La Junta at ten o’clock this morning.” Garrison glanced at the clock. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. They should have been here two hours ago.”
“That’s what Mr. Thompson said, too,” Kathleen said. “He said one of the wagons may have broken an axle or something. Anyway, I asked him to let us know the moment they arrive.”
“Good, good, I’d really like to get started on the depot right away. I think seeing a depot go up in town would have a great effect on the townspeople and—”
Garrison’s comment was interrupted by shouting from outside. The shouts were loud and angry.
“What is it?” Garrison asked. “What’s going on outside?”
“I don’t have any idea,” Kathleen replied. “It was quiet when I came in a moment ago.”
Garrison put a paperweight on the map he had been studying, then walked over to the door and stepped outside. Kathleen followed him.
“They’re dead! All three of ’em are dead!” someone shouted.
“Marshal Calhoun should get a posse together,” another called.
“What good would that do? He ain’t got no jurisdiction outside of town.”
“What about Sheriff Belmond?”
“Lots of luck getting Belmond to do anything.”
“Well, we need to do something! We should go after the sons of bitches who did this. We can’t just let them get away with it.”
“Don’t nobody know who it was.”
“Abner!” Garrison called to one of the men.
“Yes, sir, General?”
“What are you men talking about? Who is dead?”
“You mean you ain’t heard?”
“If I had heard, would I be asking you?”
“No, I’m sorry, General, I guess you wouldn’t be,” Abner said. “It’s Norman True, Josey Hale, and Mickey Wells is who it is.”
“Wait a minute, Norman True you say? He drives for Thompson Wagon Freight, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was he found?”
“They was found out on the road ’bout halfway between here and La Junta. All three was shot dead and their wagons burnt.”
“The wagons were burned?”
“Yes, sir, all three of ’em, burnt to the ground.”
“Papa, that’s—”
“Yes, Kathleen, I know,” Garrison replied. “That’s our shipment.”
“But why would anyone do such a thing? Mr. True is as nice a man as you would ever want to meet,” Kathleen said.
“They weren’t after Mr. True, darlin’,” Garrison said. “They were after our shipment.”
Chapter Six
Ike Clinton, owner of La Soga Larga Ranch, and his three boys were riding into the town of La Junta.
As they came into town, a dog ran out into the road to yap and snap at the heels of the horses. Cletus, the middle of the three, pulled his gun and shot at the dog. He hit the dog in one of its legs, and the dog ran from the street, yelping in pain. A young Mexican boy ran out to grab the dog.
“Ha! Did you see that?” Cletus asked. “I think I took his foot off.”
“You ought not to have done that,” Billy said. Billy was the youngest. “That dog wasn’t bothering you.”
“Yeah, well, he was botherin’ my horse,” Cletus said. “That’s damn near the same thing as botherin’ me. Anyway, I did the dog a favor.”
Ray laughed. “How did you do that dog a favor by shootin’ off his foot?” Ray was the oldest, and by far the largest of the three.
“Well, he won’t be runnin’ out after horses no more now, will he?” Cletus replied. “Like as not some horse would’a kicked him in the head and kilt him one of these days.”
“Yeah,” Billy growled. “You were just real good to him.”
“Hey, Ray, what do you think? Billy is just all broke up ’cause I shot that dog’s foot off.”
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Billy worries about things like that—being good to dogs, little kids, and old folks.”
“Billy, how the hell did you get to be so different from us?” Cletus asked.
