“
Well if you wanted for ‘everyone’ to turn over their guns, you should have said for ‘everyone’ to turn over their guns,” retorted Catherine.
“Catherine,” said Beeman in open exasperation, “it
should have been quite obvious . . .”
“Alvah,” interrupted Marcellin, “give it up. You
’ll never get the last word with her.”
“That
’s right,” said Catherine.
Jeff rode back to
town, arriving there at about noon. He rode directly to Sharp’s Mercantile, dismounted and tied his horse in front. He dreaded what he was about to do, but he had no choice. The time had come for him to leave. It had happened unexpectedly and there had been no chance to prepare. Jake would not be happy about it, but if he didn’t move quickly his chance would slip by.
Now that he knew about the rustling operations here in the valley, he believed he could use that
knowledge to damage Tom Stewart and ultimately expose him and Fogarty. This was far more important than the need Jake Sharp had of him; too many people were affected by Stewart’s criminal activities. Even Sharp’s businesses would fail if the ranchers in the valley went under.
Sharp was in his corner office and was angry, as Jeff had expected him to be.
“You asked for a day off and I gave it to you. Then it turned into two. I’ve got a business to run here, Bob. A man works for me I need to be able to depend on him. Where have you been anyway?”
“Jake, I can
’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy, and I can’t break a promise.
Sharp was calmer now and sat down in the rickety, wooden chair behind his desk.
“Well, you might as well get back to work, but make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Jake,” said Jeff, “you
’ve been real good to me. I appreciate it and I hope there will be no hard feelings over this, but I’m giving you my notice. I have some business to take care of and it’ll mean I’ll be leaving.”
Sharp stared at him for a moment, the surprise in his eyes slowly giving way to anger. “How much notice are you giving me? You know I have to find someone to replace you.”
“I have to leave tomorrow.”
Sharp sprang to his feet
. “Tomorrow!”
“I
’m sorry, Jake, it can’t be helped.”
Jake Sharp was not a
man who kept his feelings bottled up. “I thought you were someone a man could count on. Now I’ll have to shut down the mill while I look for somebody else.”
“Jess a
nd Ralph can run the mill if you give them a chance. I should be back day after tomorrow. I’ll help out for a couple of days while you find somebody else.”
“It won
’t work. You should know that,” said Sharp hotly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. Opening it, he counted out some coins and laid them on the edge of the desk. “You have a few days’ pay coming. Take it and let’s just end it now.”
“Keep your money, Jake
,” said Jeff.
“No sir, you take your pay. I keep my word.
Jeff picked up the coins and slowly put them in his pocket. Sharp was looking out the window now and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Jeff had planned on cleaning up a
fter leaving the mercantile and going over to Arnette’s for a meal, but after the incident with Sharp he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so he decided to stop in the saloon for a drink. He knew at this hour the establishment would be relatively empty, and he should be able to sit in a corner without being bothered. He was tying his horse at the hitching rail when a voice came from behind him. “Jeff Havens?”
The sound of his real name sent shock waves reverberating through him like a thunderclap. He recognized the voice an
d turned around slowly. It was Sheriff Beeman. Standing beside him, gun in hand, was a man Jeff had never seen before. The man said to Beeman, “That’s your man, Sheriff, that’s Jeff Havens.”
“You sure about this, Mr. Stewart?”
“Look at the picture on the poster, Sheriff; it’s him.”
“Is
it true, Webb, are you Jeff Havens?” asked Beeman. He held a wrinkled wanted poster in his hand, supplied, Jeff rightly guessed, by Tom Stewart. Beeman was shifting his gaze back and forth between the poster and Jeff’s face.
“It
’s me, Alvah.”
Beeman slowly refolded the poster and handed it to Stewart. Jeff saw reluctance on the Sheriff
’s face as he pulled his gun.
“You
’d better get his gun, Sheriff,” said Stewart, “this man is wanted for murder, cattle rustling, and horse theft.”
Already, a crowd of onlookers had gathered.
“Pull your gun out slow,” said Beeman, “and hand it over.”
