“We didn’t do that job,” Houser replied. “If you recall, I kept my hands clean.”
“Yeah, ’n got most of the money,” Shamrock complained.
“Who else would you come to for help, if not for me?” Houser asked.
“Yeah, there is that. So, what do you say? Will you help me out, or not?”
Houser drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then he smiled.
“As a matter of fact, you may have arrived at a most fortuitous time.”
“What? What does that mean?” Shamrock asked.
“It means that I have been contemplating something, and you and your associates may just be who I need to put the plan into effect.”
“What do you have in mind?” Shamrock asked. “Another bank as easy as that first one, ’n with as much money?”
“No, there is no bank involved. But there can be a great deal of money, even more money than before.”
“All right!” Shamrock said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s do it!”
“You haven’t asked what it is.”
“I don’t care what it is. I figure if it’s somethin’ you got planned, it’ll be a lot of money, ’cause there was the last time,” Shamrock said.
“Yeah, well, speaking of money, we ain’t got hardly none at all now,” Wix said.
“Who are you?” Houser asked.
“My name is . . . uh . . . Wix.”
“Tell me who the rest of them are,” Houser said to his brother.
“This here is Jeb Jaco, Pete, don’t know his last name, Evans, ’n Hawke,” Shamrock said, pointing out each of the men as he named them. “’N you done met Wix.”
“Have you no money left from your recent activity?”
“We got maybe twenty dollars betwixt us all,” Shamrock said.
Houser took six twenty-dollar bills from his pocket and handed one to each of them. “You can consider this an advance until I put my plan into operation.”
“When will that be?” Shamrock asked.
“When I’m ready,” Houser replied.
“All right,” Shamrock said. “But how ’bout you buy us a couple of bottles now?”
“I just gave you twenty dollars apiece—buy them yourselves,” Houser said. “But stay where I can get hold of you.”
“All right if we get us some whores tonight?” Shamrock asked.
Houser started to say no, but he hesitated for a moment. “You may as well do it now, because once I get you up to Chugwater, I’m going to keep you too busy to visit with whores, or anything else.”
“Just what is it you have in mind for us to do?” Shamrock asked.
“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” Houser replied.
“Come on, Shamrock, let’s get us some whores,” Evans said. “We’re wastin’ time, talkin’.”
* * *
The next morning Houser was sitting in the outer chambers of the office of the acting governor of Wyoming Territory. He had no prior appointment with the governor, but a short while earlier he had given a $100 bill to the governor’s appointment secretary with a request to “find a couple of minutes for me.”
The appointment secretary glanced around the office quickly to see if the transaction had been observed, and seeing that it had not, he stuffed the money in his pocket and nodded.
Less than five minutes later, the appointment secretary stepped out of the governor’s personal office.
“Governor Morgan will see you now, Mr. Houser.”
Elliot Morgan was the acting governor of Wyoming Territory, having attained the position after the very popular William Hale died in office.
Governor Morgan was a relatively small man, with a mustache and long, flowing chin whiskers. He was standing in front of his desk and extended his hand to Houser.
“It’s very good of you to see me, Governor,” Houser said.
“I’m told that you are a cattleman of some standing,” Governor Morgan replied. “And, as the cattle industry is significant to our territory, I would be remiss in not receiving an esteemed member of that estate. Now, Mr. Houser, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Governor, I’ve come on behalf, not just of myself, but for all of the larger ranchers in the Valley of the Chug. The national homesteader act has become a serious threat to the survival of our industry.”
“How so?”
“Dozens, scores, and, no doubt, soon to be hundreds of men who know nothing of the cattle business have been flooding into the valley, denuding the open range of grass, denying water access to the traditional ranchers, and polluting the streams that our cattle can reach. In short, sir, the cattle industry of Wyoming is facing a serious crisis.”
“That may be true, Mr. Houser,” the governor replied. “But as you pointed out yourself, the homesteading act is a federal act, and I, as territorial governor, have no way to alleviate the problem.”
“But there is a problem you can help us with,” Houser said.
“Oh? What is the problem, and how can I help?”
“Cattle rustling,” Houser said. “As it turns out, these small ranchers are not only having a poor effect upon the very grass and water our industry is so dependent upon, they are also augmenting their herds with cattle they have stolen from us. In some cases, I have no doubt, they are doing more than merely augmenting their herds with stolen cattle. A few, no doubt, have an entire herd that consists of cattle stolen from the larger ranchers, under the auspices of taking mavericks.”
“Ah, I am aware of the practice of taking unbranded cattle that are found on open range and with no way of establishing ownership. That is quite legal.”
“Yes, it is legal if the cattle are unmarked and taken from open range where they have wandered away from their home ranch so that there is no way of determining from whence they came. But these perfidious homesteaders have perverted the concept of acquiring mavericks and are actually coming onto privately held land, stealing our unbranded calves even before our ranch hands can gather them up in roundup. There is nothing legal about that, Governor.”
Governor Morgan pulled upon his beard. “No, there
