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  What was more, there was a further indication that the intentions of the newcomer were far from innocent!

  Tallish, lean, and clad in old, well worn clothing of cowhand style, his twin holstered gunbelt carrying the walnut handled mate to the Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker he was holding, the intruder had covered his head by a hood made from a flour sack with holes for the eyes cut in it!

  Finding himself observed by the occupant of the room, the newcomer gave vent to a muffled profanity and, with closer to a jerk than a smoothly flowing swing, brought forward the Colt until its barrel reached waist level and aligned instinctively. On arriving there, a snatch at the trigger released the hammer. Freed from restrain, it snapped forward to play its part in the firing process.

  Chapter 10

  YOU DIDN’T DO THE “GOODNIGHTING”

  TWO THINGS SAVED THE LIFE OF JEDROE FRANKS AS the Colt Civilian Peacemaker was fired at him!

  The method employed by the masked intruder, also the skill displayed, was not conducive to great accuracy!

  Furthermore, the young man responded to the threat with commendable rapidity!

  Rising in a twisting motion which sent the chair skidding away, Franks flung himself across the room in a plunging dive. He moved so quickly that, although the margin was only small, he evaded the bullet which was directed at him. What was more, before he alighted on hands and knees, he had contrived to slip on the spectacles picked up when hearing the door being opened. Making no attempt to rise, he scuttled across the floor on all fours toward the bed. Not only was he seeking shelter behind it, he wanted to retrieve the Colt Storekeeper Model Peacemaker from the spring retention shoulder holster he had hung on the back of a chair by its head.

  Twice more the revolver bellowed before the young man reached the bed, but the intruder was no more fortunate than on the first attempt to shoot him. Hearing the lead striking the floor close behind him, it gave an added inducement to rapid movement. Then, seeing the thickness of the mattress and hanging covers alongside him, he prepared to arm himself. Indicative of his cool assessment of the situation in the face of considerable danger, he was too wise to rise and present a target. Instead, tipping over the chair with his left hand, he grabbed the butt of the short barrelled revolver in his right. As he was doing so, he heard indications that the intruder was moving.

  Looking under the bed, Franks discovered that the hooded visitor had turned and was leaving the room. Not merely departing, however, but closing the door in passing. Wrenching the Colt from the spring clips of the holster, he rose swiftly with the intention of following. However, common sense overcame the desire induced by anger to dash out recklessly in an attempt to obtain revenge for the attempt upon his life, instead, he behaved in a manner so sensible it would have met the approval of an experienced Western peace officer and gun fighter.

  On reaching the door, Franks stood to the side and eased it open. As he was doing so, he ascertained how the intruder had gained admittance. Although he had not heard it land, his key had been shoved out of the hole from the other side. In its place, he noticed, was another he suspected to be one of the “masters” by which employees of the hotel were granted access to any room.

  No shots were fired as the door opened!

  Wasting no time in wondering how the intruder had come into possession of the master key, Franks peered cautiously from his room!

  The hooded visitor had not waited to deal with any pursuit which was attempted!

  Having run along the corridor immediately on leaving, the intruder was already on the point of quitting the hotel. As was generally the case in such establishments, ropes were supplied by the windows on the upper floor to serve as escapes in case of fire. Clearly having made preparations for a hurried departure, he was already seated across the sill of the open window at the end—which overlooked the alley separating the building from its neighbor—and on the point of returning the Colt to its holster so he could grasp the rope.

  “Halt!” Franks yelled, stepping from the room and adopting the sideways to the objective, arms’ length and shoulder height stance of a target shooter or a duellist.

  Once again the intruder fired!

  Ignoring the bullet which hissed by to break the window at the other end of the corridor, the young man responded in kind!

  Although he came close to making a hit, Franks’ accuracy was no greater than that of his attacker!

  For all that, the young man had no cause to feel he had failed in his purpose!

  Startled by the lead striking the frame of the window above his head, to sent splinters of wood pattering on to the flour sack hood, the intruder jerked backward involuntarily. Releasing the Peacemaker as he felt himself losing his balance, he was only partly successful in the use to which he put the liberated hand. While he prevented himself from toppling headlong into the alley, he slipped over the sill and dropped feet first to the ground.

  “Agh!” Franks heard yelled by a voice filled with pain, in echo to something heavy landing in the alley below the window. “M—My leg! I’ve broken my leg, J—!”

  The deep boom of a shotgun brought the words to an immediate halt!

  Already running toward the window when the shouting commenced, the young man looked out. His gaze went first to where the intruder was sprawled supine, arms and legs extended in the haphazard way only death could achieve. Having done so, he looked next in the direction from which the shotgun had been fired. Even without noticing the faint glint reflected upon a badge of office, he would have identified the approaching figure as Deputy Sheriff Jackson Martin. However, at the sight of the shotgun’s barrels being elevated toward his position, he pulled back his head without offering to announce who he was and his reason for being there.

  The precaution proved advisable!

  Giving another deep cough, the shotgun emitted its second charge of nine .32 caliber buckshot balls!

