Authors: Cherie Shaw
Attorney Phillips was caught off guard, and frowned at
the intrusion. He was seated behind a well-polished large oak desk, and had
been in the middle of a serious discussion with none other than Jinx Holderman,
ramrod of the Triple-B.
Logan
spoke first,
“Been mistreatin’ any horses lately, Mr. Phillips?” He couldn’t resist riling
the man right off.
“You, is it?” Clayborne Phillips shoved back his
chair, and stood quickly. “Shouldn’t you be out on a range somewhere herding
cattle? Leave my office at once!” He shouted.
“I kinda’ like it here, looks mighty cozy with just
the two of you sittin’ here like this.” Logan drawled, as he moved further
into the room, to allow the rest of his group to enter.
Jinx Holderman sputtered, half rising from his chair,
then pointed at Logan, “What’s the meaning of this intrusion?” Then he noticed
Ricardo who had moved around to the side of Logan, “You……you two no longer work
for the Triple-B, so you have no business here.” He shouted, as he caught the
cigar that had been stuck in the side of his mouth, and had fallen out when he
spoke.
Logan
answered, “You
may as well sit back down, Holderman, because we’ve a bit of discussion here to
tend to, an’ it may take awhile. Wouldn’t want you to tire yourself half out
of that chair like you are.” While Logan spoke, he was casually resting his
right hand on the butt of the .45 Colt, which sat loosely in its holster. He
liked the old familiar feel of that six-gun, after eight long years, and now he
felt right at home again. Ricardo held his Winchester 17-shot repeater rifle
in his right hand, and Lord Beckford wore a smile as well as his holstered
colt.
Garth wore his large intimidating presence well, along
with the double-barreled shotgun he held.
“This is a private meeting.” Phillips blustered, his
voice a little shaky. “You’ll have to make an appointment.”
“We just cut ourselves in on this ‘private’ meetin’.”
Logan answered. “Just made ourselves an appointment too.”
“I’ll call the Marshal.” Holderman offered.
“Huh uh.” Logan retorted. “The Marshal happens to be
right busy at the moment, havin’ his coffee at the restaurant, an’ said to tell
you nice folks to not bother him for a few hours, that is unless some brave
fella gets himself into a squabble, then he’ll send the undertaker over.”
Holderman stuck the bent cigar back into the side of his
mouth, glaring.
Phillips was outnumbered, and knew it would do no good
to call for assistance. Most of the folks in town didn’t care much for him,
for some reason or other, besides; they probably would just crowd around to
watch the ‘show’. The odds were against him, and he didn’t care much for the
way that auburn-haired, bearded giant was eyeing him. He seemed to be an army
all in himself, and would be one tough opponent in battle. He didn’t like the
way the big man was handling that shotgun so carelessly either.
Phillips sat back down, and his manner was almost
laughable, as he tried to straighten his shoulders, and puff out his chest,
looking more like a banty rooster in a hen house, than a lawyer. His tone of
voice was pathetic when he spoke again. “Folks, this is a business office, and
I’m sure that any problem that you have, can be straightened out reasonably.”
Then he seemed to notice Lord Beckford for the first time, and now looking him
up and down, he said, “I don’t believe we have met, sir.”
Beckford stepped forward, and extended his hand across
the desk, “How do you do, old chap. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord
Claude Beckford, recently from England; you have been managing my property for
me for over ten years now, and I have come to view my holdings, and take possession
of the Triple-B. So I believe this so-called private meeting with my foreman
here, Mr. Holderman, does concern me in the fullest.”
Holderman half-arose from his chair again, “Now see
here….” He began. Logan walked over, and gently tapped him on the shoulder,
“Sit back down, Jinx. You’re up to your big ears in this thing, and you know
it.” He stated.
Phillips ignored Lord Beckford’s outstretched hand, as
he stuttered, “Why……why Lord Beckford. This is absurd, impossible! Why you
sold that ranch years ago to a Mr. Woody Perkins, who has been in possession
ever since. Perhaps you are forgetful, sir.”
“Do my monthly statements from you lie, Mr. Phillips,
doctored as they appear to be? They are on file in one of my offices, back in London. Perhaps you, yourself, are the forgetful one.” Then Beckford continued, “Oh, and
by the way, just a small matter has come to my attention.” And here he leaned
over the desk, “Not that I need the money, but every cent that ranch has earned
is part of my niece and nephew’s inheritance, and it doesn’t set well with me
when my family is cheated. Just where are all those bank drafts for the sale
of cattle that’s been driven to the rail yards, and sold to buyers. You will
give me an accounting for each head of cattle that has been sold in the last
ten years, or it will all be taken out of your hide, sir.” Lord Beckford
stepped back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Phillips
was worried, and the strain now showed on his face, as he tried to defend
himself, “It isn’t my fault them outlaws rustled stock. I can’t be responsible
for that.” Then he realized what he’d just said. “Well, anyway I don’t know
anything about any sale of cattle.”
“You mean you didn’t get your cut out of the money
made from each cattle drive?” Lord Beckford’s ire was up now that he faced
this attorney that he had trusted for so many years. The man was obviously
guilty.
“”Uncle Claude,” Garth broke in, “let’s get this over
with, and haul these two gents out to the ranch. Some of the town’s folks tell
me that a good way to hold trial is to find a good solid oak tree, and a good
sturdy rope, then they just hold a quick trial under that oak tree. Saves a
lot of time for the district judge, who hates to travel too much anyway, with
injuns prowling around and all.”
“Now see here.” Holderman growled. “I’ll have the
law on you.”
