A gentleman, his father had told him once, did not read another person’s mail. Whatever these letters were, they were not addressed to him but to Rig Barrett … Yet Rig Barrett was not here, or didn’t seem to be, and this was an emergency. He knew little of Barrett except what he heard, but he tried to put himself in Barrett’s place.
What would Rig do? What would John Morrissey do? What would his father have done?
They would read those letters and plan accordingly. Look at the situation, Shanaghy told himself. These people expect Barrett. He has not come. George believes he will not or cannot come. Yet Shanaghy himself had Barrett’s clothing, his blankets and his prized shotgun.
Damn it, he swore softly. Where are you, Carpenter? He worked, but as he worked he wondered where George was and where that girl was. He also thought of those cattle with twenty-five tough cowhands moving north, mile by mile, coming closer and closer to that inevitable hour. And what about Drako? Drako would also know of that, he and his tough sons. What were they doing? Were they going to run or fight? Fight, he decided. They were too proud or too foolish to run. But they would need help … and probably knew where to get it. At last Carpenter returned, and Holstrum was with him. Shanaghy stripped off his apron. “Got to go up the street,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
“Wait just a minute,” Carpenter suggested. He turned to the storekeeper.
“Holstrum, you tell him.”
“Shanaghy, we don’t know you, except that Carp here says you’re a mighty fine smith and a good worker. He also says you backed down Drako.” Shanaghy shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that. Drako likes to know who he’s fightin’, and I’m kind of unknown. He wasn’t scared … He just wanted to think it over some. Just the same-“ he paused- “I don’t think Drako is as tough as he’d like to have people think, or as tough as he’d like to believe he is.” “Nonetheless, you stopped him. He stood off when you showed yourself ready. Now, we’ve been expecting Rig Barrett and something’s happened, because he hasn’t showed.”
“I don’t think he’s going to show,” Shanaghy said. They looked at him, suddenly attentive. Tom remembered, too late, about Josh Lundy’s warning.
“I heard this man George tell a woman he wouldn’t show.” It sounded weak, he knew. There was suspicion in their eyes now.
“How could he know that?” Holstrum asked.
“He couldn’t … unless he knew somebody had made certain of it.” Shanaghy hung up the apron, took down his shirt and put it on. The two men watched him until he donned his coat, then somewhat reluctantly Holstrum suggested, “Shanaghy, I don’t know you but Carpenter has respect for you, and he liked the way you stood off Drako. Well … if Rig doesn’t show, how about you? Would you take on the job? Rig being a known man, he had the battle half won. It will be tougher for you.”
Shanaghy smiled. What would Old Smoke say to that? Offered a job as marshal! Old Smoke, he realized suddenly, would have taken it, and he would have been right out there in the street to stop them. John Morrissey never backed water for any man. And come to think of it, he never had either. He’d run a couple of times, but only from numbers and when he knew he was coming back. “Thanks,” he said. “I have a ticket on the night train. I’m heading back to New York, where I’ve trouble enough waiting and some old scores to pay.” “Shanaghy,” Holstrum protested, “we’re in serious trouble here. Patterson’s liable to burn our town. He has said he would.” “Sorry. When that train goes, I’ll be on it.”
He walked away up the street. Damn it, this wasn’t his fight! What did they take him for? He just showed up in town and … What did they know about him, after all? And if they did know about him, what would they think then? It was like McCarthy said, he was nothing but a Bowery thug. Would they want him for marshal if they knew that?
Shanaghy went to his room and opened the haversack. For the first time he looked at the shirts. They were much too small for him, with his seventeen-inch neck. The cuffs were frayed and worn. Mr. Rig Barrett did not make much of being a peace officer, for the outfit was that of a poor man. Only the guns were neat and well kept.
If Rig Barrett had been less than- an honest man, these shirts might have been made of the striped silk the gamblers wore-or some of them, at least. Shanaghy took out the packet of letters, the notebook with the loose papers tucked inside, and the map. He put them down on the bed, then walked over and locked the door. He took out his six-shooter and placed it on the bed beside him as he sat.
