Vigilance Committee War

  The Vigilance Committee War

  A gang of vigilantes calling themselves The Vigilance Committee are preventing a part of the Indian Territory from becoming a state, and Buck Armstrong and his partner Louie Lewis are being paid to bring them in.

  The two former Texas Rangers have been hired by local businesses to stop the vigilantes. Newspaper articles about the hangings being done by the Committee are worrying members of Congress about to vote on statehood. Making their job difficult is that most of the area's big ranchers don't really care. They believe hanging rustlers is a good thing. On top of that, a pair of gunslingers each with personal plans for revenge against the former Rangers are in town.

  What happens when Buck and Louie get too close to members of the Committee? That is when Louie ends up at the end of a hangman's noose.

  By the same author writing as Carlton Youngblood

  Buck and the Widow Rancher

  Gold Country Ambush

  The Range Shootout

  Gold for Durango

  Waiting for the Hangman

  The Branded Man

  Writing as J.D. Ryder

  Sacred Hills Massacre

  Short Creek Rustlers

  Gone to Texas

  Kendrick's Quest

  The Vigilance Committee War

  Bill Sheehy

  ROBERT HALE

  © Bill Sheehy 2017

  First published in Great Britain 2017

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2233-9

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Bill Sheehy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Chapter 1

  The tree growing close to the edge of the trail was different than any of the others in that little grove. An old oak, its trunk was huge and the branches, those low down, were as big around as a man’s thigh. The thing that set this tree out was the sign nailed to the rough bark of the trunk.

  The two men riding down the well-worn dirt roadway had been lazing along, taking their time, discussing things of no consequence. Seeing the white paper sign and the rope tied off from one of the massive limbs changed all that.

  ‘What the hell. . . ?’ exclaimed one of the pair. ‘Now ain’t that something?’

  Both men sat their saddles, looking first at the dangling rope and then reading the sign.

  ‘Well, Buck, guess we’re getting close to where we’re going. Wouldn’t ya say?’

  ‘Uh huh. Looks like it.’

  The two were as different as day and night. James Buckley Armstrong, known simply as Buck to his friends, was a big man. Even sitting in a saddle it was obvious he was a cattleman. Standing slightly over six-feet tall in his stocking feet, when he could afford socks, his erect posture in the saddle made it obvious he had some military experience in his background. It was equally clear he spent as little time as possible on his feet. He was most comfortable on a horse. Now, in his trail-worn denim pants, faded red shirt and scarred boots with rundown heels it was clear he was a cattleman.

  His partner was shorter, heavier and part Mexican. Answering to Louie, this man had his father to thank for his name. A German emigrant, the elder Lewis arrived in central Texas shortly before the Republic became the 28th state. A teacher of languages looking for adventure, he was hired by a wealthy Mexican ranching family to teach their children. In short order he fell in love with the lovely Gabriela Garza. The first born of this match was christened Aloysius Lewis. Today few people knew him by that name. His pa, reportedly laughing at the time, named him Aloysius knowing it was the Latinisation of the name Louie. Louie Lewis. Pa had had a great sense of humour.

  There was little humour in the sign or the rope. A hangman’s noose had been tied in the rope. The sign made the message clear: ‘Warning! Anyone caught rustling livestock, the Vigilance Committee will hang you with your own rope’.

  ‘Now ain’t that something?’ said Louie, settling back and rolling a quirley. ‘Ya think it’s aimed at us?’

  Buck took the makings from a shirt pocket and rolled his own smoke. ‘I doubt it,’ he said after touching a match to the end. ‘It isn’t likely anyone on this so-called Committee would know we’d been hired. Or even we were on our way.’

  ‘I still wonder about that. Us being hired to stop this bunch of vigilantes from doing what they been doing. Doesn’t Auburn have a sheriff?’

