Empire Read online

  The bear suddenly stopped his rampage and sat in the semi-darkness, rocking back and forth and whining in pain, mewling and bawling softly. Even in his own great pain and imminent danger, Ben felt pity for him. He moved slightly to his left to ease off a sharp point and accidentally dislodged a rock which fell beside him. With a savage roar the bear charged the sound and the last thing Ben remembered was a violent blow to the side of his head, the raking of huge claws, and a tremendous, roaring explosion.

  The face was that of a stranger, but it was a kind-looking face. Ben recognized the surroundings as his own bedroom, but he was too weak to ask the stranger his business. He looked to his left and saw a tearful Mattie, wringing her hands. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her openly crying, not even when she’d lost her entire family.

  ‘Well son, looks like you’ve had a rough go of it but you’re in remarkably good shape, save for that leg. I’m going to put a poultice on it to draw out the infection and then we shall see. Mind you, a bear bite often turns gangrenous, what with all the rotten meat they find, so chances are that we may have to take the leg. Just so you know.’

  He stopped and smiled at Ben. ‘I guess I should have introduced myself. I’m Matthew Ridgeway, the new doctor from Cook’s Crossing. Bear fetched me after he brought you home.’

  Ben turned to Mattie. ‘How long?’ he whispered.

  ‘You mean how long have you been here?’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Four days, not counting the full day it took Bear to get you here on a travois.’

  ‘I’ll be on my way,’ said the doctor, picking up his bag. He glanced sharply at Mattie. ‘Looks like you’ll be having that baby in a month or so. Will you be having a woman to help you or will you be requiring my services?’

  ‘I’ll send for you when the time comes, and thank you, Doctor Ridgeway.’

  ‘You was in some fight!’ Bear entered the room. ‘That bear was blinded in the right eye for sure and probably couldn’t see much out of the left one neither. I was trackin’ him and spotted a bloody hand print on a saplin’ before I realized we was both trackin’ you! Good thing I heard him screamin’ when you jobbed him with that firebrand or I might have missed that cave openin’. As it was, I had to shoot from outside ’cause that cave was too full of grizzly, you, and fightin’ for me to get in. He only had three paws like I thought. His left rear must have been lost to a trap. I ain’t partial to traps. Don’t mind huntin’ but never liked to see a critter suffer.’

  Bear turned to go. He looked back and asked, ‘Know who shot you?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Never saw him before,’ he whispered, ‘but he looked familiar somehow. I reckon he thinks I’m dead.’

  Despite the poultice, Ben’s leg began to fester and was hot to the touch. Mattie sent for Medicine Hawk who lifted the sheets and smelled the wound. He left without a word and returned hours later with a foul-smelling black concoction which he smeared liberally on Ben’s injury. By the next morning, the wound felt better and cooler to the touch. The following day, Mattie found Ben standing unsteadily at the window, gazing at the work going on without him.

  ‘You’re supposed to be resting in bed.’

  ‘Spring roundup won’t wait, Mattie. We’ve lost stock and we need to make a gather, so we can see where we are.’

  ‘I know. I told the doctor you’d do your healing in the saddle.’

  Ben turned and looked down at her. ‘What’d he say to that?’

  ‘He just shook his head and left.’

  CHAPTER 5

  Ben tied the big gray to the rail and slapped some of the dust off his clothes with his hat. The territorial capital was somewhat larger than he had imagined, but a gold strike can grow a fair-sized city almost overnight. He’d already taken care of his business with the Territorial Governor’s office, so he thought he’d best catch up on the latest news at the Cattleman’s Saloon before finding a room. The streets were all but deserted and the town was quiet in the heat of late afternoon. He paused at the batwing doors and surveyed the cool, dark interior before entering, a habit held over from his days as a Boston tough.

  Ben ordered a drink and listened quietly to the conversations about Indians, cattle prices, and range conditions. To his left, a friendly, political dispute went on and on with no possibility of resolution.

  ‘You’re Ben Tower, ain’tcha?’ The speaker was dressed in greasy buckskins with fringe sewn into the sleeves and legs to help shed rainwater. A Sharps .50 rested on the wall behind him and one of the new Bowie-style knives was in his waistband. At the sound of Ben’s name, a tall man standing at the far end of the bar stiffened, turned slowly, gaped wide-eyed at Ben for a moment and then left quietly and unnoticed out the back way.

