“It wasn’t exactly cold blood,” E.B. said. “I was there, I saw it. The two strangers were armed. They were not only armed, they went for their guns first. I’m not saying Butrum didn’t prod them into drawing, but they did draw first. And if they had not gone for their guns, I don’t think Butrum would have shot them. Not in front of the whole town.”
“The newspaper said Butrum drew with no provocation,” Jennings said.
“No, it says that he had little provocation,” E.B. corrected. “We don’t know what kind of provocation they might have had. And, like I said, the two men were armed, and they did draw first. Or at least, they tried to draw first.”
“That is exactly why I don’t want us to go armed,” McCann said.
“Who put you in charge?” Frank demanded.
“I put myself in charge,” McCann said. “I’m the one that called this meeting, and I’m the one who suggested that we all go together next time we go to town. So if you are going to be a part of this, then I am in charge.”
“I have no problem with Ian being in charge, whether self appointed or not,” E.B. said. “But just to make it official, I say we vote on it. I nominate Ian McCann as head of our group.”
“I second that,” another said.
The vote was unanimous, including even a belated vote from Frank Tanner.
“Yeah, all right, I figure when you come right down to it, especially since you got the biggest ranch of all of us, that you are the one should be in charge,” Tanner said.
“Good. If that’s all settled, then I think we should go in next Saturday morning,” McCann said.
After that, the meeting broke into several conversations, some about what was going to happen on Saturday, but several others of a more personal nature.
“Ian,” Cora McCann said, sticking her head into the parlor. “I don’t want to break up your meeting, but we can eat anytime you are ready.”
“I was born ready to eat,” Dennis Donovan said and the others, looking at his rather corpulent frame, laughed as they all started toward the dining room.
Of all the ranchers present, Ian McCann was the only one who could host such a meeting, because he was the only one who had a house large enough to accommodate so many people. Though there were too many people to sit at the table and eat, the table did serve a useful purpose by being filled with dozens of dishes of meats, vegetables, and bread, along with cakes, pies, and cobblers.
As the guests filed by the table, even the shiest among them had no trouble in filling their plates. Ralph and Amanda Putnam, who were the Fowlers’ nearest neighbors, found a place near them to sit and eat.
“Tell me, E.B.,” Ralph said. “Do you really think we will be able to force Denbigh to take down that tollgate by doing this?”
“I don’t know,” E.B. answered truthfully. “But we’ve got to start somewhere. We can’t just sit back and let him run roughshod over us like this.”
“Maybe Frank is right,” Ralph suggested. “Maybe we should all go armed.”
E.B. shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.”
“Not yet?”
“Let’s face it, Ralph. There may come a time when this develops into a shooting war. I hope it does not, but I will fight before I completely surrender to him.”
“Yeah,” Ralph said. “Yeah, I guess I will too.”
Chapter Thirteen
As a newspaperman, John Bryce spent a lot of time visiting with the good citizens of the town of Fullerton, not only to sell advertising and subscriptions to his paper, but also to gather news and run down rumors. Following up on a few leads, John learned that the small ranchers and farmers of the valley were planning to gather into one large group to come into town on Saturday, hoping by sheer numbers to force their way through the gate. He decided that he would ride out to the gate to witness the confrontation.
“John, no,” Millie said. “There’s no telling what might happen out there. It’s too dangerous.”
John chuckled. “Darlin’, Shiloh was dangerous, I was there. Fredericksburg was dangerous, and I was there too. What happens today will be newsworthy, but it won’t be dangerous. And I wouldn’t be much of a newspaperman if I let a little danger keep me from going out there to cover the story.”
“All right, but please be careful,” Millie said.
Realizing that the tollgate across the Ellendale Road would be the point of confrontation between the small ranchers, farmers, and Denbigh’s men, John approached from Fullerton, which put him on the north side of the tollgate. He came to within sixty feet of the gate, then stopped. One of the gate guards, a man that John knew only as Bleeker, called out to him.
“You comin’ through the gate, newspaperman?”
“I don’t think so,” John replied.
“Then what are you doing out here?”
John dismounted, tied off his horse, then climbed halfway up the side of a small hill and sat down. “I’m just taking the air,” he said.
“Taking the air, you say? Well, my advice to you is, not to get in the way.”
“Get in the way of what?”
