What memories came to such a man? What women had he known? Dark-eyed girls in Taos and Santa Fe? Indian girls?
She brought up sharply, her hand on the hotel door. He might be married! He might have children . . . he might be . . . But what difference could it make to her? Only, she would hate to see him lose his home if there were children. That, she told herself, was the only reason the thought disturbed her. There could be no other reason.
Out of Tennessee, by way of Texas.
Chapter 3
Jud Devitt got down from the buckboard at the station. Bob Tripp, his foreman, was standing on the platform checking the unloading of some heavy machinery from flatcars. Jud watched for several minutes while he chewed his black cigar and thought. Then he motioned Tripp to one side.
“Bob, I’ve had words with a cattleman named Bell. He runs stock on that range we’re going to log. We may have trouble, so have the boys primed for it. If that cowboy thinks he can keep me out of the stand of timber he’s mistaken!”
Tripp nodded. He had worked a dozen jobs with Jud Devitt and enjoyed a good fight. He was an older man, and a tough one who knew how to handle men and get results.
“The boys need it. They got bees in their britches.” He glanced at Devitt. “How about the land? That’s government property, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry,” Devitt replied confidently. “Frank Chase is in Washington now. He’ll handle that end. Our job is cutting timber.” He smiled. “We may have the place logged off before he gets it fixed, but who’s to stop us? This is an age, Bob, when the strong man gets what he goes after. This country likes enterprise! It was made for it! A man never gets rich standing still. Plan carefully, then go ahead and let nothing stand in your way.”
Bob Tripp did not reply. Jud Devitt got things done, and they were things somebody had to do. Bob Tripp was the man who could get them done for him, and he liked the doing. Nevertheless, being a small man himself, he sometimes had his moments of doubt. To make one man big, many good men had to fall . . . How would he feel about it if he was one of those under the axe?
“Paid off so far, hasn’t it?” Devitt asked, as if reading his thoughts. “No man has the right to stand in the way of progress.”
“This here Bell,” Tripp said tentatively, “I’ve heard some about him. Can’t you buy him out?”
“Buy him out?” Devitt gave an incredulous laugh. “You must be getting old, Bob. When did we ever buy a man off government range? He’ll get off peaceably or we’ll run him off!”
He turned on his heel and started back to the hotel, leaving the buckboard for Tripp. That stand of fir was the finest in the state, and if all went well he would have it off the mountain before the government acted. There was no need to worry about that. Chase was his legal and political fixer, Chase understood how he operated, and Chase knew the right people and how to reach them. He would have the deal fixed up, but there was no use wasting time sitting around when there could be but one answer.
Of course, there had been a time, the Charleston Mountain affair, when Chase had failed. By the time Devitt knew of his failure the mountain was logged off and his men had moved on to another job. A little skillful placing of money had covered that up. They were too busy in Washington to investigate the claims every rancher made, but if a man had money and a little influence almost anything could be done.
The country was bursting with natural resources and the thing to do was get rich while they lasted. It was patriotic, in one sense. He was helping to build the country, and if he got rich in the process, wasn’t that the American way? Or was it merely his own way?
A vague thought filtered into his mind that perhaps the natural resources of a nation were for the benefit of all, but he put the thought aside and went on down the street, planning as he walked.
This Bell, now. The man would fight, probably, not realizing how hopeless it was. He had twelve hands, and that would not be nearly enough. The Deep Creek range was wide and deep, and there must be a score of ways he could get into it and start cutting without trouble. In any event, he had fifty tough lumberjacks spoiling for trouble, and if need be he could get as many more.
He had taken time to check on Bell. The man had no cash resources. In fact, he owed money. If he made trouble, there would be more than one way to force him off his ranch.
Riley was here, and that was another asset. It always paid to have one’s own judge. It was the first thing he had done—to have Judge Riley appointed Federal Judge in the district. If it came to a court fight, that gate was already closed.
He had talked to the R&R, too. The railroad was eager for the lumbering to start, for it would result in good business for them during a slack time. That was another thing he and Chase had handled. They had not talked to local people, but had gone to the head office, right to the top, in New York. The local people would have their orders to cooperate. If Bell gave him trouble he would see that he got no cars to ship his cattle.
Chewing his cigar, he went over the details again. He could find no loophole left open for Bell. The rancher had his tail in a crack. No getting around that.
He chuckled. Imagine the nerve of the fellow! Offering to fight him! At the time he had been angry, but now it amused him. Might be fun, at that. But it could wait.
Too tall—couldn’t weigh over one-seventy. If Bell wanted it, he could have it.
He walked quickly along the street, scarcely noticing the people along the walk. There was a lot to do, but things were moving.
Wat Williams was still loafing on the street, and Jud saw his black eye. He stopped abruptly, and Williams explained, reluctantly.
Devitt was suddenly irritated. He did not care how much his men fought, but he wanted them to win. “Don’t worry! You’ll get another chance at him!”
“If you don’t mind,” Williams said mildly, “I’ve had mine. You can have him, or anybody else. Me, I’m satisfied!”
Jud Devitt brushed by him and went into the hotel dining room.
Clay Bell’s B-Bar ranch lay in the open mouth of a lovely green valley that yawned widely into the flat that sloped up from the bottom where Tinker’s Creek ambled placidly over the sand.
The ranch lay around a shoulder of the mountain from the town, and some miles away. It could not be seen from the town, but the green of the grass where the valley opened was plainly visible. The ranch buildings lay a good mile farther up the canyon on a long bench under the brow of the hills.
From the wide and deep veranda of the ranch house the view stretched away for miles, past the bed of Tinker’s Creek and past the land that lay below the town. In late fall, winter, and spring, cattle could be grazed on those flatlands, but the number of acres per cow was too few, and without the excellent graze, water, and hay meadows of the upland valleys, no rancher could hope to succeed.
The timber of the Deep Creek country was excellent; it was virgin timber and there was little undergrowth. Not until it had been cut over would brush invade those woodland parks to crowd out the grass.
Clay Bell was grazing six thousand head of cattle, and of that number the greater part fed on the plateau behind the ridge. By carefully culling his herds and beefing the culls, he had built a fine mixed herd of white-face and shorthorn cattle, but his planning had exceeded his income and he had borrowed heavily, mortgaging his herds.
Another year would see him free of his indebtedness and ready to increase his herds and to drill some wells on the flatlands where the prospects of water were good. But as he rode homeward he was considering the situation that now existed due to the arrival of Jud Devitt.
The man had strength and force of character, he had the confidence born of victory, and Clay had seen the eagerness for battle manifest in the readiness with which Williams had attacked him. Devitt would have more money with which to fight, and more men.