Showdown at Dead End Canyon

Chapter 15

ALTHOUGH WAGONS HAD BEEN MAKING REGULAR runs up to South Pass in the Sweetwater Mountains, this morning a sizable train had formed up on Railroad Avenue. Leading the train was a surrey in which Dupree, Libby, Lulu, and Sue were riding in the facing seats at the back, while a driver sat up front. The surrey and driver, like the four freight wagons and their drivers lined up behind the surrey, belonged to the Gold Nugget Haulers.

Hawke came down to see them off, shaking hands with Jay Dupree to wish him good luck and to say good-bye to the women. Libby held his glance a little longer than the others and smiled a knowing smile but otherwise made no allusion to the “concert” they had played upon the bedsprings in Hawke’s hotel room the night before.

Several men were gathered around the wagon train. Most of them had just arrived in town and were eager to begin their search for gold. Dupree stood up then, to address those assembled.

“Gentlemen, how many of you will be going up to South Pass?” he asked.

At least twenty men held up their hands.

“Well then, allow me a few minutes to introduce myself and these three beautiful young women. My name is Jay Dupree, and these ladies and I are going ahead of you to South Pass, to open an establishment for your relaxation and pleasure. Propriety forbids my getting too detailed as to what these ladies are, but I can certainly tell you who they are.”

The men laughed at his inference.

Dupree held his hand out toward the women. “Stand up, ladies, one at a time, and let these gentlemen behold true beauty.”

Lulu stood first, curtsied and blew kisses to the crowd.

“My friends, this is Lulu. Lulu is only nineteen years old, a New York debutante, and almost a virgin. As you can see, she is a fire-haired beauty. Oh, and in case you are interested, I can personally attest to the fact that she is a natural redhead.”

Lulu assumed a shocked pose, and the men laughed loudly.

Lulu sat down and Sue stood.

“This is Sue, blond and beautiful. What you may not know is, at the age of fourteen, Sue was forced into marriage with a Persian sheik. She spent ten years in Persia in the sheik’s palace, surrounded by luxury and attended to by a hundred servants. But she didn’t love the sheik.”

Sue made a sad, pouting expression and shook her head slowly.

“So, one night when all in the palace were asleep, Sue escaped, made her way to a seaport, and came to America. And now she is here with us, offering to red-blooded American men—for a price, of course—that which was once reserved for Persian royalty.”

Sue sat down, and Libby stood.

“And finally, Libby St. Cyr. Libby’s beauty speaks for itself, gentlemen. Libby is the daughter of a United States congressman from the state of North Carolina. For obvious reason, she has changed her last name to protect her father. And as some of you will find out, I’m sure, Libby is a wicked, wicked girl.”

Smiling, Libby shook her head and pointed a finger at Dupree, making the “shame on you” sign.

“We will be calling our establishment the Golden Cage,” Dupree went on. “Look for us when you come there, and remember, we are there for your pleasure.”

The wagon master waited patiently until Libby had sat down again and Dupree was through talking before he called out.

“Mr. Dupree, we’re all loaded up and ready to go whenever you are.”

“We’re ready, Mr. Clayton.”

“Head ’em up! Move ’em out!” the wagon master called.

Clayton’s command was followed by whistles, shouts, and the pistol pops of snapped whips as the train started forward. Rolling slowly up White Mountain Road, it was followed by what would be its symphony on the march, a cacophony of clopping hooves, clanking chains, squeaking wheels, creaking axles, and canvas snapping in the wind.

Hawke watched the train leave, then walked down to the livery to saddle his horse. Though back in town from Chicago for two weeks, he had not yet been out to Northumbria. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to telling Dorchester that he’d been fired from his job as a pianist on board the transcontinental train, since Dorchester had gotten the job for him. On the other hand, he felt he owed it to him.

As Hawke dismounted in front of the house, a servant hurried to take the reins of his horse. At almost the same time, Pamela came out onto the porch.

“Hawke!” she called happily. “You’re back!”

“And all in one piece, as you can see,” Hawke replied.

“Come in, come in, Father will be so pleased to see you.”

“Thanks.”

Pamela met him halfway down the front steps. Putting her arm through his, she walked back up to the porch with him. She called to her father as they stepped into the foyer, and Dorchester came from his study to greet them.

“Well, Hawke, my good man, how was your trip?” Dorchester asked. Seeing his valet, he called out to him, “Mr. Wilson, do bring tea and biscuits to the drawing room, would you?” He glanced over at Hawke. “Or would you rather have coffee?”

“Tea will be fine.”

“Then tea it is, Mr. Wilson.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dorchester,” Wilson replied.

In the study, the three sat in big leather chairs and, as before, Pamela prepared cigars for the two men.

