“A bunch of pig farmers are going to try and surprise us, only we ain’t the ones goin’ to get surprised, if you get my meanin’. So, like I said, just don’t get in the way,” Bleeker repeated.
John wasn’t all that surprised that Bleeker knew about what the farmers and small ranchers had planned. After all,
The elevated area where John chose to wait did give him an excellent view of the tollgate, as well as the road on the other side, so he settled in to watch, not having any idea as to what might transpire. Shortly after he sat down, he saw someone else come up to join the two gate guards. He felt a start when he recognized that the new man was Ollie Butrum. Butrum was easy to recognize, because he was head and shoulders shorter than the other two men.
Although Butrum had killed the two young men in town a few days earlier, he was a fairly recent addition to Denbigh’s company. But even before the shootout the other day, Butrum’s reputation with a gun had become well known throughout the Dakota Territory.
For a moment, John wondered what Butrum was doing here; then he realized that Denbigh had probably decided to send Butrum to the tollgate to deal with the farmers and ranchers, rather than let Bleeker and Carver deal with them. That wasn’t good. Bleeker and Carver were bad enough by themselves, but the addition of Butrum could only make the situation much more volatile.
Even as John was contemplating Butrum’s presence, he saw, approaching from the south, a rather substantial body of men. The ranchers and farmers were coming, and John felt a sense of foreboding. He had come out here thinking the challenge to Denbigh’s right to charge a toll might be newsworthy. But now, with Butrum standing alongside the gate guards, he feared it could turn into something much worse.
John wanted to yell at them, to tell them to go back, and he actually stood up, preparatory to doing just that, when Bleeker called out to the approaching riders.
“Hold up there!” Bleeker shouted, stepping out into the middle of the road in front of the gate.
The natural formation of the terrain amplified the voices so that from John’s viewpoint he could hear, as well as see, everything that was going on.
“Where do you think you are going?” Bleeker’s voice was challenging, almost taunting.
“We are going into town,” McCann replied, his voice coming to him, a little more subdued by distance than was Bleeker’s, but clearly defiant. The farmers and ranchers continued to approach the gate. That they were able to do so without further challenge emboldened them, and they came all the way up until stopped by the gate itself.
“Open the tollgate, Bleeker,” McCann demanded.
“Are you in charge of this group?” Bleeker asked.
“I am.”
“How many of you are there?”
“There are twenty-three of us.”
“Then the toll will be twenty-three dollars.”
“Bleeker, you can tell your boss that we don’t intend to pay the toll,” McCann said. “Not now, not ever again. And as you can see, we got no cows with us for you to kill. Now, kindly step aside and open that gate.”
“I’ll open the gate when you give me twenty-three dollars.”
“And if we don’t give you twenty-three dollars, what are you going to do? Do you plan on shooting two or three of us like you did my cattle?” McCann asked. “I don’t think even you would shoot a man in cold blood, so I’m asking—no, I’m demanding, that you open that tollgate.”
“Mister, you ain’t in position to demand nothing. And you ain’t goin’ through the gate without paying the twenty-three dollars,” Bleeker said.
“Yes we are, and by God you ain’t stoppin’ us,” Frank Tanner said, moving away from the rest of them. That was when John saw that Tanner was holding a gun in his hand, and he was pointing it at Bleeker, who, so far, had not drawn his own pistol.
“Frank! I said no guns!” McCann shouted.
“I know what you said,” Tanner called back. “Maybe the rest of you are afraid to face these people, but I ain’t. No, by God, I ain’t scaired at all.”
Tanner turned his attention back to Bleeker. “And I’m tellin’ you right now, mister, if you don’t open that gate I’ll shoot you as dead as McCann’s cows.”
Ollie Butrum stepped out in front of the other two guards and, though he had not drawn his pistol, it loomed large and ominous from his side.
“Put that gun away, cowboy,” Butrum said.
“Oh, my God, Frank, do what he says!” McCann said. “That’s Butrum, the one we were talkin’ about.”
“I don’t care who it is,” Tanner replied. “Maybe the little turd ain’t noticed that while his gun is still in his holster, mine is in my hand.”
“You ain’t afraid of me?” Butrum asked.
“Why should I be afraid of you? Like I said, your gun is in your holster, my gun is in my hand.”
“So it is,” Butrum said. “So it is. But your gun isn’t pointed at me, is it?”
“No, it ain’t. It’s pointed at this feller, and you’ve just give me an idea. Iffen you don’t unbuckle that gun belt and let it fall, I’ll just have to blow this fella’s brains out.”
“Go ahead,” Butrum said.