Jeff did as he was told. As they walked to
the jail, it seemed to him the whole town had turned out, as if no one had anything better to do than to watch him in his hour of humiliation. After locking him in a cell, Beeman stood looking at him for a moment. Jeff saw sincere regret in his eyes. Neither of them spoke.
Beeman turned to Stewart, “Are you sure he did all those things, I know him personally. He never seemed like a killer to me.”
“Let me ask you something, Sheriff, have you had any cattle rustling around here lately?”
Beeman nodded.
“Anybody turn up missing, or have any men been killed under mysterious circumstances?”
“Yes.”
“Any missing horses?”
“Yes, that too
,” said Beeman, remembering Jeff himself had brought in the missing horses.
“Sheriff,” said Stewart, “guard that man carefully, because everywhere he goes those things happen.” He slapped Beeman on the shoulder fraternally
. “Sheriff Beeman, the people of this community are very fortunate to have a man like you as their sheriff, and I’m sure they’ll be grateful when they find out who you’ve just arrested.” He turned to look at Jeff, who was glaring out through the bars with hatred.
“Well
, I guess this cleans up the Havens Gang,” Stewart said.
“The Havens Gang?”
“Yes,” said Stewart still looking at Jeff, mocking him with his eyes, “Havens here and the two other outlaws that rode with him: a killer by the name of Fitzgerald, and a Mexican outlaw named Lopez. They raised a lot of hell down around my part of the country for a while. Havens here ran out on his two pals when things got hot. Lopez was shot to death while he was kidnapping a woman. Fitzgerald got caught in the act of changing brands on rustled cattle and was hanged. I tell you sheriff, it was a hornet’s nest for a while and a lot of folks will breathe a lot easier when Jeff Havens is finally at the end of a rope.”
Jeff was stunned by what he had just heard. He prayed it wasn
’t true, but inside he knew it was. There was too much gloating in Stewart’s smile as he watched for Jeff’s reaction. It must be true. Old Dan was dead and Amado too. Amado; the man who had been like a father to him. It seemed impossible that he could be dead.
Stewart was watching Jeff, clearly savoring this moment of triumph for which he had waited so long and which had come so unexpectedly.
Suddenly the force of Jeff’s rage was more than he could control. He sprang to his feet and hurled himself at the bars, fully expecting them to fall under the weight of his fury. But they held, and his impotence made him angrier. Rage darkened his face. “You lying, murdering scum,” he screamed, “I’ll get out of here and I will take everything from you, the way you did me: the ranch, the cattle, the horses. I’ll kill your friends—Rand Fogarty will be the first. I’ll take Anne from you too. I’ll tell her the truth about you. I’ll tell everyone the truth about you and then I’ll kill you, I promise you I’ll find a way to do it.”
Jeff
’s fury was an impressive thing, and Stewart took a step backward, not completely trusting the steel bars. Suddenly, this small town jail didn’t seem secure enough, and Stewart knew he could never breathe easy as long as Jeff Havens was alive. Jeff Havens was the one living man who still had the power to damage him. At that moment Stewart arrived at a decision. Havens would never stand trial. He would die in this town and he would die soon. Turning to Beeman he said, “As you can see, the man’s an insane killer. Guard him well, Sheriff.”
Beeman slowly turned a stony countenance toward Stewart. “There
’s not a thing about this situation that I like, Stewart, but Havens is wanted and I’m the law here, so my duty is clear. But there’s nothing written anywhere that says I have to stand here and listen to you tell me how to guard a prisoner.”
For a brief instant Beeman saw something in Stewart
’s eyes that seemed to surge up from some inner depth and then recede back inside; thrust back by strength of will. Beeman realized at that moment that Tom Stewart could be a very dangerous man.
Stewart smiled
. “I apologize, Sheriff. Could we talk outside?”
They stepped out onto the boardw
alk and Stewart said, “You must forgive my concern, Sheriff Beeman, but undoubtedly Havens has friends who will try to break him out. He never works alone. I suggest we make arrangements immediately to get him back as soon as possible, where he can stand trial. Because if he stays here, I predict there will be trouble.”