  If Franks had remained peering out of the window, at least one of the released load would have hit him!

  Footsteps were pounding up the stairs!

  Turning, the young man was relieved by the sight of Major Bertram Mosehan leading those of the hotel employees and occupants of the bar room coming, guns in hand, to investigate the shooting!

  “What’s happening?” Mosehan inquired.

  “A masked man broke into my room and started shooting when he found me there,” Franks replied, wondering if he should tell of his suspicions regarding the reason for the visit. Deciding against doing so, he lowered the hammer and tucked the Storekeeper into his waist band. “He fell out of the window when I fired at him, then Deputy Martin shot him in the alley.”

  “It looks like he tried to hit him up here,” the major commented, gazing at the furrow carved in the side of the window frame by the buckshot ball.

  “That was aimed at me,” Franks corrected.

  “At you?” Mosehan repeated.

  “He must have thought I was another intruder.” the young man stated.

  This was the explanation offered by Martin when Franks and the major went into the alley. The deputy was standing with William “Fast Billy” Cromaty and Peter Glendon, who had gone through the front entrance of the Pima County Hotel instead of accompanying Mosehan upstairs.

  “Who is he?” Franks inquired, seeing the body had not been touched.

  “Well I’ll be damned!” Glendon ejaculated, staring at the face which he had revealed by removing the extemporized hood. “It’s your bunkie, Martin!”

  “Good god, so it is!” the peace officer admitted, also looking at the agony distorted features of Deputy Sheriff Alfred “Leftie Alf” Dubs. Making a gesture of annoyance, he continued, “I wondered why he asked me to stand his watch tonight. If I’d have realized—!”

  “If you’d realized what?” Mosehan asked, as the words trailed away.

  “I knew he was furious about the way this du—Mr. Franks had rough-handled and humiliated him,” Martin explained. “But I never thought he would c
arry it to such extremes as to go to his room and try to kill him!”

  “Well, yes sir,” the man who had introduced himself as “Honest David Warburton” boomed, with either real or well assumed joviality. “I don’t mind admitting that bull there isn’t what you’d call yearling stock, which’s why we’re willing to let him go so reasonable priced. Isn’t it, boys?”

  “It sure is, Brother Dave,” confirmed the member of the trio who had been presented by the speaker as, “Brother Matthew,” and “Brother Luke” gave a similar concurrence in a voice just as indicative of coming from the Pacific Northwest coast country.

  Studying the three men, Herbert Gilpin felt vaguely uneasy!

  At five foot seven, with a stocky build suggestive of corpulence, there was now something oily and unctuous about the features of the eldest Warburton. Despite wearing the kind of clothing typical of a working cowhand, his sun-reddened features and bearing were reminiscent of a carnival “talented talker” seeking to persuade the passing “marks” they would receive good value for their money if they paid to enter his “ten-in-one.”1

  For all that, “Honest David” was far more prepossessing than the men he claimed to be his siblings.

  While they were related, by the same father but different mothers, there was little family resemblance between the eldest and two younger Warburtons. Both were tall, gangling, lanky, unshaven and with hard features. They too were dressed like cowhands. However, while the elder’s was equally worn, his garments showed signs of attention. Those they had on were dirty in the way of wearers who cared little for their personal appearance. An even more important difference set him apart from them. Each had a Colt Peacemaker in the tied-down holster of his gunbelt, but Honest David showed no sign of being armed.

  Attracted by glowing accounts of the booming cattle industry in the West, Gilpin had sold his prosperous farm in New Hampshire and moved to Arizona Territory to try to accrue one of the vast fortunes he had frequently heard were being made. On his arrival, he had soon discovered the stories were greatly exaggerated. However, having studied the situation with care, he had concluded there was a possibility of making a better profit than was possible from the property he had left in the East. When selling him a small ranch on Burro Creek near Bagdad in Yavapai County, the previous owner had admitted frankly it required more stock. He had also suggested this could be obtained at the forthcoming sale of livestock to be held in Marana.

  Travelling to the town ready for the appointed day, Gilpin had found his informant had been correct about the number of cattle and horses in particular which were available. What had not been taken into account was that the affair was, as a later generation would term such a situation, a “seller’s market.” In other words, so many potential purchasers were present, prices tended to be reflected in their willingness to buy.

  Visiting the bar room of the Pima County Hotel where he was staying, with the intention of seeking solace for his disappointment, the rancher had been drawn into a conversation by Honest David. He had found nothing out of the ordinary, nor even unexpected, in the topic they had embarked upon. All around, men were discussing the prices being asked and paid for the livestock on offer. Even the three fatal shootings of the previous day, which would otherwise have been the main item of attention, were disregarded under the circumstances.