There were four letters in the packet, and he put them aside, reluctant to open them. First, he looked at the loose papers.
The first was a carefully written description of the town, all compressed into about three lines, with a list of the stores, saloons and other buildings, and a diagram showing their locations along the street.
Below it were brief written outlines of several people, the first being:
Patterson, Vincent, age 36, height five feet ten inches, hair brown, eyes brown.
M. Marcella Draper, 2 sons, 1 daughter. Father to Texas with Moses Austin.
Mexican War 1 yr. service; Texas Rangers, 2 yrs. Veteran several Indian battles. Runs about 6,000 head. Rarely drinks. Strong, stubborn, fearless. Never leaves a job incomplete. Honest, a driver of men but feeds them well. Always has the best cook on the range. Excellent stock in remuda. Cattle always top grade. Can be reasoned with if in the mood. Once started, no stopping. Drako, Henry, age 41, five feet eleven inches, black hair, mixed gray. Mustache, often unshaven. Believed wanted in West Virginia for horse theft; 3 sons, Win, Dandy, and Wilson. No record on boys. Suspected horse theft. Cattle theft. Movers. W. Va. to Ohio; to Illinois; served in Blackhawk War; to Tennessee, trouble with man named Sackett whose horse Drako “borrowed.” Sackett recovered horse, suggested they leave. They did. Marshal killed V. Patterson’s brother. Victim apparently under the influence.
Pendleton, Alfred. Brn Suffolk, Eng. Age 44 yrs. Six feet. Hair blond, eyes blue, slender build; 1 son, 1 daughter. Widower. Buys cattle, feeds, ships. Occasional buyer from Patterson. Win Drako suspected of stealing Pendleton calves. Quiet man, avoids trouble. Son, Richard, strong, athletic, attended William & Mary College 2 years. Now 25. Good horseman, good shot. Pendleton suffered reverses due to drouth, cattle theft.
There were brief listings on Carpenter, Greenwood and Holstrum that told Shanaghy nothing he did not already know.
There were notes on several other businessmen and, at the end:
Josh Lundy, cowhand, five feet eight inches, slender, age 29. Brn Texas. Presently employed by Pendleton. Witness in cow theft against Win Drako. Claimed horse in possession of Drako was stolen from Pendleton range, horse Lundy said owned by Jan Pendleton.
That must be the horse Lundy had been accused of stealing. He said he had stolen a horse, stolen it back, for a girl.
Lundy’s father killed by Indians when he was twelve, supported mother and three sisters herding cattle, raising a few on his own. Wounded in Indian fight. Wounded again in fight with border bandits. Cattle drive to east, swam herd over the Mississippi. Right arm broken when thrown from bad horse. Good man with a rifle. Short arm makes handling pistol difficult. Reliable. Obviously, Rig Barrett was no fool and left little to chance. He wished to know what kind of men he must deal with.
Pendleton … Why did that name hold his attention? Lundy might have mentioned it when he spoke of stealing the horse. Jan Pendleton was obviously that girl. The second page was a simple list of expenditures for supplies, ammunition and such items, along with a note of fifty dollars sent to “Maggie.”
A third sheet was the beginning of a letter to Mag, evidently Barrett’s wife:
Dear Lady.
I taken pen in hand to inform you of my whereabouts and destination. Unfortunately, the prairie town to which I go offers employment for two months only, making it impractical to send for you, Dear Lady. I shall ride down the trail to meet Mr. Patterson before he is close to town. Perhaps we may reach an understanding.
The trouble I foresee will not come from him. There are other elements entering into this, which accounts for my presence in Kansas City. Be assured that when this task is complete I shall come to you at once, in St. Louis. Do you remember Mr. Pendleton? The gentleman who loaned you the handkerchief on the train? He is here-in the town, that is-and, I fear, is having trouble. I shall write aga …