  ‘Yeah, it does. But the sheriff is limited to taking care of law things within the town limits. According to Winterbottom there’s some kind of territorial marshal but that person stays pretty close to the governor’s office down in the territorial capital. Looks as if it’s left up to the folks living beyond the town limits to take care of things themselves.’

  ‘So? Ain’t that what this Vigilance Committee is doing? I guess I’m not too sure exactly what vigilantes are all about.’

  ‘Well, back in Texas, riding for the Rangers, we didn’t have much truck with such things. However, get out in some of the communities far from town, or some of the ranches out in the flats, there aren’t a lot of lawmen to keep things under control. Now the letter I got hiring us said this so-called Vigilance Committee has gotten too powerful. Deciding on their own who to hang whether they are caught rustling or not. Likely we’ll know more after we talk to this Winterbottom fellow.’

  ‘Well it sure looks as if we could find ourselves caught in the middle of something if we ain’t careful.’

  Buck smiled and reined his horse back onto the road. ‘Uh huh. We’ll just have to make sure we keep our eyes open.’

  Chapter 2

  The two took their time, enjoying the light breeze that had sprung up bringing the smell of wild flowers and untrampled grasslands. Since leaving northern Texas they had ridden through an ever changing landscape. From the dryness of the Texas plains up into the higher prairie of the Indian Territory where they found better grazing country and even, in the higher mountain ranges, thick forests.

  The road they took coming out of the territorial capital, Fort Rawlins, was well defined, being used by farm wagons, stage coaches and herds of cattle being driven to market. At one place, not far from the town they were riding to, Auburn, the road ran alongside a river. Not a big river, such as those they were more familiar with like the Rio Grande or the Brazos, but still too big to be considered merely a creek.

  ‘Bet there’s some good fishing there,’ said Louie, stopping in the middle of a wide log bridge to look down into the water.

  ‘Now tell the truth, Louie, when’s the last time you went fishing? Fact is, have you ever gone fishing?’

  Louie laughed. ‘Nope, can’t say I have. Doesn’t make much sense to me, putting a worm on a hook and then sitting patiently for a hungry fish to come by. Anyway, I’m not sure I’d want to eat something that fed on worms. Would you?’

  ‘No, but then I’ve had some darn good meals with fish and oysters and the like and I never questioned what kinds of things they ate. Think of the bacon you like at breakfast time. Ever think about what mud that hog the bacon came from had wallowed in? Best not to think about things like that.’

  The two men laughed and rode on, enjoying each other’s company and the day.

  Riding on into Auburn the two stopped at the far edge of town to look the place over. Not a big town, from what they could see all the businesses fronted on both sides of one wide street. Thick dust from the dirt street made the false-fronted buildings all look to have been p
ainted with the same brush.

  ‘Town could use a good rain storm,’ said Louie, ‘wash some of that dust off everything.’

  ‘From the looks of things, it’s been a while since there’s been any rain. But look there, all the way in today, all the grasslands have been high and green. Must be a lotta ground water.’

  ‘Well, we’re here. So what do we do now?’

  ‘I’d say we take care of ourselves then go have a talk with Winterbottom. He’s the mayor so I reckon he’s got a good handle on things.’

  Riding down the main street they read the painted signs, noting where the sheriff’s office was, and the bank and the hotel. At the far end of the businesses was a huge barn.

  ‘I reckon these horses could use a good feed and maybe a brushing. I spotted a Chinese laundry back there. Probably got public baths out back.’

  ‘Then it’s to that restaurant. Gawd, I’m so tired of your cooking, I could spit.’

  Buck laughed. ‘You weren’t complaining this morning. I noticed you didn’t leave much behind on your tin plate.’

  Climbing stiffly out of the saddle, Buck nodded to the old timer standing in the livery’s double doorway. ‘Afternoon. We’d like to feed and brush out our animals.’

  ‘Wal, I reckon. Cost ya two-bits a piece. Cash money up front.’

  Smiling, Buck dug into a pocket and brought out some coins. The livery man took them and nodded. ‘Wal, for an extry two-bits I’ll do the brushing fer ya.’