  ‘Well if it isn’t Clay Johnson, from up Montana way.’ Ben grinned. ‘What are you doing down here, you old skinner? The buffalo are all gone around these parts!’

  ‘Market’s gone too. Can’t get nothin’ fer skins nor tongues no more. Ain’t no call fer ’em what with beef bein’ so cheap and plentiful. But the buffs are almost all hunted out anyways. Ain’t seen a decent-sized herd in months.’

  Clay paused to light his pipe. He glanced up at Ben. ‘Know anybody who can use a hand? I’m still a good teamster and a fair hand with a rope.’

  ‘I got a spread south of here that could use a few good hands. Get your gear and we’ll ride out in the morning. Have you had your supper yet?’

  ‘Tell the truth, I ain’t et in a couple of days.’ He looked down at the floor, shamefaced. ‘I got no money, Ben. I’m flat broke.’

  ‘Actually, you do have some money. Remember that load of skins we went halves on and then I bought you out? Well, the market was higher than we thought, and I owe you forty dollars.’ Ben took out his wallet and peeled off the cash.

  ‘You’re a damn liar, Ben, but I thank you fer not shamin’ me.’

  ‘I’ll see you at the Emporium dining hall for supper as soon as I get a room and wash up.’

  The waitress was a freckled redhead with a lighthearted way about her. At the next table, a rowdy, young cowhand watched her every move, with lovesick eyes, all the while trying to appear disinterested. The redhead was obviously enjoying every minute of it.

  ‘What’ll it be, gentlemen? We have beef stew and fried chicken tonight.’

  They ordered, and Ben gave her a smile as she walked away.

  ‘Don’t get no ideas, mister. That there’s to be my girl.’

  Ben looked over at the cowhand and nodded. ‘I’m sure she is, son. I have no interest in her. Just being friendly.’

  ‘She ain’t good enough for you?’

  Ben realized that the young man was drunk. ‘I meant nothing by that, son. I’m not looking for trouble.’

  ‘Well I ain’t your son and it looks like you got trouble.’

  The young man started to rise so Ben hooked a toe around the leg of his chair and jerked hard, tumbling the cowhand to the floor. Ben rose and, appearing to kneel beside his victim, drove his right knee into the kid’s chest, knocking the wind out of him.

  ‘Looks like you’ve had a bit too much to drink, son,’ Ben said aloud to the gasping cowhand. ‘Maybe you’d better go sleep it off.’

  He bent over and said quietly, ‘Best let it go, boy. I could just as easily have killed you, and many men would have done just that. You’re not the tough hombre you think you are, so don’t pick fights, especially when you’re pie-eyed drunk. Besides, that girl likes you just fine! Can’t you see that?’

  The cowhand stumbled from the room and the men finished their dinner. The stone-faced redhead brought their check, dropped it on the table without a word, and stalked off without looking at them. Ben grinned and paid the tab.

  The night air was cool and had a promising smell of rain. In the far distance, clouds lit up like ghostly lanterns as silent lightning weaved its way through their misty interiors. Somewhere a door slammed, and somebody splashed a bucket of water into the street.
In one of the saloons, a rinky-tink piano hammered out a tune.

  Clay Johnson lit his pipe and nodded down the street. ‘Got me a bed at the roomin’ house yonder fer the night. I’ll see you at the livery in the morning.’

  The street was dimly lit from lights in the various saloons and restaurants as Ben strolled to the Emporium. As he descended the boardwalk’s steps to cross the street, his pant leg snagged on a splinter. He bent to free it and a shot bullet slammed into the rail over his head. As he dove to his left, he heard a second shot and saw a muzzle flash coming from between two buildings across the street and a shadowy figure. Instantly he fired, rolled twice and fired again. A man lurched from the gloom and sagged slowly to the ground.

  Ben heard running steps behind him and whirled. It was Clay.

  ‘Heard shots and come a-runnin’. Figgered that damn fool kid must’a been layin’ fer you. Did you see who it was?’

  ‘That’s him lying in the street over there. Could be that kid I suppose. Let’s go see.’

