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One of the riders shook his head in disgust. ‘Damn! I was plannin’ on havin’ me a cup o’ that there coffee!’

  ‘Who sent you?’ Ben watched as the big man came back to his senses.

  Renfro rubbed his jaw and looked ruefully at Ben. ‘I don’t know who he is. Feller runs the Emporium at Cook’s Crossin’ is also the postmaster and he said he had a letter addressed to me. I was plumb surprised ’cause it was the first letter I ever got. It said he knew I was a miner and if I was to watch your diggin’s and leave a report in the outhouse behind the Trail’s End, he’d pay me thirty a month and found through the mail. That was six months ago, and he paid each time.’

  ‘What did he want to know about the mine?’

  ‘Just what I estimated you were takin’ out a month in ore. I figgered he was plannin’ to hold up a shipment, but he never asked about when you was plannin’ to move a load. Kinda puzzled me, but I didn’t ask questions. It was a right easy job.’ He glanced around at the hard faces.

  ‘Until now I reckon.’

  ‘I hear there’s a gold strike over California way,’ Ben said, ‘and I hear the climate over there is somewhat healthier than around here.’

  Renfro smiled through broken lips. ‘You mean you’re gonna turn me loose? After what I done?’

  ‘As long as you’re off my land by sunset. It’s almost noon so you’d better hurry. And I don’t advise ever coming back this way. I might take it wrong.’

  ‘Rider comin’.’

  Ben put down his pen and pushed back from the big roll-top desk. He walked to the door and stepped out on the porch where Bear was lounging. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Can’t tell. He don’t set a horse like nobody I know.’

  The rider slowly made his way up the trail and into the barnyard, obviously noting the placement of anyone who might pose a danger, a caution that made Ben smile. ‘Light and set. There’s coffee on if you’re of a mind to.’

  ‘You Ben Tower?’ The rider was a tall, older man with a shock of gray hair and a quiet air of authority about him. He pulled back his coat and displayed a badge on his vest. ‘I’m Harvey Davis, United States Marshal for the territory and I’ve papers to serve on you.’

  ‘That coffee’s hot and fresh.’

  Davis glanced sharply at Ben, a slow smile spreading across his face. ‘You don’t rile none too easy, do you? All right, I reckon I will have me a cup of that coffee you’re trying so hard to sell.’

  Ben studied the papers over his cup, and glanced at Marshal Davis. ‘Who’s disputing my claim to the Rafter T?’

  ‘Don’t rightly know. Judge Lowry just told me to serve these on you. You’re to appear in his court next month at the territorial capital to defend your claim to this here valley.’

  ‘What about this Judge Lowry? What sort of man is he?’

  The marshal glanced over at Bear and back to Ben. Ben nodded at Bear who shrugged and stepped outside.

  ‘I said I don’t know who brought this action and I don’t because the name ain’t on the papers and I wasn’t told. But I have my suspicions and if I’m right, you got serious troubles, son, because this man and Judge Lowry are thick as thieves and twice as crooked. Fact is, there ain’t a lawyer at the capital that I would trust not to be either in cahoots or scared of this here feller and Lowry. Fact also is, this here Lowry is only a judge through a political appointment. All he knows about the law is what he’s picked up from the shyster lawyers who use his court to steal.

  ‘If I was you, I’d get me a lawyer from St Louis or maybe Santa Fe. If it helps any, I’ll be sitting in on the hearing just to make sure Lowry stays fairly close to the up and up.’

  Ben watched the marshal mount up and ride off. A door slammed in the bunkhouse and laughter came from the corral as another rider tried his hand at staying with Rowdy and lost. No one had ever ridden the old gelding, but Ben kept him anyway for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe they were cut from the same cloth.

  Ben walked back into the house and found Mattie in the kitchen. ‘I need to ride east to the telegraph and send a wire. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Mattie nodded, kissed her husband and went back to kneading the day’s bread.

  CHAPTER 8

  Judge Lowry’s courthouse was already packed when Ben strode across the dusty street and up the stairs to the boardwalk. The hotel clerk had informed Ben that the whole town knew about the Rafter T dispute and Ben was astonished to learn that his own name was also well known.

