ground his teeth. He spied one cow that ended up trampled by its fellow cattle and walked over to it. He hunched down and took a close look at its brand. He stood and walked back to his deputies and mentor with eyes cold as the grave.

“This was no accident. That steer is from Twisted Tree. My wager is that all of them are.”

“Holy hell,” Len Dugan said, and his brother Seth whistled low in response.

“I don’t suppose I’ll waste my breath again and suggest that we leave now,” Ben Temple said as much to himself as to Joe Wiley. It was just as well since Joe ignored him.

“They’ll likely still be at the stockyards. You two swing around the other side of the station house and meet me there,” Joe ordered.

Joe walked on a direct course to the stockyards, across the tracks to the stock pens. Cowboys lounged about leaning on posts and roosting on rails. There were six drovers from the Twisted Tree, but they weren’t alone. A group of cowpokes from the Three Rivers was there as well. Hector Nostrand was in company with them. The boss man was wearing a tailored suit of fawn colored whipcord under his broad-brimmed Stetson. He looked like a picture postcard character.

“I mean to take these men to jail, and I won’t brook any interference,” Joe announced.

“And you are taking them to jail for what cause, marshal?” Nostrand asked. He stepped before the gang of drovers.

“Yeah. We ain’t done shit,” said one of the accused. A man called Billy Caruthers. His fellows chimed in with their own protestations.

Joe bristled at their brass. They thought they had numbers on him. It gave them courage a mile wide and an inch deep.

“That stampede was no accident. It was deliberate and I believe these six men set it in motion.” His gesture took in Caruthers and the other Twisted Tree men.

“Myself and my men can assure you that it was a terrible accident. And I will do my part to aid the community of Mercury Wells to deal with this unforeseen tragedy,” Nostrand said. His manner was imperious. He fully expected Joe to back down.

Joe shook his head.

“This has gone beyond you and your fat wallet, mister. If what you say is true, then it will come out in the trial. But I know what’s true and I mean to see these men hang for the murder of those sisters and other poor souls in town.”

“You have no proof,” Nostrand said, taking another step to place himself square between Joe and the Twisted Tree crew. Homer Gibbs stepped away from the fence to back his boss’s play.

“I have a damn sight enough proof to make an arrest. I have the brands on the cattle. And I’m betting I’ll find rails down on the pens with nary a hoof mark on them. You’d best step clear or I’ll run you in too,” Joe said. His left hand rested easy at his side, fingers relaxed just below his holstered Colt.

“You can try, marshal,” Nostrand said. He broke into an open smile at the sound of spurs and creak of leather telling him he had an armed company behind him to give his words menace.

“Seth. Len. Move ’em along,” Joe said, eyes outside the half circle of armed men.

The Dugans came along the tracks, shotguns directed at the clutch of drovers turning to regard them.

“You heard the man,” Seth said, standing firm, the double barrels unwavering at his hip.

“No sudden moves,” Len said.

“You are making a very serious mistake, Wiley. If I am against you, the Three Rivers is against you. That means the town is against you. Railroad too,” Nostrand said, face reddening.

“The law and God, Nostrand. It’s all I’ve ever really had at my back,” Joe said as he backed up, hands easy at his sides.

The six Twisted Tree hands were cut from the group. The surrendered their weapons to Joe under the vigilant eye of the Dugans. They marched to the jailhouse in a procession watched by half the population. Joe led the way, his back to the men and arms loaded with their gun belts. The Dugans brought up the rear, scatter guns leveled at the six prisoners.

When they reached the jail house, they saw that the front had been written on with whitewash paint. Emblazoned across the front was the simple epitaph: KILLERS

“Well look at that,” Billy Caruthers said with a chuckle. “Seems like there is some disagreement as to who are the killers and who ain’t.”

“Shut up.” Seth drove the butt of his shotgun into the man’s side. Carruthers dropped, sucking air.

Joe stepped onto the boardwalk before the jailhouse. The severed head of a steer lay propped against the door. Silver-backed flies swarmed over the hide and gathered in the corners of its dead eyes.

He then noticed several townsfolk standing around watching silently. Knowing they must have seen who performed the vandalism, he spoke up.

“Anyone see who done this?” he asked. The silence remained.

“I didn’t think so,” he said with disdain and kicked the head into the street before leading his prisoners inside.