The Stranger from Abilene

Kelly knew Burke was as slippery as an eel and would come at him from a direction he didn’t expect, wheedling out information before he even knew he was giving it. He threw up a defense, a disinterested casualness. “I just had some time to kill and figured I’d find out what happened in Bighorn Point before I became marshal,” he said.

Burke’s eyes were still probing. “Nothing happened,” he said. “The town was dying, breathing its last.”

Kelly saw an opening, and he took it. “So, what changed things?”

Burke opened a desk drawer and held up a pint of whiskey. “Drink?”

“No, thanks,” Kelly said. “A bit too early for me.”

“You mind if I do? Just a heart starter, you understand.”

“Help yourself.”

Burke took a swig, put the bottle back in the drawer, and said, “So, what changed things?”

Kelly said nothing, waiting for the editor to fill in the silence.

“Parker Southwell and his partners changed things,” Burke said.

“I didn’t know he had partners.”

“He did, way back when.”

Again Kelly waited. He had no clear idea why he wanted information on Southwell, except that Clayton had said the old man could be the one he was hunting. What was it he’d said?

“He could be. I don’t know.”

So even Clayton wasn’t sure. But Kelly had decided to at least go through the motions of finding out.

Burke was talking again.

“Ten years ago, let me see. That would be the spring of ’eighty, Southwell came up the trail from Texas with nine hundred head of cattle and told folks he planned to establish a ranch south of town.”

“His partners were with him?”

“Yes, but they weren’t cattlemen. One was John Quarrels, our current mayor; the other, Ben St. John, owner of the only bank in our fair city.”

“What did Quarrels do?”

“He built a dry goods store but sold it after a year. The mayor is not a man to stand behind a counter in an apron.” Burke opened the drawer again, stared inside as though trying to make up his mind, then closed it. “Ben St. John used his own start-up money for the bank, so he must have had quite a stash when he arrived in Bighorn Point,” he said.

“So between the three of them, they saved the town from drying up and blowing away?” Kelly said.

“Sure. We had a bank, an excellent store, and a big ranch close by. The next year St. John and Quarrels bankrolled the building of a church and a school, hired a reverend and a teacher, and people started to arrive, eager to call such a God-fearing town home.”

“How come only one saloon?”

“Southwell, St. John, and Quarrels are the movers and shakers in Bighorn Point, and one thing they wanted was respectability. They closed three of the saloons and left one open as a courtesy to travelers. As Parker Southwell said at the time, ‘A saloon has never helped business, education, church, morality, female purity, or any of the other virtues we hold so dear.’”

Burke couldn’t resist a sly dig. “Maybe ol’ Park should forget cows, grab his Bible, and go on the kerosene circuit.”

“Give me an out-and-out scoundrel any day,” Kelly said. “I don’t much like being around respectable people.”

“A man after my own heart,” Burke said. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I’m sure. I got to be on my way.”

“Mr. Clayton—is he respectable?” Burke said.

The question took Kelly by surprise. Burke had a way of doing that. “Why do you ask?”

“Our man from Abilene says he’ll kill somebody in this town before he leaves. Is that respectable?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Unless he has a good reason?”

“I’m sure he has.”

“Avenging a past wrong, I imagine.”

“Yeah, it has to be something like that.”

“Perhaps Mr. Southwell is his intended target.”

Now the marshal was wary. “What makes you say that?”

“Mr. Southwell is a man without a known past.”

Kelly smiled. “Hell, J.T., he’s been in this town for the last ten years.”

“Yes, but what did he do during the time between the end of the war and 1880? Come to that, what did his partners do?”

“Former partners.”

“Former? Maybe. Maybe not.”

Kelly shook his head. “J.T., you’re a suspicious man.”

“That’s what makes me a good newspaperman, Marshal. Perhaps I’ll do some digging, find out what Southwell and the others did in Texas after the war.”

“You do that, and when you find out let me know.”

Burke opened the drawer and took out the bottle. To Kelly’s retreating back, he said, “Mixed brands, Marshal.”

Kelly stopped and turned. “What the hell are you talking about, J.T.?”

“I inspected those nine hundred cows Southwell drove up from Texas. They were all young, and they wore a bunch of different brands.” He looked at Kelly. “Something to think about.”

“Hell, so he bought them from ranches on his way up the trail.”

“Or he rustled them,” Burke said.

Chapter 23

“The ranch is southwest of town on a creek,” Shad Vestal said, drawing rein. “I’d say we’re less than an hour away.” He looked at Clayton and grinned. “Time to make peace with your maker.”