The Possie from Texas

By Olin Thompson

The blood was everywhere. The man they hung for the murder escaped and went to Mexico. The young man who helped him was a stranger in town. How did all these things come together to solve one of the oddest things to ever happen in Sabana Pass? And how did the Marshal afford that brand new Duryea? Turn of the century is only a few years off and this is the most important case in this city's short life. Clearly the woman was missing. Had she been thrown in the canyon and lions or wolves dragged her to the forest to finish their feast? Had the house been the murder scene? Had the brand new husband really done the deed? Things go pretty fast and furious to solve this since the time was short to get it solved.
Keep this book for that time you know you have to finish it since you won't like to put it aside at any time. It's what they call a page turner and a don't-put-'er-down book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sam Warren
• Release date: Aug 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9780945949671

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THE POSSE FROM TEXAS

Railroads and Black Smoke

Written by Olin Thompson

Copyright © 2008 by Olin Thompson

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ISBN: 978-0-945949-57-1

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PROLOGUE

Early June, 1896

Dad. the woman whined.

I said, ‘no.’ And I mean no! the crusty old man said firmly, snatched at his paper, and made a snapping sound of the sheets before him as if to punctuate his firm resolve.

But, don’t you realize what this could mean? If we don’t we’ll be left behind once again, she continued to argue even though it was evident the old fool was not going to respond.

You heard me, he mumbled.

Arabella Farness looked at her father and knew without a doubt he’d crossed over the edge from hard headed to downright insanity.

The money was there, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Much more. She could make this work with more. All he had to do was let a mortgage out at less than 2 1/2% and she could manage the finances.

Her father had told her, for years and years, and she was tired of hearing it, but he had told her the ranch was clear and she was the only heir and he wasn’t going to leave a disease riddled loan on the books. He compared it to a cow with hoof and mouth disease left for a legacy.

Borryin’ money ain’t never a wise de-ci-shun, he lectured. He lectured on it over and over for years.

She knew, though, that if he borrowed enough to make major changes in the size of the property, leasing another 50,000 acres from the government and buying up all the freeholds around the north edge of the basin, changes in the size of the property would make it invaluable. Borrowing was the least of her concerns. Paying it back would be a simple matter.

Ben, she said later that night on the porch when he came to call, he won’t do it. It’s got to be done and done now. I can’t imagine these people waiting longer. Maybe by the Fall, early Winter at the latest.

Whatchew want me to do, honey. Ben asked and chewed on something he’d pulled from the wilting flowerbed in front of the porch.

I’ve got only one choice, Ben. I have to be the heir to a large ranch and able to sign the documents myself. If I don’t, well, you and I will die poor, she lamented.

Aw, shucks. We got our own selves to be together, he said romantically.

She almost hit him. She wanted to strangle him sometimes. He was a hearty fellow. Big and strong. He had the clever quick wit of a more mature man. But sometimes, well, sometimes he was thick. His wit notwithstanding and his thick attitude, she felt his physical attraction as a mighty thing that infected her as if he were the narcotic she needed to sooth out the bumpy road she faced. She loved to run her hands over his big muscular chest and find the nipples turn rock hard. As hers did.

Ben and Arabella had been lovers since they were kids. When Arabella went away to school he stayed and got mediocre grades. When she came back he seemed to brighten and though he was never going to be her equal mentally, he was a match for her voracious appetite for physical love.

I have a plan, she said as later in the darkness of the night they lay in the hay in the barn near the ranch headquarters.

What. he asked slugishly.

***

Who’s there!. her father’s voice was strong and angry, coming from somewhere near the barn door.

Me, Dad, Arabella answered sweetly. She straightened her dress and began to move around.

Get down here. Who’s up there with you. Ring Farness called. No one. I just come up here sometimes to think. You made me think about things tonight, she told him so he’d not be upset if he saw Ben Coburn.

Who’s that. Ring asked and climbed the ladder with the kerosene lamp guttering away, lighting the night.

No one, she said sweetly. Just you wait a minute and I’ll be down, she added.

Ring didn’t wait and climbed up higher. His lamp held over his head he peered into the darkest corner of the loft.

Damn you, Ben Coburn, Ring Farness groused. What’s goin’ on here.

Arabella Farness wanted to tell him all about it. How she and Ben had been laying together, how he’d finally satisfied her after years of trying without success.

Damn you! Ring screamed. Ruin my daughter will you. Ben had tried to button his trousers and failed to get them straight. Little did he know how important that small detail would be in the next few moments.

Stop! Arabella screeched at her father. Stop it, Father. She pushed at the elderly man to leave and go back down the ladder and said in her harshest voice, Don’t cause any more trouble.

Trouble, I’ll damn well give you trouble, young lady, he said and grabbed at her arm.

She twisted, his grasp slipped, and her father fell over backward with a grunt, a gagged noise coming from his throat, and kerplunk, onto the hard floor of the stable.