“Thank you,” Hawke said, accepting the cigar. He puffed as Pamela held a match to the end. She lit her father’s cigar as well, and by the time they were surrounded by an aromatic cloud of smoke, Wilson entered, carrying a silver tray with a silver pot of steeping tea, three cups, and a plate of cookies.

“When will you be going back?” Dorchester asked, picking up one of the cookies.

“I beg your pardon?”

“To Chicago. You will be making another trip, won’t you?”

“Uh, no,” Hawke said. “I was fired.”

“You were fired? Why, that’s absurd! You play the piano more beautifully than anyone I’ve ever heard. Why would Union Pacific fire you?”

Hawke told the story of the drunken and disruptive cowboy, ending with what happened to him. To his surprise, Dorchester laughed.

“You threw him from the train?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, it was very rash of me, I admit. But at the time, it just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Dorchester continued laughing, and he laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.

“No, no, dear boy, do not apologize,” he said, waving his finger back and forth. “How often I have wanted to do something exactly like that. Unfortunately, my very proper British upbringing has prevented me from giving in to those urges. But disabuse yourself of any idea that I can’t take vicarious pleasure from someone else doing it.”

“Yes, well, it did get me fired from the Union Pacific job,” Hawke said. “And since you went out of your way to locate the job, I felt that I owed you an apology.”

“Nonsense, my good man, you owe me nothing of the sort. As I say, I am deriving a great deal of pleasure from imagining the look on that boor’s face as he found himself flying from the cars.”

“So, what will you be doing now?” Pamela asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“I hope you don’t decide to play the piano at the Royal Flush,” Dorchester said. “Their piano is so bad it would be a sin for someone with your talent to even try to play it. I’ve heard better music from rattling harness chain.”

Hawke laughed. “That’s a pretty good description of the piano, all right.”

“And their piano player. Unless…good heavens, you aren’t working there, are you?” he asked, now genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m not working there.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“Father, why don’t you ask Hawke to work for us?” Pamela said.

“Hello, that is a marvelous idea!” Dorchester said. “It has nothing to do with the piano, I’m afraid, but would you consider working for us?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t think I would make much of a cowboy. I never was much of a farmer either, and I was raised on a farm.”

“Well, actually, you wouldn’t have to be a cowboy, as such,” Dorchester said. “I would use you in more of a supervisory role.”

“As foreman of the ranch,” Pamela clarified.

“What about the foreman you have now?” Hawke asked. “How do you think that would sit with him?”

“Oh, that fellow wouldn’t even know it,” Dorchester said. “He left the ranch right after he heard that gold had been discovered up at South Pass. And, remember, as foreman, all the manual labor would be supplied by the hands who are under you.”

“It is a tempting proposition,” Hawke admitted.

Someone knocked on the door of the study, and Dorchester looked toward the door. A slim, gangly-looking cowboy stood there, holding his hat in his hand.

“Yes, Willie, what is it?” Dorchester asked.

“It’s about the water in Sugar Creek,”

“Oh? What about the water in Sugar Creek?”

“There ain’t none,” Willie said stoically.

As Hawke, Dorchester, Pamela, and Willie rode toward Sugar Creek, Dorchester took delight in talking about his ranch.

“The first four years I was here, I was beginning to think that I had lost my mind in even contemplating a ranching venture. I had to deal with Indians, weather, and the fact that I was too far away from civilization to make it practical. Then the railroad arrived and I had a way of getting my beef to the market. Since then it has been wonderfully profitable.”

Thousands of cattle milled about, some cropping grass some lying under shade trees, others sunning themselves in open fields. The range consisted of gently rolling grassland. To the southeast lay a low-lying ridge of hills, close enough that Hawke could see the vegetation on the slopes. To the north was another line of mountains, purpled by distance.

“That’s the Sweetwater Range,” Dorchester said, pointing toward the distant mountains. “Half of my cowboys are up there right now, hunting for gold. A couple of them have even told me that when they strike it rich, they are going to come back and buy Northumbria. But they hastened to add that they would offer me a job,” he said with a chuckle.

Just ahead of them was a long, irregular line of bright green vegetation.

“That must be the creek,” Hawke said.

“Yes. It was one of my earliest accomplishments,” Dorchester replied. “The water actually flows from the Big Sandy, but the channel was clogged nearly shut with rocks and bank cave-ins and such. It took me two years to get it open and cleared out, but the result has been a steady, year-round supply of water. I can’t imagine what would stop it.”

“Perhaps a beaver dam,” Hawke suggested. “I’ve seen beaver dams so large that they’ve shut down small rivers.”

“Perhaps,” Dorchester said, “though we don’t have a history of problems with beaver.”

When they reached the line of vegetation, they dismounted and walked up to the creek to look down into it.

“What in the world?” Pamela said aloud.

There was nothing where the creek had been but a few disconnected puddles of water, slowly drying up under the sun. Not one trickle of water was flowing.