  Ben heard moaning as he approached. He reached down, picked up the man’s gun and then rolled him over. Instantly he recognized the cold, gray eyes staring up at him. It was the man who had shot him and left him for dead last month.

  ‘Who are you and why are you gunning for me?’

  ‘I’m paid to kill you. Twice paid,’ he groaned.

  ‘Who would pay to kill me?’

  ‘Jack Stanton.’

  Jack Stanton! The leader of the old Boston gang and father of the man he had killed with his own knife. Jack Stanton, after all this time and distance!

  ‘You said you were paid twice.’

  ‘Dunno who the other feller was. He heard I was askin’ after you so he sent a man who told me where I could find you and gave me hundred dollars to see to it you was dead. I thought you was killed sure. I shot you three times.’

  ‘Guess you were wrong. Now who are you? You look familiar somehow.’

  ‘Dave Stanton, Jacks’s brother.’ He closed his eyes and grimaced in pain.

  Ben stood back and watched as the local doctor looked Stanton over. After a while, the doctor rose and shook his head. ‘He’s gone. Two bullets square to the chest. Wonder he lasted this long.’

  He glanced at Ben. ‘Saw it from up there.’ He nodded at a balcony above them. ‘My office balcony. I was getting some night air. He ambushed you plain and clear. Someone you knew?’

  ‘I didn’t know him. Didn’t know him at all.’

  Mattie was picking tomatoes when she felt the first cramp. It passed quickly enough but she knew from helping her mid-wife mother that it was probably her time. Using her gathered apron as a basket, she finished picking her tomatoes and made her way back to the cabin. In the valley below, the sound of distant hammers and saws echoed as the carpenters worked steadily on raising the house and outbuildings. The new barn stood proud and strong with its coat of red paint and white trim, and the corral was already in use as young horses were being broken to ways of man.

  Bear looked up from some tack he was repairing as Mattie approached the cabin porch. Something about her awkward bearing raised an alarm.

  ‘You under the weather, Mattie?’

  ‘Fetch Doc Ridgeway from town, would you, Bear?’

  ‘Why sure, but what should I tell him?’

  Mattie gave Bear her cool, level gaze. ‘Just fetch him, Bear. He’ll know why.’

  Bear’s neck and ears grew red and hot. ‘Yes’m. I’ll fetch him right away.’

  Bear broke into a shambling run and Mattie laughed in spite of herself. It was the first time she’d ever seen the old man move any faster than he had to. She sat in her rocking chair in the cool shade of the porch and moments later heard Bear headed for town at a full gallop.

  ‘Don’t kill your horse for pity’s sake,’ she mumbled. As if he heard her, Bear slowed his mount to a more reasonable gait. Mattie sighed and braced herself as she felt another cramp coming on. Far to the north, a spring storm muttered and rumbled. She wondered when Ben would come home.

  Ben and Clay made camp for the night under a shelf of rock hidden behind a stand of aspens. A faint trail had been followed on a hunch and led to both the shelter and good grass for the horses. The curly-headed Clay had proved to be a good hand and an even better cook. Ben already had plans to replace Digger Jones with Clay as ranch cook as soon as they reached the Rafter T. Digger hated the job, but he was better at it than the other hands, so he was stuck with the cooking. Clay Johnson would be a welcome change all around.

  Clay pushed the coffee pot closer to their small, almost hidden fire. To the south and west, thunder grumbled, and the air carried a faint scent of rain. Already, a freshening wind had the aspens rustling, and lightning danced on the horizon, though still miles away. The hot coffee tasted good and warmed them against the chill.

  ‘Think it’ll hit here, boss?’

  ‘Probably. We’d best gather the horses and stretch a rope under this shelf to tie off the reins. They might pull those picket pins if that lighting gets too close.’

  ‘Yup, and lightin’ll kill a horse sure as anythin’. I seen it once up north. Kilt a string of six, quick as a blink.’

  Hours later, the rain began, a steady, ground- soaking rain that promised to go on all night. Far above, thunder cracked and rolled across the leaden sky. Ben edged his bedroll farther under the shelf. He slept.

  A pebble bounced off Ben’s bedroll. ‘I hear them,’ he whispered.