***

Dad. Arabella asked softly, peering into the darkness where the once lit, now dark, kerosene lantern had brightened the dingy space. Dad, she called softly once more.

She had no idea what the results of the fall were. Perhaps it was all for the best since if he were badly hurt she could take over the everyday running of the ranch and finally make a damn profit, she thought. If he’s dead, all the better, she concluded her thinking.

What is it. Ben asked, disheveled and curious.

He doesn’t answer. I don’t know if he’s hurt or..., she didn’t finish.

She lifted her skirt and turned to climb down the ladder to make sure of the victim’s condition; touching him she found no pulse, no heart beat, no breath.

Looks like, she said up into the darkness, he broke his neck. Oh damn, Ben said. How we gonna manage this. he won- dered.

Dense goof, she thought, exasperated.

Sure as hell solves a lot of our problems, Arabella Farness said as she scrambled back up the ladder and went to Ben in the loft and insisted he do the same thing all over again that he’d done just a few moments before.

He wheezed and breathed hard afterward, but everyone seemed happy with the results.

Especially Arabella Farness.

Chapter 1

I didn’t have much choice, so I had just yanked the reins, pulled Pete up and turned into them. They were two brothers.

George and Efram.

I’d been cowboyin’ up to Wyoming and came across a fellow who offered as how he thought it might be some kinda nice if the boss would give him a herd of range cattle and he’d take good care of them.

Maybe two would do as well, he likely figured as he meandered away pushing the pair with me and my pre-Pete beast.

You goin’ someplace with them? I asked from be-hind a boulder which had pushed up from some long ago underground heave.

The man looked at me with a mean glare.

Asked you a question, I said and unlimbered my Winchester with a clatter of the loading gate and hammer.

Suck eggs, he said and flap doodled his horse with his hat so hard the damn thing pert near threw him off as it lunged to get loose. He was riding bareback and slicker’n a worn nickel he skint outta there in one big hurry.

I took aim, changed it a mite, and blew a hole in the earth about four feet to the right. The cattle jumped a bit at the excess noise, but the range bandit was high footing it down the mountainside.

Let’s go on now, I suggested to the pair of hoofers after I turned them back toward where they had been getting fat on good graze.

They urged along easy enough and I pushed into Double Cross range and set the pair to mosey on toward the rest of the herd in the distance. I might not have caused so much trouble if it was an obvious single animal sneak thiefcripple wouldn’ta been bad. Likely that would have been some ole nester who was out of beef or meat for his family.

But two? And prime? Nah. That was too much to give up. Mighta drawed near five cents a pound they was in such good shape. And if used properly, for making babies from breeding the youngish bull, they’d be worth that five cents a pound for each baby they give to some cow momma. But beeves had been down to three cents a year or so ago. Now the market was back up and the boss was pleased as punch.

Yaw, I suggested to my ole pre-my-now-Pete animal which I call Pete as well; ole Pete and I’d been together for nearly five years. We rode pretty good. He durn near knew everything I wanted him to do before I asked him to.

There had been a spate of rustling along this stretch, just off the main road to Cheyenne, and the results were the Double Cross brand wanted me to be sure there wasn’t some rest-o-rant owner taking beevos into town fresh killed and serve them for supper at the Last Chance or the Wyoming Cafe. Nasty thought if you ‘uz to ask me. Fresh killed ain’t hardly worth eating. Needs a day or two, or even a week if you got the time, to spunk up the flavor a bit. And tenderizes the meat some too.

Me and my old Pete turned the fifty head of stragglers and there were two men riding toward me softly and easily in the saddle as if they’d been born to it. Likely they had been. One wore one of them round top bowler hats that some of the fancy cowboys seemed to think were mode o’ day and a huge neckerchief blew behind him in the wind. I thought he looked odd. But they’s no accounting for taste. The other man wore a hat pulled down to near his ears, red bandanna, and denims with a once white shirt and a plaid vest of some sort. Yep, I agreed with my-own-self, they’s no accounting for taste.

I pulled Pete up and faced this George, I learned his and his brother’s names later, George with the bowler hat and the other, Efram, with the front of his hat pinned up against the crown; probably so the brim wouldn’t droop in his face.

You fellers need something? I wondered leaning forward on the apple of my well worn saddle. A bit of the wood stuck through the pommel and I would find myself sometimes picking at it like a sore that wouldn’t go away.

We’re lookin’ fer work, the first one said. Ain’t hirin’, I told him simply.

How you know that? You ramrod this outfit? Th’other’un asked and stode his horse four or five feet to the sunside.

Told to tell anyone askin’ that we weren’t doin’ no hirin’ just now. Packed bunkhouse and gotta let some go soon as the weather turns chilly anyhow, I told them and though it was a lie, no one had told me to do nothing of the sort, I knew there was a full crew.