“Let’s go upstream and see if we can find out what happened,” Hawke suggested.

The four riders began following the dry stream bed along its meandering course.

“I hope Walter Louis doesn’t think that I purposely shut down Sugar Creek,” Dorchester said as they rode.

“Who is Walter Louis?”

“He owns a small farm just south of Northumbria, and he is totally dependent upon water from Sugar Creek. In fact, he has been very good about coming over to help my men keep the creek cleared of debris.”

After a ride of about five miles, they reached a thick-growing patch of woods. Just on the other side of the woods they saw a large dam.

“What in the world?” Dorchester gasped. “When, and how, did that get here?”

“It’s no beaver dam, that’s for sure,” Hawke said.

“Look at the size of it, Father. It had to take some time to build it.” Pamela turned to Willie. “Why didn’t we know about this before now?”

“Ma’am, we ain’t run no stock on this here section of range since last summer,” Willie replied. “We was about to move some beeves over when one of the men noticed that the creek had run dry.”

“Is that dam on your property?” Hawke asked.

“No, it isn’t,” Dorchester admitted. “My property line ends there, with the edge of that copse.”

“Who does own the property?

“It belongs to a man named Anthony Miller,” Dorchester said.

“Perhaps we should talk to Miller,” Hawke suggested.

Dorchester shook his head. “That’s not possible, I’m afraid,” he said. “Miller is an absentee owner who lives in New York. In fact, that’s what makes this whole thing so odd. This land isn’t being used. We’ve exchanged a few letters as to whether or not I would be interested in leasing some grassland from him.”

“Perhaps he’s trying to sweeten the pot by adding water to the deal,” Hawke suggested.

Dorchester shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I’ve only met Miller one time, and he was a very nice person. I can’t see him doing something like this.”

“Well, someone did,” Hawke said. “Why don’t we ride over and find out who.”

Just beyond the patch of woods was a sign.

KEEP OUT

PROPERTY OF

SWEETWATER RAILROAD COMPANY

“Sweetwater Railroad Company?” Dorchester said. “Why, I’ve never heard of such an organization.”

“What do we do now?” Pamela asked.

“We keep going,” Dorchester replied. “Whether this land is owned by Mr. Miller or by some railroad that I’ve never heard of, they are guilty of stealing our water, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

The four crossed the property line, then rode up to the dam and dismounted. They were surprised when a man dressed in a business suit suddenly showed up.

“Well, it looks as if we managed to attract attention from someone,” Dorchester said.

Three other men came out to join the man wearing the suit. One man was carrying a rifle, a second had a shotgun, and the third, unarmed, wore new jeans and a clean shirt. Hawke recognized the man carrying the shotgun as Luke Rawlings, who had come into the saloon yelling that he had discovered gold.

“You people are trespassing,” the man in the business suit said.

“Who the devil are you?” Dorchester asked.

“I know who he is, Father,” Pamela said. “His name is Addison Ford. He is Administrative Assistant to Secretary of Interior Columbus Delano.”

Ford looked more closely at Pamela, then at Hawke.

“It’s you!” he said in a disgruntled voice. “I recognize you two. You are the people from the train, the ones who forced us to move to another car.”

“Yes,” Pamela said.

Ford smiled. “Well, well, now isn’t this a bit of sweet irony? You ran us out of the rail car, now I am running you off this property.”

“Are you responsible for this dam?” Dorchester asked.

“I authorized it, yes,” Ford said.

“And I designed it,” the unarmed man in jeans said proudly. “My name is Jason White. I’m a civil engineer.” White stepped forward and stuck his hand out, but Dorchester made no movement to take it.

“You are trespassing on property belonging to the Sweetwater Railroad Company,” Ford said.

“Yes, I saw the sign. But I’ve never heard of the Sweetwater Railroad,” Dorchester replied. “What is it?”

“The Sweetwater Railroad is a railroad that will be built from Green River to South Pass.”

“My daughter said you were with the Department of Interior.”

“That is right.”

“Then I don’t understand. What does the Department of Interior have to do with the Sweetwater Railroad? Since when did the U. S. government get in the business of building railroads?”

“The government isn’t building it. It is being built by a private company. We are merely providing the incentive.”

“The incentive?”

“According to the Railroad Land Grant Act of 1862, any approved railroad company is entitled to a four hundred foot right of way, plus ten square miles of property for every one mile of route.”

“You mean the government gives land to people who build railroads?” Dorchester asked in surprise.

“How do you think the transcontinental railroad was built? Without the land incentive, it would never have been completed.”

“Yes, well, I can’t believe Miller sold his land to the government without first checking with me. He knew that I would have bought it if he had put it up for sale. And he knew that I would give him a fair price for it.”

“I’m afraid Miller had no say in the matter,” Ford said smugly.

“What do you mean he had no say in the matter?”

“We acquired his land by eminent domain.”