  Learning that Gilpin had been unsuccessful in obtaining any stock, Honest David had offered a solution. He and his brothers, he had said, had speculated their wages on the purchase of a bull and twenty cows. As had been their intention in coming to Marana, they would be willing to part with the herd if made a reasonable offer. After the display of a bill of sale to establish legitimate ownership and the right to sell, the two men had indulged in a brief session of haggling. Soon, with the proviso that the sale would only take place if the animals met with the approval of the buyer, a price had been agreed upon. It was somewhat higher than Gilpin had intended paying, although just within his means, but less than any other figure he had been quoted.

  On being told that the herd was being held in an area some distance from where the main sales were taking place, Gilpin had started to feel suspicious. However, saying frankly that he anticipated such an emotion even though it had not been expressed, Honest David had explained why the animals were not closer. His half-brothers could not be trusted to show restraint if able to obtain hard liquor and, furthermore, enemies they had made as a result of a drunken fracas were present. Wanting to avoid trouble, he had considered it advisable to keep them clear of temptation.

  As evidence of his good will, on learning the rancher’s two hands had disappeared on a spree earlier, the stocky man had offered to help bring in the cattle if they were acceptable. He had also suggested Gilpin placed all his money in the safe at the hotel before leaving to conduct the examination. When the rancher had said this was unnecessary, the red faced speculator had insisted he took the precaution. Then, as a further indication of his honorable intentions, Honest David had been adamant that Gilpin used the spare saddled horse he had with him. In this way, he had pointed out with disarming joviality, the rancher had nothing to lose by accompanying him.

  During the whole of the something over two miles needed to reach their destination, the speculator had entertained the rancher with amusing anecdotes about various well known figures in the Territory. He had made himself so pleasant, Gilpin had experienced no qualms over the distance they were covering. Nor did the rancher have any fears for his safety when, having seen no other human beings for some time, they had passed through a clump of dense and extensive woodland to where the cattle were grazing on the banks of a stream in a clearing. Despite having had the two men who were present introduced as “Brother Matthew” and “Brother Luke,” he was not impressed by them. Looking at their surly faces, he could more readily accept the reason he had been given for the need to hold the animals so far from Marana. He could envisage each as a drunken rowdy of the kind likely to have made enemies eager to take revenge. For all that, as he had not brought any money or even his own horse and saddle with him, he took comfort from the realization that he had nothing worth stealing.

  Clearly, regardless of the unsavory appearance presented by the younger Warburtons, the cattle had been made ready for the arrival of a potential buyer. They were of a kind Gilpin had seen in plenty since coming west of the Mississippi River. Resulting from generally inadvertant crosses between the longhorn variety—the use of which had paved the way for Texas to make an economic recovery after the consequences of supporting the Confederate States in the War of Secession2—and whitefaced Herefords brought in to replace them, such crosses possessed the good qualities of each parent. One of the traits acquired was to make them more tractable than the half wild, free ranging longhorns; specimens of which would have been exceptional hard to subject to the treatment accorded to the animals in the clearing. To render an examination easier, the fore and hind legs of each was secured by hobbles. As added security, the bull was fastened by a lariat around its neck to a sturdy bush.

  Even without going close, Gilpin had seen that all the cattle were in good physical condition. However, while the cows were all young enough to meet with his approval, even a casual glance established the bull was of a much greater age.

  Noticing the prospective buyer was looking with less than enthusiasm at the male animal, Honest David had made his comment and been supported by his half-brothers.

  “I’ll say it isn’t a yearling,” Gilpin replied, showing no sign of being impressed by the remarks. “And he hasn’t been one for a long time. Damn it, Mr. Warburton, I told you I wanted a bull for breeding.”

  “This one’s still good for that,” Honest David asserted. “And, seeing’s how it’s been ‘goodnighted,’ it’ll keep on being able to for some time to come.”

  “‘Goodnighted,’ huh?” the rancher said, trying to prevent himself showing he was interested as he was aware what was implied by the term.

  Discovered by
the famous rancher and trail boss, Colonel Charles Goodnight,3 the technique to which the men referred was a means to increase the period of sexual usefulness of a bull. The operation was performed by pushing the “seeds” of the testicles up against the belly and cutting off the entire unoccupied bag. With this done, the edges of the wound were sewed together, generally with strands unravelled from a piece of grass rope.

  “It sure is,” Honest David confirmed, waving a hand toward the secured animal. “You take a look. I did it so recent, the stitches are still in the cut.”

  “They’re there, for sure,” a voice with a Texas accent put in. “But you didn’t do the ‘goodnighting’!”

  Startled exclamations burst from all the brothers as they and Gilpin looked in the direction from which the words were spoken. Although the younger pair started to reach toward the butts of their holstered Colts, Honest David gave a hurried order to, “Leave ’em be!” Unlike Matthew and Luke, or at least even more quickly, he had realized that—young though each undoubtedly was—the two Texas cowhands strolling in what appeared to be a leisurely fashion and empty handed from among the trees fringing the clearing were men with whom it would be extremely unwise to take chances.

  “And just what’s that supposed to mean?” the stocky man demanded, although he could have made a pretty accurate guess at what was portended by the remark.

  “Like I said,” Waco answered. “That old bull’s been ‘goodnighted’ right recent, only you didn’t do it.”