How about we take your job? the first one asked and began to spread wider. Not much, but some. Maybe it was three more feet. Then five. And at about six he stopped with the sun directly at his back.

I figured it was a bad move on his part for me. I ain’t no gunfighter, nor do I have the need to kill someone except this fellow in the bunkhouse who leaves his socks balled up on the floor stinking up the place. Bad. I’d kill him just to get rid of his socks.

You boys can go ask, I said trying to diffuse the situation as quickly as it was fusing.

We take your job and we won’t have to ask. We can even take the cattle with it. They’s a bunch of men in Cheyenne who’d like to get, the man turned his head and looked like he was scanning the herd, some fifty or sixty head of prime beefs.

Well, now, you could do that. Or, I offered, I could sashey along with you and we could split up the pro-ceeds of the sale and make a move to get to Colorado before ole Tom Hart called in them two Wyomin’ rangers Benson and Granger.

I knew these two was out to kill me unless I could do some fancy talking. They’d stated their plans as simple as you please and that was tell tale they didn’t want to leave no story teller behind who could I-dentify them or put rangers on their trail.

They sat still and seemed to ponder the options. They could leave me dead as a throwed horseshoe and take all the stock their ownselves or they could bring me along and we’d share out pieces.

Nah, I heard one of them say.

But..., the other said and their whispers began to bother me. My Colt sorta jumped out of his holster and pointed directly at the pair.

Stick your damn hands in the air and we’ll all drive on to the ranch headquarters, I told them gruffly as I could muster. I sorta glanced down and saw my knuckles were white from the tight grip, but I wasn’t gonna let this pair of jaspers take my cattle away from me no way no how.

They probably figured that out and figured me out too. They bolted and ran. The first horse was away in a shot. The second was off shortly after with the rider standing in the stirrups and flappin’ that damned sloppy hat at the beast under him.

I wanted to shoot, but I just couldn’t kill a man for threatening to kill me. Specially in the back. I had to have more justi-Fi-cation than that. You know, it ain’t even the death penalty for cussing at a fellow in Wyoming, more’s the pity, and that’s about all they had done.

Come back! I shouted at them, raised the pistol in the air, and let blast a couple of times.

The dust behind them was thick and there was no chance I could shoot a hole in it and hit one of them anyhow.

But, George and Efram were no ordinary cow thieves. They were extra ordinary. They run right into the barbed wire, what we call bobbed war, and threw themselves off them horses and into the culvert that ole man Hart built to channel rain water into his own private check dam so he’d have a summer stock pond.

I rode up as Efram was trying to recover his dignity and it looked like George was dying of a broken neck.

You boys all right? I asked and took a loop in my pigin string around Efram’s right wrist and tied him to George’s right wrist as well. Their guns weren’t worth $2, but I kept ‘em anyhow and stuck them in my saddle bag. Just in case. Never know when you gonna fall down and lose your daggum gun.

They mumbled some answer I didn’t really care too much about hearing. I worried over their horses more than I did them two.

Easy there, boy, I soothed to the big roan this Efram fellow had pert near ridden into the wire. He’d been rode hard and wasn’t well taken care of. The other was in no better shape.

Damn a man for mistreating his animal like that. Now that ought to be the death penalty. More’s the pity it ain’t, I thought.

I rubbed the horse and found two big scratches that bled pretty hard, but with some liniment the animal would be all right in a few days.

The orange horse that George rode was hurt some bad. At first I thought it had ligament damage to his right front leg and when I touched him the horse nearly yanked loose the reins I held. The horse began to limp as if it were hurt worse than from just a ligament. I took it to the ground and held a knee to its neck and ran my hand down until I found the problem. Broken ankle.

Damn. Treat a horse bad and worse. No man alive is worth saving when they do that.

Boys, I offered, what’s your names?

George, the orange horse rider snarled, and groaned. Efram, the other muttered, also snarly.

Well, George, I guess I get to shoot you and the horse. The horse can’t be saved and you ain’t worth savin’, I told him.

It’s only a damn horse, he said in a low tone.

And you only a thief, I snapped in return.

You can’t do this, Efram protested with a note of fear in his tone.

Hell I can’t, I replied with a note of rage. I took the saddle off the orange animal, threw the hull over the rail on the bridge, and shot the horse. I turned, pointed the gun toward George, and fully charged I was anxious to do it, but I knew better.

I took liniment from my saddle bag and with a dab at some lingering water in the culvert I wiped at the scrapes on the big red horse. I loosened the pigin string and stared at them.

Mount up on the red one, I said after a moment.

They hesitated. I mounted mine, pulled the reins on the red, and started to walk off.

Suit yourselves, I said. Wait! Efram called out.

I turned and they walked, more like stumbled, and George nearly fell; they were a pair tied back to back or front to front whichever they decided best. George was hurt bad, but at that moment I didn’t give a damn what he felt like. He could have died from that broke neck and I wouldn’t have given a snort of