  The men listened to the sound of hoofs on the main trail below. It was early morning and the rain had stopped. Only water dripping from the aspens and the rock overhang disturbed the damp stillness. The riders stopped somewhere below to rest their horses and Clay and Ben moved quietly to their own horses and held their nostrils for silence.

  ‘I heard tell that the folks who saw it said that there Tower is hell on wheels with a gun.’ The voice was clear in the cool air following the rain.

  ‘He put two slugs in that Stanton feller’s chest you could’a covered with a poker chip and he done it while he was rollin’ on the ground.’

  Another voice spoke up. ‘All I know is the man wants Tower dead and he’s willing to pay five hundred dollars to the hombre who does it, and he ain’t particular about how it’s done, so I’ll be layin’ for him.’

  After another moment’s rest, the riders moved on.

  A few miles to the northwest, lightning flashed, and heavy sheets of rain darkened the morning sky. Ben was reluctant to leave their shelter, but he needed to trail the riders and perhaps discover who was willing to pay big money for his death, so they broke camp and rode down the slope to the main trail. The muddy tracks told them there were three riders, all big men riding big horses.

  Topping a rise, they spotted the riders far below, perhaps two miles away and about to ford a narrow stream with a rocky bed and steep banks. As they watched, the cowboys entered the swift stream and slowly began picking their way through the muddy waters in treacherous footing.

  ‘Boss! Would you look at that!’

  Around a bend in the stream and unseen by the crossing riders scarcely fifty yards away, a massive wall of water laden with tumbling logs, boulders, and debris was swiftly bearing down on the unsuspecting cowhands. Ben reached for his pistol to fire a warning shot but just then the crashing roar of the flash flood reached the riders below. As a man, they turned and stared at the churning mass of water and then in panicked desperation, threw caution to the wind and spurred their mounts across the slippery streambed of worn and rounded rocks. One rider went down immediately, his horse screaming in terror. For a moment, the remaining two looked like they might make it but then the huge wave caught them, and they vanished beneath its fury. Ben looked on in horror as the wave roared around another bend downstream, leaving a rolling torrent of muddy death in its wake.

  For a moment, Ben and Clay sat in shock.

  ‘That flood came from that storm yonder.’ Clay nodded at the black clouds on their righ
t. ‘I’ve seen sudden flash floods come up in areas where the sun is shining bright, from a storm far over on the horizon.’

  Ben shook his head sadly. ‘Those poor devils.’

  ‘They was plannin’ on killin’ you.’ Clay glanced sharply at Ben and then leaned over and spat on the ground.

  ‘I’ll fight and I’ll kill if need be, but I’ll wish that manner of death on no man.’ Ben jerked his head toward their back trail. ‘We may as well head back to that rock shelf and make camp again. That storm is moving our way and it’ll be at least tomorrow before that water recedes enough to make a crossing.’

  In fact, it was two days before they could ford the stream and it was chancy at that. The horses stumbled and struggled to maintain their footing and both riders had to resort to the spurs more than once to keep them moving. At last they gained the far side and mounted the steep banks, clouds of steam rising from their horses. They pulled up to let them blow.

  ‘Look over there, boss.’

  Clay pointed to a pile of brush and rocks jammed between the trunks of two giant cottonwood trees. It took Ben a moment to locate the boot and leg protruding from under a medium-sized boulder.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  It had taken them almost two hours of prying out limbs and rock to recover the body.

  ‘Yeah, reckon I do. He was a hard-case who hung around the Cattleman’s. Fact is, he was there the day I run into you.’ Clay paused and lit his pipe. ‘Come to think of it, he disappeared right after! Think he might’a been the one who tipped off that Stanton feller?’

  ‘Could be. Let’s get out the shovels and bury him.’

  ‘You do beat all. He would have left you fer the buzzards.’

  Ben glanced at Clay. ‘Would you have just left him?’

  Clay gestured with his pipe stem. ‘See that knoll yonder under the oak? That’s where I figgered to plant him if you didn’t.’

  CHAPTER 6

  ‘Well hell, I thought you was dead and ate by the hogs.’ Bear eyed Clay, spat over his shoulder and wiped his beard with a sleeve.