know what I think, Smitty?”
“What, boss?”
“I think Bo was ambushed after he sold the steers. Let’s go find that shavetail lieutenant who brought us that voucher.” They rode back to Fort Davis. Jeff asked the commandant for permission to question the young officer. He was granted permission.
“Lieutenant, I’m Jeff Nelson, the rancher whose cattle was delivered to Fort Davis a few days ago and now the young man in charge of that delivery of the cattle has become missing. Do you know of his whereabouts?”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t know.”
“Did you talk to anyone about the delivery of cattle to Fort Davis before or after you brought the beef requisition to my ranch?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Let me put it this way—did you come straight from your fort to my ranch?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“Did you talk to anyone on your way to my ranch?”
“I met a man on the way to your ranch and we shared a drink from his bottle. He was going to the fort on business.”
“Did you tell him where you were going and why?”
“I might have, I don’t remember.”
“What did this man look like, can you describe him for me?”
“Well, actually there were three men. One man was tall, he was in charge, I remember that. The other two men worked for him, I believe. The tall man had a droopy mustache. Oh, yes, there was a long scar on his chin.”
Now Jeff was certain Bo had been ambushed on his way back to the ranch by Lester Willis and others, and his two horses sold to the livery in Fort Davis. Jeff and Smitty started back to the ranch. From there he’d go on to Jasper and report his findings to Sheriff Sizemore. Jeff had a score to settle with Lester Willis.
Bo Jenkins had indeed collected the money for the sale of the cattle. He paid off the cowboys, told them adios, and collected his spare horse. He sorely wanted to ride into town for a beer, but Jeff said no. He was to ride back to the ranch pronto, so reluctantly he started back. About five miles west of Fort Davis Bo spied a campfire and a fellow waved to him. Bo angled his cowpony thataway and said, “Howdy.”
“Howdy to you too, pard’. Step down and have a cup of coffee.”
“I surely will, stranger. That coffee smells mighty good,” replied Bo. “I’m headed back to our ranch and I’m mighty dry and thirsty. I wanted a beer in town, but my boss said no. He told me to hurry back.”
“Well, he can’t begrudge you a cup of cowboy trail coffee, now can he?” The man stuck out his hand, “Howdy, my name’s Les. Where’s your ranch located? Ah…Mr. ah…”
“My name’s Bo, Bo Jenkins, our ranch is the JN Brand, it belongs to my boss, Jeff Nelson.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Here’s your coffee, Bo, you want me to pour a little something extra in it?”
“I sure would be obliged to you, Les. I’m as dry on my insides as a chicken-feather mattress.”
The man poured a generous dollop of whiskey into Bo’s coffee. “Here’s to easy money, Bo.” He held his cup up high.
“I ain’t never had no easy money,” replied Bo as he looked up at the man’s cup.
“Really, well let me share with you, Bo.” He leaned close to Bo and stabbed him through his heart with a bowie knife. Bo was dead before he fell backward on the ground. “My full name is Lester, Bo.”
Two men walked out from behind a large rock while Lester Willis was relieving Bo of the cattle money. “Where do we bury him?”
“We don’t. Drag him off this trail, and put him over yonder. The coyotes gotta eat, don’t they? Y’all take his two horses into town, sell ’em and the saddle to the liveryman, and I’ll see you back at the ranch. You two better not short me on the sale of that nag money, or you’ll pay dearly.”
“We wouldn’t never short you, Lester.” The two men caught Bo’s two horses and rode east, while Lester sat, finished his coffee, and counted his easy money.
Four days later, about five miles from Fort Davis, Jeff saw buzzards circling up ahead, just south of the road. His gut told him he should look. He didn’t want to, but he did, and he was sorry he did. He found what was left of Bo Jenkins, after the coyotes and buzzards had claimed their share.
Smitty began to cry. Jeff teared up. Then both grown men sat in their saddles and cried for their friend. Afterward, when the tears were no more, Jeff and Smitty rolled Bo in their bedrolls. “Smitty, you stay here with Bo, and I’ll go back to the ranch for some men and a wagon, or I’ll stay, and you can go.”
“I’ll stay with Bo, Jeff. He always asked me to watch his back when we fought a battle with them rebels. I’d better stay and watch out for him this time too.”
Jeff rode to the ranch and sent two men in a wagon to fetch Bo and bring him back. He sent Ed with another wagon to find Pastor Jones, buy a coffin in town, and bring ’em both back to the ranch. He sent Mack on a fast horse into Jasper to tell the sheriff that he was needed pronto at Jeff’s ranch. Jeff went into his ranch house. He hugged Sally tightly, kissed her hello, went directly to his office, and had two stiff dollops of store-bought whiskey. Then Jeff sat down at his desk, drank another huge shot of whiskey, and cried some more for his friend. It was a sad day for Jeff Nelson and everyone else at the JN Ranch.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After Parson Jones conducted Bo Jenkins’s funeral service, he was buried next to Ted on the small knoll, overlooking the valley. Bo would’ve liked the scene. Jeff told Sheriff Skidmore what he’d uncovered. Jeff wanted murder charges filed against Lester Willis. The sheriff said he’d arrest Willis on suspicion and let the judge decide the matter.
Jorn Murphy swore with his hand on the Bible that his foreman, Lester Willis was at Murphy’s ranch, lying sick in the bunkhouse with a high fever that whole week. Poor Lester Willis had to be innocent of any foul deed. Jeff knew Jorn Murphy was lying through his rotten teeth, but the judge had no choice but to dismiss all charges against Lester Willis.
“Lester, you should’ve buried that feller, Bo, deep in the ground, then Jeff Nelson wouldn’t’ve discovered his body and found out it was you who kilt him. This is the second time you’ve kilt one of his cowboys and givin’ him cause to suspect us as behind the rustlin’ in this county. Purty soon, he’s liable to sic the Army on us if you keep screwin’ up. Are you gettin’ feeble-minded, or what?”
“All right, all right, I’m sorry, Jorn. What do you want me to do, cut my wrists? I figgered the coyotes and the buzzards would’ve ate him up before anyone found his bones, so I had one little screwup. I’ll bury ’em next time.”
“You just rustle cattle from the different ranches I tell you. I’ll tell you who and when to kill. Understand me, Les?”
“I understand
