“We’re from a cow camp up the river a short distance,” Duke said. “We’re driving a herd of cattle through here.”
“Yeah, well, what I mean is, where did you bring them cows from?”
“Texas,” John answered before Duke could cut him off.
Duke sighed, because John’s answer had just the effect he was trying to avoid.
“Texas? By God, you mean to tell me you Rebel bastards got the sand to come up here?”
“We’re from Texas, but we’re not Rebels,” Duke said.
“You ain’t, huh? Well, you look like Rebels to me,” the soldier insisted.
“How the hell would you know what a Rebel looks like?” John asked. “You ain’t exactly in the middle of the war out here.”
“I say you three pukes are Rebels,” the soldier said, getting up from his chair. “And I’m tellin’ you to go on back to where you came from.”
Without saying another word, John threw his beer mug at the soldier. He missed the soldier who was his target, but he hit one of the other soldiers sitting at the same table.
One of the soldiers at the table threw his own beer mug and it sailed by John and Duke, smashing several bottles of liquor that were sitting on a shelf behind the bar.
With that, the fight was on. Other soldiers joined the first group, giving them a three-to-one edge over the cowboys. Tables were broken and chairs were splintered as the fight grew in intensity.
James was just walking toward the saloon to meet the others, when the window suddenly exploded into a shower of glass as a chair came flying outside. From inside the saloon he could hear angry shouts and curses, and he realized at once what was happening. He ran into the saloon with his gun drawn. Stepping through the door, he saw three soldiers lying on the floor. A fourth soldier was on his knees, shaking his head as if trying to clear away the cobwebs. Five soldiers were still on their feet, however, and they were closing a circle around the three cowboys.
“Hold it!” James shouted. When nobody paid any attention to him, he shouted again, firing his pistol at the same time. The gunshot boomed through the saloon and a heavy cloud of smoke and the acrid smell of spent powder drifted through the room.
The gunshot had the desired effect of getting everyone’s attention and all activity came to a halt.
“Now, you soldier-boys just back on away from my pards, there,” James ordered, making a little waving motion with his pistol.
The soldiers moved a few feet away from the bar. Their hands were up and they were glaring at James.
“All the way,” James said. “Go over to that table in the far corner and sit down.”
Grumbling, the soldiers did as ordered.
“Now, Duke, take these two with you on outside, get on your horses and go back to camp,” James said.
Duke and Luke started to comply, but John turned back to the bar.
“You boys go on. I ain’t goin’ nowhere ’till I’ve finished my drink and had me a woman,” he said.
Almost imperceptibly, James nodded at Duke. Slipping his pistol from his holster, Duke hit John just behind the ear. John went down, and Duke scooped him up. Then, carrying John over his shoulder, Duke followed Luke outside.
With his gun still pointed toward the soldiers, including the ones on the floor who were just now beginning to regain their feet, James backed out of the saloon.
“Hey!” the saloon proprietor shouted. “Who’s going to pay for the damage to my place? I’ve got a broke window, couple of busted chairs, and a dozen bottles of liquor ruined here.”
“How much?”
“A hundred dollars for sure.”
“We’ve got a cow camp about three miles upriver,” James said. “I’ll cut out five head and leave them tied to a tree. You can come up and get them. Will that satisfy you?”
The proprietor nodded. “If I find five cows tied to a tree, I’ll be satisfied.”
James was the last to leave, still holding his gun at the ready as he backed through the door. A moment later, those in the saloon heard the sound of hoofbeats as the cowboys rode off.
Private Murphy, who was one of the soldiers ordered to the table, got up quickly and started toward the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, soldier,” the proprietor said. “That fool cowboy might just be waiting for someone to stick his head through the door so he can shoot it off. I know them Texans.”
Murphy halted his charge toward the door. He went over to the bar. There were the ghosts of missing stripes on Murphy’s sleeve, indicating that his present rank of private was the result of some misdeed in the past. Picking up what was left of John Scattergood’s beer, he drank it.
“Say, will them cows really pay for the damage that was done in here?” he asked.
“They sure will. There is a standing offer from the U.S. Army for cattle. They’ll pay twenty dollars apiece for ’em.”
“Is that a fact?” Murphy asked.
“What does the army want with cattle?” one of the other soldiers asked.
“What does the army want with cattle? Where do you think we get our beef?” Murphy replied.
“Seems to me like we don’t hardly ever have none,” the first soldier said. “Seems to me, mostly all we get is beans and, sometimes, a little bacon.”
“What with the war on and all, there’s a lot more soldiers than there is beef available,” the saloon proprietor explained. “And what beef is available goes to the fightin’ men, not soldier-boys like you, safe in some distant fort. That’s why there is a standing order for cattle, and the army is willing to pay good money to anyone who can furnish them with beef.”
Murphy walked back to the table to sit with the others. “Twenty dollars for one cow. Did you fellas hear that?”
“Yeah, I heard it,” one of the other soldiers said. “Twenty dollars is damn near two months’ pay.”
“That’s a lot of money,” another soldier said.
“You know, if we had us, say, a hundred cows, that would be worth some real money,” Murphy said.
“Yeah, if we had a hundred cows.”
Murphy smiled at the others. “Well, I know where we can get a hundred cows,” he said.
“Where?”
“Didn’t you hear that Texan tell the barkeep that he had a cow camp just up the river a ways? A cow camp means there’s cows.”
“Are you suggesting we rustle cattle?” one of the others asked.
“Nah,” Murphy said, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of his hand. “It wouldn’t be rustling. We’re in the Union army, them boys are Rebels. All we would be doing is confiscating a few cows for the government.”
“What’s the good of that? If we confiscated them for the army, the army would just take them away from us and we’d get nothing.”
“Yeah,” another agreed. “And it don’t matter what they are paying civilians to sell them beef—they ain’t going to pay soldiers.”
“I was thinking we could sell the cows to the barkeep, then he could sell them to the army.”
“Think he’d do that?”
“I’ll give you boys fifteen dollars a head,” the barkeep said, overhearing their conversation.
Chapter Twelve