  ‘Thanks but no,’ said the big man. ‘Fact is I’d better warn you. This horse of mine don’t like people much. He’s got a bad temper and, well, I’d stay a long way off from him, was I you.’

  ‘Ah, teach your mother to suck eggs, young fella. I been around horses man and boy. Ain’t see one yet what I can’t handle.’

  Louie laughed and started stripping the saddle from his big brown gelding. ‘Buck, if’n I was you I’d go ahead and let this old coot try his hand. That black stud horse of yours would teach him a lesson.’

  ‘Naw, I can’t do that, Louie.’ Turning to the old man, Buck nodded. ‘You got to be careful of Ol’ Horse here, front and back. Has a bad habit of biting and kicking, he does.’ Picking up a stiff-bristled brush from a shelf he started brushing the black’s dusty hide, always keeping one eye on the animal’s nose.

  The horse wasn’t a great beauty, but he and Buck had been partners for a long time and both knew about the other. Thinking about it as he worked, Buck chuckled. Horse was hard mouthed, strong willed and pigheaded, that was for sure. He’d warned the old wrangler of the animal’s bad temper but hadn’t mentioned how thin his tolerance was for the man who rode him. Buck knew given the chance Ol’ Horse would take a hunk out of his butt.

  Leaving the horses with a bait of oats and the freedom of the corrals out back, the two men headed down the street toward the restaurant.

  Starting with mugs of steaming hot coffee, they were just putting knife and fork to thick slabs of half-cooked beef steaks when the restaurant door opened and a man pushed though. Louie glanced at the man, then looked to make sure Buck saw him. He had.

  Barely able to pass through the doorway without turning sideways, the man waddled into the room. Waddled, Louie thought, walking like a duck, swaying side to side with each step. Short and round, the man’s body was curved from shoulder to ankle. Wearing a pinstriped suit, the buttons on his vest looked to be about to bust free. His head, bald and as round as his body, was perched on almost non-existent shoulders like a billiard ball balanced on a melon.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ the newcomer said, pulling a chair around and sitting at the table. ‘Let me introduce myself. I’m William J. Winterbottom, mayor of this fine community. I would guess you are James B. Armstrong and Louie Lewis. Is that not correct?’

  Louie almost choked, having just taken a mouthful of beef. Buck swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ said the big man slowly, ‘you guessed right. My partner, Louie and I’m Buck Armstrong.’ He hesitated a moment before putting a hand out to shake.

  ‘Ah, good. I’ve been watching for you. Have to get something done, you know. Can’t be having people stringing up people right, left and centre. Not good for business, you understand. No sir. Not good at all.’

  Not to be bothered by the interruption, the two men went back to cutting pieces off their steaks and continued eating.

  ‘Yes,’ said the mayor after a moment, ‘I shouldn’t be bothering you while you’re having your meal. I apologize. However, it is important you succeed with your job as soon as possible. There are a lot of things at stake here. Yes, indeed. Big things. Big for Auburn and for the state.’

  Buck finished chewing and stopped. ‘State? I thought this was still a territory? When did it become a state?’

  ‘Well. . . .’ The rotund man fidgeted, one hand dry-washing the other as he stammered, ‘Yes. You are right. We are a territory. But that will change. Yes sir,’ he said gathering up steam, ‘statehood can’t be far away. All the important people, the business people, you know, throughout the territory are working hard to that end. Statehood, gentlemen, means a lot for this part of this great country of ours.’

  ‘Uh, señor,’ said Louis sounding more Mexican than ever, ‘is what you want us to do part of that? Getting the territory to become a state?’

  ‘Yes, sir. A mighty big part. However it is doubtful the US Congress will approve of statehood if reports of men getting hung continue to be heard. It is vital your work is done and done as quickly as possible.’