  ‘Yes, sir, the whole territory knows about the Rafter T and Ben Tower! Why you’re just about the biggest man in the territory, what with your timber business, the mine and your cattle ranchin’ too!’

  The clerk had showed him to his room, along with Bear and Clay Johnson, and by the time they reached the door, the clerk had told them more than a newspaper.

  ‘Nobody knows who’s layin’ claim to the T, but it’s rumored he has an air-tight case.’ The clerk sadly shook his head. ‘Folks say it’s a shame, what with you helpin’ other folks out and such, but the law is the law, I suppose.’

  Ben stood in front of the courthouse doors for a moment and surveyed the street. Bear was lounging on the bench in front of the Emporium with his Sharps .50 close at hand and although Clay Johnson was nowhere to be seen, he knew the curly-headed gunman had taken up a vantage point somewhere nearby. Ben expected no shooting trouble, but with an obvious steal in the making, it made sense to be cautious.

  The early morning sun felt good on his shoulders as he turned and pushed his way through the doors. The roar of excited voices died away as he heard his name whispered up and down the room, and curious faces turned to see him. Harvey Davis, the US Marshal, was seated at a table down front. He rose, turned, and nodded at Ben, waving him to a chair at the table. Ben seated himself and spoke quietly to Davis, ‘Any word on who’s shindig this is?’

  ‘We’ll know in a minute. Here comes Judge Lowry now.’

  ‘All rise.’

  The judge was a small, pompous-looking man who glanced coldly around the courtroom before seating himself. He pointedly ignored Ben and the marshal.

  The clerk called out in a clear voice, ‘The Territorial Court is now in session, Judge Thomas Lowry presiding. You may be seated.’

  The judge waited for quiet and studied some papers for a moment. He looked up and nodded at the clerk.

  ‘In the case of legal ownership of the Rafter T,’ the clerk intoned, ‘Will the plaintiff come forward and present his case.’

  ‘I’m here, your Honor.’

  Ben turned and looked into the triumphant eyes of big Dan Goodwin . . . the same Dan Goodwin who had once tried to steal Bear’s lost mesa herd from Ben.

  So that was it! The failed attempt on his life at the ranch and again here in the territorial capital, and yet again on the trail home when the killers died in the flash flood. Then the surveillance of his mine by big Cab Renfro! Now it all made sense. Goodwin tried to take the property by having him killed, and, failing that, to steal it now with the help of a crooked judge.

  It was a combination of vengeance and greed.

  He glanced at Marshal Davis, who gave a slight nod, acknowledging that Dan Goodwin was indeed the man he had in mind when he spoke to Ben at the ranch.

  Ben watched the judge’s eyes make subtle contact with those of Goodwin and the obvious recognition of mutual intent. He wondered what the judge was to get out of this and the basis for Goodwin’s claim to the land. He didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Your honor, if it please the court, we would like to introduce the following evidence establishing Dan Goodwin’s legal right to the lands, buildings, cattle, timber, mines, and all other properties known as the Rafter T.’

  ‘Come forward.’

  ‘That’s Jonathon Sneed, one of the crooked lawyers working with Judge Lowry,’ Davis whispered. ‘Whatever claims he has are almost certainly cooked and fraudulent but unless you have better, the judge will rule for Goodwin. The steal
is on.’

  The judge read the papers and glanced up at Goodwin. ‘This here is a Spanish land grant made out to a Senor Louis Rodriguez for all the lands in that area including that known as the Rafter T. Do you have papers signing this grant over to you?’

  ‘Indeed we do, your honor. Señor Rodriguez made a deed signing all the lands in the grant over to Mr Goodwin for the sum of five thousand dollars in gold. We also have the receipt.’ The lawyer handed the papers to the judge who seemed to study them carefully.

  ‘Where is Mister Rodriguez now?’

  ‘Sadly, your honor, Mister Rodriguez moved back to Mexico where he passed away some years ago.’

