here’s what we do. Bo, you, Smitty, and me, we go in like troopers, low in our saddles, firing both our Colts repeatedly. You two men, y’all hang back a bit, bring up our rear. Don’t let ’em get you in their pistol range. Use your long guns. We’ll give no quarter unless they throw up their hands. Otherwise, kill ’em, every last mother’s son.”
The three Virginians did as they’d trained; they rode toward their enemy low in their saddles, firing, and recocking and firing their Colts, four rustlers fell at once, two made a run for it, and rifle fire from the cowboys behind them cut both rustlers down. Two rustlers threw up their hands; at the same time, somebody fired and one of the rustlers caught a bullet in his belly. It was over. Bo disarmed the lone rustler and tied his hands behind him. Smitty hopped off his horse and knelt and said a few words to the dying outlaw. He stood and motioned to Jeff.
“He admitted rustling our cows, boss.”
“Did he mention before he died what they was gonna do with our cattle?” Jeff asked.
“Said he was rustling them because his foreman told him to.”
“Did he give you the foreman’s name?”
“Yeah, he called him Lester Willis. Says he’s the foreman of the JM Ranch, west of here.”
“That’d be Jornett Murphy, wouldn’t it, Jeff?”
“Yep! It sure would.”
“And I’ll wager Jornett sent Willis’s men to rustle our cows, boss.”
“You’re probably right, Smitty.”
“There’s no way anyone can change our JN brand into Murphy’s JM brand without people noticing the difference, can they?”
“I don’t see how it’d be possible, Bo.”
“So what was Willis gonna do with our cows?” Bo asked.
“Sell ’em in Mexico? They was for sure on the right side of the river for that,” Smitty declared.
“Let’s see what the other fellow has to say,” Jeff said.
“Okay, fellow, where were you going with our cattle?”
“We found ’em on this side of the river. We was returnin’ ’em to you.”
“Yeah, but you was going in the wrong direction!”
“We musta been confused.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Nobody, mister.”
“Okay, hang him for rustling. That cottonwood tree right over yonder, that’ll do,” Jeff replied.
“Hey, you can’t hang me, mister, you gotta turn me over to the sheriff in Jasper.”
“We caught you stealing our cows. You’re gonna hang.”
“Please, I was just following orders, mister.”
“Whose orders? Whose orders? One last time! Whose orders?”
“If I tell you his name, he’ll kill me, mister, sure as hell.”
“If you don’t tell me his name, I’ll sure as hell hang your sorry butt.”
The poor fellow was scared. Scared, too bad. He wouldn’t say anything more. So Jeff and his men hung the man from the cottonwood tree.
Chapter Nineteen
Afterward, Jeff and Smitty loaded up the rustlers’ bodies on their spare horses and took them into Jasper, while Bo and the other two cowboys herded the stolen cattle back across the Saber to the JN Range where they belonged.
Jeff and Smitty caused quite a stir when they showed up in town toting eight dead men to the sheriff’s office. They told Sheriff Sizemore what happened, about one who confessed and one who wouldn’t.
“I can bring Lester Willis into my office and ask him, but he’ll deny it. Your witness is dead. It’s hearsay evidence now, it’s his word agin’ yours. But I don’t doubt he’d behind this, he’s a mean ’un.”
“That’s the second time that hombre’s name has been mentioned regarding me and mine, Sheriff, and both times it brought someone’s death. I reckon I better go have a talk with his boss, Jornett Murphy.”
“I doubt it’ll bring you any satisfaction, Mr. Nelson,” the sheriff replied.
Jeff and Smitty unloaded the eight bodies beside the jailhouse, and Jeff told the crowd, “Spread the word—this is what happens to anyone caught stealing cattle from the JN Brand.”
Jeff and Smitty, with their string of JN-branded ponies, rode over to Emilio’s Saloon. An uneasy crowd soon followed them to stare. They watched the two tough-looking cowmen with Colt .44s strapped on their hips and giving ’em apprehensive stares. The townies said very little as they studied those two hombres who stood with their boots propped up on the bottom rail of Emilio’s Bar and drinking cold beer in grim silence.
Twenty-six-year-old Jeff Nelson rode into Jasper in his wagon on Saturday to buy supplies at the Jasper Mercantile. Jim Budgher, the proprietor, began filling Jeff’s order while Jeff went to Emilio’s Saloon next door for a cold beer. When he came out of the saloon, Ed White was standing by the swinging doors. He introduced himself and asked Jeff for fifty cents to buy a breakfast.
“Man, it’s already dinnertime, Ed. Why are you gonna have a breakfast so late?”
“Breakfast cost fifty cents. Dinner cost a dollar.”
Jeff tossed Ed a dollar. “Have a dinner on me. You want a job, Ed?”
“Doing what?”
“Doing what I tell you.”
“Legal?”
“Certainly.”
“How much does the job pay?”
“Four bits a day and two meals.”
“Mister, you’ve just hired me. Uh, you want your dollar back?”
“Keep it, that’s your first two days’ pay.”
“Now, hop up on this wagon seat and drive this rig over to Jim Budgher’s store and load up my supplies, while I settle up.” Jeff paid Budgher for his supplies, while Ed went to his tent and collected his possibles.
Ed was sitting on the wagon seat when Jeff came out of the store. Where do we go from here, boss?” Ed asked.
Jeff leaned back in the seat next to Ed; he tilted his flat-crowned Stetson forward, closed his eyes, and replied to Ed, “Head the team east, old friend, until I tell you to whoa ’em.”
Ed parked the wagon and put the team into their barn stalls. He moved his possibles into the