  Turning to Buck, Louie grimaced. ‘You see, mi compadre? I told you to ask for more money for this little job. Didn’t I? Sí. I did. Now we have lost that opportunity. Now we do this job and ride away with only a few dollars in our pockets when we could have been rich. Sí. Rich.’

  ‘Well,’ said Winterbottom, holding his hands up, ‘we have an agreement. We settled on the terms. Don’t think you can come in here and hold us up. No sir. Our business people who are fronting this effort won’t see to it. No sir.’

  Louie, slowly shaking his head, looked sad. ‘Sí, señor. Yo comprehende. We have agreed. We will do the job for the amount agreed on.’ Quickly holding out his hand, he smiled evilly at the mayor. ‘Now is a good time for us to be paid, no?’

  ‘Uh, uh, well, yes. I suppose. However I don’t have the money on me. Not right this minute.’

  Buck cut in. ‘That’s all right. We’ll wait a bit for our money. Meanwhile, once we finish up with our lunch, we’d like to sit down and talk about things.’

  ‘It is simple; we want you to get rid of the so-called Vigilance Committee. They are destroying our town. Our businesses. Calling people rustlers and hanging them. It has to cease.’

  ‘And the good people here don’t know who they are? Don’t they care about what this committee of vigilantes are doing?’

  Back to dry-washing his hands, it was the mayor’s turn to look sad. ‘These are good people, yes indeed. But still . . . I hate to say it, but still there are some who think the Vigilance Committee are doing the right thing. Yes, it’s hard to believe, but, well, I’ve heard some talk from some pretty important people who think vigilance committees to be “popular tribunals” and are necessary to protect life and property. Why, just recently,’ said the man getting a little excited in his talk, ‘in an article in the Auburn Journal, the editor lamented the rustling of livestock. He went so far as to write something – here, let me read it to you.’ Taking a piece of paper from a pocket, he adjusted his glasses and started reading. ‘ “It is high time a quietus in the shape of a good hemp rope and a high tree limb is administered to stop such proceedings”.’ Putting the paper back in his pocket, he frowned. ‘It is hard to admit, but it is the truth, not everyone sees the Vigilance Committee as being a bad thing. And believe it or not, some of those are among the business people who are paying you. Yes, some of them hope you fail and will likely do what they can to stop you from succeeding.’

  Chapter 3

  Loui
e glanced first at his partner before staring hard at the man. ‘We are going to get paid, aren’t we?’

  ‘Oh, most definitely. Yes. Let me assure you of that. What I mean is, well, take for instance Handley Runkle. He has the Double Bar R ranch. One of the two large spreads that supports this community. Oh, there are a handful of other, smaller cattle and horse outfits, but the Double Bar R and the Frying Pan are the big boys. Now, Mr Runkle doesn’t believe he’s losing much beef to rustlers. Says his hired hands can take care of things. However, he wants to support the community so has agreed to pay his share of the pot raised for you.’

  Buck, pushing his empty plate away, nodded and sipped his coffee. ‘Let me understand this. Nobody knows who this committee of vigilantes are. You hired us to find out and put a stop to their hangings. Just how many rustlers have been hanged by this gang?’

  ‘Well,’ said the mayor, looking for the first time uncomfortable, ‘nobody’s sure. I mean until, oh, say six months or so back, there would be rumours of some fella getting hung from a tree after being caught with cattle that didn’t belong to him. It’s only kinda recently there’s been a half-dozen or so men found hanging at various places but, well, some aren’t sure a couple of them were really rustlers. That’s the problem. Doesn’t seem to matter to this Committee. Pinned to each of the dead men’s shirts they left a note, warning would-be rustlers that they’d be next.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, not all the hangings were anywhere near any cattle. Or even out on someone’s range. More’n one was found out on open range. There’s a lot of open range, you know. Simply grasslands nobody’s bothered to put markers on. That makes it hard to know who owns any cattle out there. I’m a storekeeper and don’t know much about livestock, but I’m told cattle like to spread out, eating here and there as they go.’