  Dan Goodwin had first learned of the Rodriguez land grant from idle campfire talk while planning to rob a wagon train. Intrigued, he questioned the narrator, Little Dave Mathers, and learned that Mathers had once worked for Rodriguez and knew where the grant was hidden. Little Dave also remarked on Rodriguez’s well-known homesickness for old Mexico. Goodwin immediately saw the possibilities and canceled plans to rob the wagon train. Two days later, Goodwin, Dooley Clowers, and Little Dave had the land grant and a tortured Señor Louis Rodriguez had signed papers deeding over the land to Goodwin and a receipt for money never paid, before he was killed and buried in a remote corner of the ranch. Goodwin also killed Little Dave Mathers and buried him on top of Rodriguez for good measure. No sense in having another witness and he never liked Little Dave anyway.

  The locals were satisfied with the tale that Rodriguez had returned to Mexico because he had often told them he would someday. No one questioned the supposed sale of the ranch and Goodwin’s take over. When Goodwin had his run-in with Ben Tower and learned of the Rafter T, he took the land grant to a forger in Santa Fe, who altered it to include the entire valley. To ensure that the forgery was never discovered, Goodwin simply killed the forger and made it look like a robbery.

  ‘Yes, yes, I see. Very well, these papers look in order.’ Judge Lowry rustled the papers importantly and looked over his glasses at the courtroom, noting the many nods in the audience, with satisfaction.

  Davis leaned close to Ben. ‘Sneed and Lowry had dinner together last night at the Emporium and Sneed handed the judge some papers to look over. Would you like to wager what those papers were?’

  Dan Goodwin glanced over at Ben, caught his eye and smugly winked at him. To his surprise, Ben merely smiled. Goodwin looked immediately away, alarmed and searching his mind, trying to remember if they had made an error or possibly forgotten something. Satisfied that it was airtight, he relaxed, but a small kernel of doubt gnawed at him.

  Judge Lowry cleared his throat and rapped with his gavel. The murmur in the courtroom died away and the crowd waited expectantly.

  ‘In view of the overwhelming evidence presented by the plaintiff and counsel, the court finds that it must rule in favor of . . .’

  ‘Hold on just a minute there, Judge.’ A tall, well-dressed man with mutton-chop sideburns seated in the third row came to his feet. ‘If it please the court, I have evidence to present in support of Mister Ben Tower’s rightful claim to the property known as the Rafter T.’

  Judge Lowry glanced nervously at Jonathon Sneed, who shrugged his shoulders and turned to Dan Goodwin for an answer. But Goodwin was staring blankly at the stranger, having no idea who he was or what evidence he might have.

  Judge Lowry sighed and addressed the stranger. ‘Just who might you be and what do you know of this case, sir?’

  ‘I’m Chester T. Franklin, president and general manager of the St Louis and Southwestern Railroad, otherwise known as the SL & S.’

  An astonished and excited courtroom erupted in chatter. The SL & S, once scheduled to take a southern route through Cook’s Crossing, had been re-routed just last year through the territorial capital and was now only a few miles away. And here was the president of the SL & S himself! What could he possibly have to do with this case?

  Sneed jumped to his feet. ‘I object, your honor. The railroad has nothing to do with the matter at hand!’

  ‘On the contrary, sir, the railroad has a great deal to do with this trial,’ retorted Franklin, ‘and I demand to be heard!’

  A red-faced Judge Lowry rapped the gavel for silence. He looked cautiously from the railroad president to Sneed who nodded slightly. ‘Well, sir, I’m going to rule that your testimony is irrelevant and that any business you may have with this court can wait until . . .’

  Marshal Harvey Davis came abruptly to his feet, the chair he was sitting in falling backward and clattering on the courtroom floor. His voice boomed, ‘Judge Lowry, as the US Marshal for this territory, I am authorized to investigate all crimes, including fraud and malfeasance in office, sir, even if it means hanging those responsible.’

  A stunned Lowry stared at Davis. His eyes darted around the room, looking for assistance, but in vain. In a quavering voice, he asked, ‘What are you referring to, Harvey? Why are you telling me this?’

  The marshal smiled at the judge. ‘Why, just in case it becomes necessary, Tom.’

  The courtroom erupted in laughter. The reputation of the judge and the local lawyers was well known and Marshal Davis’ sly warning was instantly understood by all present.

