“So is Mr. Dakota over on Kensington Place,” another said.
“And don’t forget Duff MacCallister.”
“What kind of man is this feller Houser, anyhow? I mean, it takes one mean son of a bitch to come in here ’n start makin’ life bad for ever’ one. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he warn’t the one that kilt Keegan, Kirk, ’n then burnt down Percy Gaines’s house.”
“Not him. Have you noticed that he don’t never even wear a gun? Hell, a real gun would more ’n likely scare ’im to death. ’N he don’t never ride a horse, neither. He just drives aroun’ in that surrey of his’n.”
“Yeah, well, if he didn’t do it his ownself, there ain’t no doubt in my mind but what he had some o’ them men that works for him do it.”
“Not Turley or Cooper, ’cause I know them two boys, ’n they’re pretty good men.”
“No, I don’t mean none o’ his cowboys. I know all of them, ’n they’re all pretty good men. I’m talkin’ about some o’ them deputies he’s got workin’ for ’im. You got to wonder, though, why it is that Turley ’n Cooper is still workin’ for Houser?”
“The way I figure it, they ain’t workin’ for Houser a-tall. Both them boys rode for the brand when ole Mr. Prescott owned the place, ’n I think they’re just still ridin’ for the brand.”
“Yeah, you may be right. But hey, we was talkin’ ’bout Gaines gettin’ his house burnt down a while ago. As it turns out, that could wind up bein’ ’bout the best thing that ever happened to Gaines.”
“What? Now, why would you say somethin’ like that? When is it ever a good thing if a man’s house burns down ’n he loses ever’thing?”
“I can say somethin’ like that, on account of he’s havin’ a new house bein’ built that’s a lot bigger ’n nicer ’n the old one ever was.”
“He’s got that kind of money? How is it that Gaines can afford a house like that?”
“Oh, he ain’t havin’ to pay for none of it. Most o’ the other ranchers has took up a collection ’n that’s what’s payin’ for it, though folks is sayin’ that it’s MacCallister hisself that’s payin’ for the most of it. ’N as for the work, well, all the hands that works for MacCallister is doin’ the actual buildin’ of it.”
“Why’s MacCallister takin’ such a interest in it?”
“I don’t know for sure, except that Gaines used to work for MacCallister, so prob’ly that’s why.”
Having heard enough, Shamrock drained the rest of his beer and set the empty mug down on the bar.
“Another one?” Biff asked Shamrock. There was no welcome in the tone of his voice.
“No, I gotta go.”
Leaving the saloon, Shamrock rode out to Percy Gaines’s ranch to see for himself what the two men in the saloon were talking about. He was surprised to see how far they had come, and equally surprised to see the kind of house that was being built. Unlike the earlier structure, which had been wood, the house going up now was of brick. There were at least nine people working on the house, some laying brick, some mixing mortar, others carrying bricks, while one was up on the new gables.
Steve Emerson, having seen Shamrock arrive, walked over toward him. Shamrock had not dismounted.
“Hello,” Emerson said. “Did you come to help?”
“No,” Shamrock replied bluntly. Jerking on the reins, he turned his horse around and left at a rapid trot.
“Who was that?” Percy asked.
“That was . . . Captain . . . Harris,” Emerson said, slurring the word Captain. “He’s the head of this bunch of no-account deputies I told you about.”
“I wonder what he wanted,” Percy mused.
“More ’n likely, the son of a bitch was out here spyin’ on us.”
“Spyin’ on us for what?”
“Who knows for what? Who knows anything about him or, for that matter, any of the rest of those deputies? You’ve done been told how they stoled Spivey’s ’n Chambers’s cows. ’N they shot ’n kilt Cecil Gibson.”
“And the sheriff didn’t do anything about it?”
“No, he didn’t do nothin’ about it. First of all, Harris ’n the others that shot ’im is deputies for the governor, ’n they was just carryin’ out orders in takin’ the herd. ’N in the second place, all the witnesses says that Gibson drawed first.”
* * *
Some distance away from the Gaines ranch, at Twin Peaks, Brad Houser sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers on the desktop as he contemplated the information Shamrock had just given him.
“His house is being rebuilt?” Houser asked.
“Yeah, they’s nine or ten people out there workin’ like beavers,” Shamrock said.
“Who are the people who are helping him? Where do they come from?”
“Most of ’em is from MacCallister’s ranch. But they’s a couple of the smaller ranchers that’s helpin’ ’im, too. I’ve seen Ethan Terrell out there, ’n his boy.”
“Terrell? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t he providing water access to the ranchers who have been cut off from water by our recent acquisitions?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
The drumming of Houser’s fingers became even more pronounced. “This new house that is being built. You say MacCallister is behind it?”
“Oh yeah, he’s for sure behind it.” Shamrock smiled.
“I had no idea that our Scottish neighbor would wind up being as much of a fly in our ointment as he has been.”
“You want me to kill ’im?”
“No. MacCallister is a man who commands a great deal of respect, not only for the size of his ranch, but also because of the dominance of his personality. I fear that his untimely demise, at this time, could wind up causing more problems than getting him out of the way would solve.”
* * *
Back at the Gaines house, where everyone had put in a full day’s work, Ethan Terrell put down a hammer
