“Here now, Mr. Houser, ’n you’ll be forgiving me for nae understanding the meaning of all your words.”
“Basically it means that Twin Peaks has established a prior presence on the property, so that now I, as the present owner of Twin Peaks, have exclusive rights to the land.”
“Aye, but dinnae ye say that ’twas an unwritten law?”
“Unwritten law, sir, is based upon custom, usage, and judicial decisions. And though it has not been enacted in the form of statute or ordinance, it does have legal sanction,” Houser pontificated.
“And you bring up this unwritten law because Mr. Prosser grazed a few of his cows on open range?” Duff asked.
“Captain MacCallister,” Houser started, then he interrupted his comment to ask a question. “I have recently learned that you were a captain in the Black Watch, is that correct?”
“Aye, but I’m nae addressed as such anymore.”
“If you will allow me, I will extend you the courtesy of addressing you so. Captain MacCallister, it may well be that the usurpation of open range means little to you, as Sky Meadow is so large that you can manage your herd completely within the boundaries of your own holdings. But for those of us who depend upon open range, the proliferation of these pesky, small ranchers can be a problem.”
Houser finished his drink then stood. “Thank you for the fine Scotch,” he said. “And do consider my words, Captain MacCallister, for I have no doubt but that other larger ranchers are suffering loss of grazing area and water just as I am.”
After Houser left, Biff came over to join Duff at the table. Knowing that Duff rationed his alcoholic beverages, he brought, instead of another whiskey, a cup of hot coffee to offer.
“What was Houser palaverin’ about?” Biff asked.
“He seems to have a personal animus for the smaller ranchers in the area.”
“Yeah, he would,” Biff said. “He is so full of himself that it’s a wonder his head doesn’t explode. I don’t mind tellin’ you, Duff, I don’t like the son of a bitch.”
“Aye, he can be a bit unpleasant.”
“A bit unpleasant? That’s like saying the fight at Little Bighorn was a ‘bit of a scuffle.’”
Somewhere in Eastern Colorado
“We need us a little more travelin’ money,” Sid Shamrock said to the men who were riding with him.
“How do you propose we get it?” Jaco asked. “There ain’t no banks here ’bout.”
“Which, even if there was, it would more ’n likely not do us no good anyway,” Hawke said. “I mean, seein’ as we didn’t do all that good with the last one we robbed.”
“Hawke, you can go off on your own, if you want to,” Jaco said. “I know how well you were doing by yourself until you joined us.”
“I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout goin’ off nowhere,” Hawke replied. “I was just sayin’ as how we didn’t get as much money as we thought we would, is all. They was all of us some upset about that, ’n you know it.”
“It’ll get better,” Shamrock promised.
The six men came over the top of a hill and saw a stagecoach parked out in front of a building. The building appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.
“Damn, it’s a way stop for stagecoaches,” Shamrock said. He smiled. “Boys, that’s where we’ll get our money.”
“You mean we’re goin’ to rob a stagecoach?” Wix asked.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. ’N seein’ as this coach ain’t even movin’, it don’t seem to me like it’s goin’ to be very hard to do.”
“What if the coach ain’t carryin’ no money?” Evans asked.
“The passengers will have some money. ’N more ’n likely, the stagecoach station will have some, too. Right now we ain’t got hardly two coins to rub together amongst us all, so anything we get will be better than what we’ve got.”
“You got that right,” Pete said.
As the six men approached the way station, the attached team stood quietly, as if the horses were mentally preparing themselves for the ten miles they would have to pull the coach before reaching the next way stop where they could rest.
“Hey, Shamrock, look at that,” Evans said. “The shotgun guard didn’t even take his rifle in with ’im.”
“I don’t know how much we’re goin’ to get from these folks, but whatever it is, it’s goin’ to be like takin’ candy from a baby,” Shamrock said.
The six men tied off their horses, then went inside. They saw seven people sitting around a table, being the five coach passengers, the driver, and the shotgun guard. The passengers consisted of one overweight man who appeared to be a drummer, a second man who had the worn look of someone who had worked hard for his entire life but had little to show for it, a woman and two children, a boy of about ten or eleven and a girl who couldn’t have been over six. Neither of the male passengers was wearing a gun, but the shotgun guard and the driver were.
There was a man and a woman bringing plates of food to the table.
“Oh my,” the station manager said when he saw the six of them. “If you fellers are here for a meal, I hope you like beans, seein’ as that’s all I’ll have left after feedin’ the stagecoach passengers. ’N they come first, you know.”
“Take the driver and the shotgun guard first,” Shamrock said quietly. “Now,” he added.
Shamrock and the five men with him drew their guns.
“What the hell?” the shotgun guard shouted as he started to stand up. He was trying to draw his pistol at the same time, but was shot down before he could even get to his feet. The driver put his hands up, but that didn’t stop him from being shot, either.
The station manager had started toward the counter as soon as he saw the men draw their guns, and he managed to bring up a shotgun but was cut down before he could shoot.
The two women screamed,