  Thoroughly flustered, the judge rapped for order again and glanced from the smiling marshal to a furious Jonathon Sneed and decided to take his chances with whatever the railroad president had to say. After all, he might not have anything important to add anyway.

  ‘All right, Mr Franklin, you may come forward.’

  Dan Goodwin and lawyer Jonathon Sneed were glowering at Judge Lowry as the railroad president took a seat in the witness chair. Judge Lowry administered the oath for the first time that day, an oversight that did not escape the attention of anyone present. Judge Lowry leaned to his left and asked, ‘Now, sir, what evidence have you that could possibly affect this case, sir?’ He stole a glance at Sneed who ignored him.

  Franklin’s measured voice was strong and assured, ‘Well, your honor, as you and all others well know, the SL & S is constructing a line that will soon pass through this fair city. And, as you also know, that line was originally to be routed south through the Cook’s Crossing area and points west.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we are all aware of that, but what about it?’

  ‘Mister Ben Tower here came to my office over a year ago and made an excellent proposal that fared well for all involved. Since the original route was to pass through the southern tip of the Rafter T, his land was technically owned by the SL & S because the federal government granted us a twenty mile right of way on either side of the scheduled route, taking in the Rafter T and a good deal more.’

  ‘Since Mister Tower is familiar with this territory from his days of exploration, he successfully demonstrated to us that the northern route was a far better option, both for commerce and for ease of construction. He further proposed that the SL & S trade him title to the lands we no longer needed in the south, in exchange for ties and bridge timbers that he would cut, mill, and deliver. The SL & S readily agreed and gave him deeds to the property.’

  He paused and allowed the information to sink in. ‘Furthermore, even if Mister Goodwin’s land grant is genuine, it was never recorded and in any case, has been superseded by the United States government’s power of eminent domain. Obviously, the railroad needs the ties and timbers Mister Tower has contracted to supply. Consequently, the SL & S has no intention of standing idly by and allowing the plaintiff to take land that is not his, and disrupt that supply.’

  The courtroom sat in stunned silence. Judge Lowry stared at Chester T. Franklin as if he had grown a second head. The enormity of Franklin’s words had sunk in on Dan Goodwin and his lawyer, Sneed, both of whom sat with their mouths agape, looking first to Franklin and then to Ben Tower.

  Ben Tower came quietly to his feet. ‘Your honor? I have a little evidence to present myself.’ Judge Lowry waved his hand wearily at him and Ben approached the bench. Goodwin and Sneed looked a
t each other in alarm. Not only had they failed, this was quickly getting out of hand.

  Ben reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope filled with papers and handed it to the judge. ‘These are deeds to my properties, your honor, all properly filed and recorded many months ago.’

  Judge Lowry’s eyes widened as he read the papers and his jaw dropped. He looked at Goodwin and Sneed in horror and back at Ben. ‘Is this right?’

  Ben nodded. ‘That’s right, Judge. My deal with the SL & S was for the entire southern right of way grant. I own not only the Rafter T, but all the lands included in the railroad’s original right of way, including the town of Cook’s Crossing.’

  Ben turned and looked Dan Goodwin square in the face. ‘That includes the land Dan Goodwin calls his ranch.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Chester Franklin leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. ‘I hear Marshal Davis decided to make good on his threat and look into that Spanish land grant business. He figures it’s a fake and aims to prove it. Lowry and Sneed are both in a panic and Dan Goodwin left town right after the trial. You figure to boot him off your land and claim the ranch, Ben?’

  Franklin and Ben, along with Bear and Clay Johnson, were enjoying supper at the Emporium. Ben signaled to the waitress for more coffee.

  ‘Well, when I first learned that he was ranching on land that was rightfully mine, I decided to meet with him and make some sort of arrangement that would be profitable to both of us and let our past difficulty be forgotten. But when I discovered today that he was the one who put a price on my head and nearly got me killed, I lost all interest in mending any fences with Dan Goodwin. I’ve been informed that he intends to make a drive east to sell all his cattle and pocket the proceeds. Since he’s not putting up a fight, I suspect that he did not come across the Rodriguez ranch legally and doesn’t want to be around when Marshall Davis starts digging into it. He intends to pack up everything of value and torch the house and barn.’