Garth scratched his head and said, “It seems the law’s
busy right now, with Marshal Rhodes having his coffee, then Sheriff Dayton had
to go sudden-like out of town for a few days, maybe a week. As I said before,
the marshal don’t want to be bothered for a few hours.”
“No, Garth.” Logan began seriously, “I think the marshal
said not to bother him for a few days, not hours. He’s working on a case right
now, that is, he will be after he has his coffee, and while he’s busy doing all
that, he also has volunteered to keep an eye on some of the ladies at the
hotel. Who knows how long their men will be out of town, and we all wouldn’t
want our womenfolk to be unprotected, now would we?”
Logan took off his black, flat-brimmed Stetson,
smoothed out the crown, then slapped it back onto his head of thick black wavy
hair, and said, “Let’s go fellas, we’ve got some ridin’ to do. Okay with you,
Claude?”
Back at the hotel, Olivia and Amelia had just seated
themselves in the restaurant, with Maria and Bridgett following. The waitress,
Dolly, walked over with a pot of tea in one hand, and the coffee pot in the
other. After setting down the teapot, she took out a letter from her apron
pocket, handing it to Olivia. “From your uncle, dearie.” She stated, then
walked over to a counter to pick up cups, saucers and spoons.
In a shadowed far corner of the room, his back to the
wall, sat Marshal Dayton Rhodes, drinking coffee from a flowered china cup.
The marshal liked his job, and it seemed to get more interesting as the years
flew by. He also liked his coffee, hot as Hades, black as ebony and strong
enough to melt leather. In fact his greatest joy in life was drinking a nice
cup of coffee in the town restaurant, and most folks knew that even the most
urgent business could wait until his two-hour coffee session was over. The
rest of the day he was hard at work, patrolling the area, then around four in
the afternoon, another two hours were spent with his booted feet on his
battered desk, in the town jail, taking a siesta, then dinner at the
restaurant, after which, he would spend the rest of the night watching the
saloons in town, ready to haul any disorderly drunks off to spend the night at
the expense of the town, at least long enough to sober up, then pay a small
fine the next morning.
It was a good town, and most of the inhabitants liked Marshal
Rhodes. Easy-going as he may appear, the ones who didn’t like him had soon
learned to at least accept him, otherwise the marshal’s bad side would come
‘out to play’. He’d been a lawman most of his forty-five years, the adult
years anyway, and didn’t know much of anything else, except maybe ranching,
that which he’d tried his hand at a time or two.
Now Sheriff Paul Denton, on the other hand, was a
no-nonsense lawman, and folks knew where they stood with him right from the
start. A tough man by all western standards, and only a fool would tangle with
him. A tall man, six-three in his stocking feet, and all two-hundred plus
pounds of him was solid muscle. Though as everyone else, even the Sheriff had
to have his time ‘away from it all’, so about once every month or so, Sheriff
Denton was suddenly called out of town for a few days, and no one would ask
questions as to where or what. Usually after three or four days, the Sheriff
would return looking rested, and with a whole string of fish for the cook at
the restaurant to fry up.
After a discussion with Lord Beckford that morning,
the Sheriff had suddenly been ‘called out of town for a few days’.
<><><>
Olivia opened the note from her uncle. “Well, I guess
we’re to be going to the ranch before long.” She stated. “Uncle Claude,
Garth, Ricardo, and um….Logan have left to reclaim the Triple-B.”
“Si,” Maria offered, “Ricardo has told this to me. He
said they may be gone overnight though. Not to worry if it is longer.”
“Yes, Uncle Claude said as much in the note. I just
hope no one is hurt.”
“Hurt, huh!” Amelia snapped, as she briskly stirred
her tea. “I’ve had a chance to size up that brother of yours, Olivia, and with
the strength of Ricardo, Claude, and that Logan fellow, I think Garth will be
the icing on the cake. That boy has put on nothing but muscle since leaving
Beckford Manor years ago. Yes, someone definitely may be hurt, but it surely
won’t be any of our men.”
“Our men?” Olivia mused aloud. “Yes, I believe you
are right Amelia, dear.”
“Yes, child. I’ve seen the way you look dreamy-eyed
at that chap Logan.”
Blushing, Olivia retorted, “I most certainly do not.
Talk about dreamy-eyed. I’ve seen the looks that have passed between you and
my uncle, for years now. And just when were you two planning on coming out in
the open with this behind the scenes romance of yours? Huh, when?” Olivia
lifted her tea cup to her lips, and took a sip of hot tea, as Dolly came over
to take their breakfast order. The conversation began again as soon as Dolly
had walked away.
Flustered, Amelia tried to pass off Olivia’s remarks,
“Mercy, Olivia, you are such a dreamer! You truly don’t know what you are
saying. Heavens, Lord Beckford and me?”
“Yes, dear Amelia. You and my uncle Claude. Everyone
on the whole estate knew what was going on between you two. You weren’t
fooling any of us for one moment. Oh and by the way….” She was enjoying this
now, “for your information, dear Amelia, just about every widow and spinster in
London have set their caps for Uncle Claude, and even a woman who rode the
stage with us and is living here in town now, seemed to want to latch onto
him. You’d better to some latching on yourself, before someone else does.
That’s all I can say.”
“Oh, mercy, Olivia.” Amelia took a sip of tea to calm
her suddenly shattered nerves.
Bridgett, Garth’s lovely red-haired wife, had been
drinking her tea, and been very quiet up to a point, though now she suddenly
let out a laugh, “Oh the trials and tribulations of romance. I wanted your
brother, Garth, Olivia, so I just reached out and grabbed, using all the
feminine wiles I could come up with. It seems to have worked. Stop playing
games. If you want a man, can’t live without him, just reach out and grab.”