Beeman was in favor of this idea; he didn
’t like the situation and the thought of getting it off his hands appealed to him. “Suits me fine, Stewart, I’ll take care of it.”
From the sheriff
’s office, Stewart went directly to the telegraph office and sent a telegram to Lloyd Jennings informing him Jeff Havens had been captured and instructing him to proceed north immediately with several of Stewart’s own men. It was not however, Tom Stewart’s intention for Jeff Havens to ever stand trial. He, Stewart, and his crew of outlaws had lost a great deal of popularity in the last year or so, and he doubted a local jury would convict Havens on the testimonies of himself and Fogarty. Moreover, it would take Beeman some time to make the arrangements for Jeff to be transported, and during that time Havens could do a lot of talking. His outburst in the jail had already been more than enough.
Stewart felt
he had planned too long and worked too hard to take any risks at this point. Everything he wanted was too nearly in his grasp. He intended to see that Jeff Havens didn’t remain alive long enough to cause any more problems.
He went back to the ho
tel, where he found Fogarty sitting in the lobby, smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper. Fogarty had returned the previous day from taking supplies to the men at the pass, who had then started on the trail back to Stewart’s ranch, pushing a herd of rustled cattle.
Checking to make sure there was no one within earshot, Stewart sat down next to Fogarty and said, “We
’ve got Havens.”
Fogarty set the newspaper down and turned quickly to face Stewart, “Where?”
“He’s in jail right now. I spotted him—recognized him from the wanted poster. I went and found the sheriff. He knows Havens pretty well, but he knows him under the name of Webb. He’s been working at the sawmill here. Beeman is going to make arrangements for Havens to be sent back, but we can’t wait that long. Havens has already started making accusations and threats and if he throws suspicion on us, he won’t have to be able to back it up. If people in this valley don’t trust us, I won’t be able to do what I need to do here.”
“So we kill him,” said Fogarty.
“No, it can’t be us; we can’t even be suspected of it. I’ve thought of another way.” He looked around the room again to make sure no one was close enough to hear what was being said. Fogarty leaned closer.
Jeff sat in his cell, his mood alternating between fury, grief
, and despair. With the loss of Amado he felt he had lost the last of his family. Moreover, he would now lose the new friends he had made here in the valley. In the dark silence of his cell, he thought of Anne. Many times he had wished he could stop loving her, but tonight he did not wish that. He found comfort in his memories of her. He wondered if she still loved Tom Stewart and he wondered what kind of life they had together. He had a desperate need to speak with her; to tell her the truth about her husband, even if she hated him for it. He knew her too well to believe she would prefer to remain in ignorance. He vowed somehow to escape, not to save himself, but to save Anne—and to avenge Amado.
When the Circle M riders had found him in Gordon
’s and Billy’s camp, he had accepted his fate and made no attempt to escape. But this time would be different, he promised himself. His anger, his grief, and his concern for Anne boiled inside him, colliding and conjoining, and giving him a sense of power, so that he felt as though the force of his will could bend the iron bars. He would escape. He was sure of it, and he would find Anne and tell her, and make her believe him. He would do what he had to do and no one had better get in his way.
Jeff knew he must prepare himself and be ready for any oppor
tunity that might arise. He would be guarded very carefully, and when the time came to make his move, he would have to think quickly. He sat in the darkness, trying to relax his mind, preparing himself for what was to come. He remembered Amado’s words, “Use your mind. Be smarter than they are. They are many and you are one. You can’t beat them with your strength—only with your brain.” He lay back on the sour smelling cot, took a few deep breaths, and began to think.
Late that afternoon, Rand Fogarty sat at one of the corner tables in the Red Stallion, surveying the crowd. The establishment was already starting to get busy. The crowd was of the
usual mixed variety: miners, cattlemen, local townspeople, and a few drifters who would be gone in a day or two. If anyone had been watching Fogarty, and no one was, they would probably have thought he was looking for someone. In a sense this was true; however he was not looking for a specific person, but a type of person, and he thought he had found his man.