“In other words, the government stole Mr. Miller’s land,” Dorchester said.

“It’s not stolen. The land was acquired by a writ of eminent domain, with provisions, of course, for the landowners to apply for reimbursement.”

“To apply? You mean they aren’t automatically compensated?”

“No. But as I have explained to everyone whose land we have acquired, there are provisions in place for them to apply for, and receive, compensation. That is, if they meet the guidelines.”

“Oh? And what is the government paying for prime land?”

“A dollar an acre,” Ford replied.

“That is robbery.”

“No, that is democracy in action,” Addison Ford insisted.

“All right, so you have government authority to steal Miller’s land,” Dorchester said. He pointed to the dam. “Why in heavens name did you dam up Sugar Creek?”

“I’m sure you know how steam engines operate,” Ford replied patronizingly. “They require water to generate steam. If the railroad is to succeed, it will have to have a ready and plentiful source of water.”

“Why, you bloody rascal, you have not only stolen land, you have squeezed dry every drop of water from Sugar Creek! I have other sources of water, but those property owners below me are totally dependent upon Sugar Creek. What will happen to them?”

“I’m afraid that is really none of my concern,” Ford said. “I am acting on government orders. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the United States Land Management officer.”

“And who might that be?” Dorchester asked.

“Why, that would be Mr. White,” Ford said, pointing to his son-in-law and laughing out loud.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, you bloody bastard,” Dorchester said, wagging his finger in Ford’s face. “I don’t roll over that easily.”

“Gentlemen, I do believe I’m being threatened,” Ford said.

The two armed men reacted to Ford’s comment. The one with a rifle operated the lever, while the one who was holding the double-barreled shotgun came back on the hammers of both barrels.

“Luke Rawlings. What are you doing here guarding this dam?” Hawke asked. “I thought you had made a lot of money gold mining.”

“It ain’t none of your business what me ’n’ Percy’s doin’ here,” Luke replied. “The thing is, we are here, and we’re telling you to leave.”

“I don’t think we’re ready to leave yet.”

Luke pointed his shotgun at Dorchester.

Hawke drew his pistol then and pointed it at Luke.

“Luke, you want to ease those hammers back down before someone gets hurt?” he asked.

“What are you doin’ here, anyway? This is none of your affair,” Luke said.

“I just made it my affair.”

“Looks to me like you are a day late and a dollar short,” Luke said.

“Not really,” Hawke replied. “I have the advantage.”

“Yeah? How is that?”

“Neither of you are pointing a gun at me. On the other hand, I am pointing my gun at you.”

“Maybe not, but we are pointing them at your friend.”

“My friend isn’t armed—I am. And if you shoot him, I’ll kill you. In fact, I will kill all four of you.”

“What?” Ford suddenly shouted. “What are you talking about? You are going to shoot all four of us? Do you realize that you are threatening a representative of the United States government?”

“Mister, every man I killed during the war was a representative of the United States government in one way or another. Now, you tell your men there to lower their guns, or I’m going to start shooting.”

“You two men put your guns down,” Ford said in a frightened tone.

“I think he’s bluffing,” Luke said.

“I said put the guns down! Now!” Ford ordered, his voice nearly breaking.

The two men lay their weapons on the ground.

“Back away from them,” Hawke ordered.

When neither of the two men moved, Hawke shot at Luke’s foot, coming so close that he took a small nick from the sole of Luke’s boot.

“What the hell!” the man shouted in sudden fear, dancing back from the impact of the round. He looked down at his boot and saw the little nick. “You just barely missed blowing off my toe,” he said angrily.

“I didn’t miss,” Hawke said. “If I wanted to hit your toe, I would have. Now, back away, or the next one will take off a toe.”

The two men backed away. Hawke kept waving them back until they were at least twenty yards from the guns.

“Mr. Dorchester,” he said quietly. “Perhaps now would be a good time for us to leave.”

“Yes,” Dorchester said. “Yes, I do believe you are right.”

Just before they crossed back onto Dorchester’s land, a lone rider came out from behind a rock outcropping. He placed himself right in front of them.

“Father!” Pamela said with a gasp.

The rider was Ethan Dancer.

“You folks are trespassing on private property,” Dancer said in a low, evil, hissing voice.

“We were checking on why the water stopped flowing,” Dorchester replied.

“Next time you come onto this land, get permission,” Dancer said.

“And if we don’t?” Hawke asked, putting himself between Dancer and the others.

Dancer stared at Hawke for a moment. “You’re the one they call Hawke, aren’t you?”

“That would be Mr. Hawke to you,” Hawke replied.

He held Dancer in a gaze that was fully as intense as it had been in the mirror on their first encounter. Dancer’s face twitched a couple of times and he ran his finger across his scar. Why wasn’t this man afraid of him? he wondered. Who was he? Was this someone he should know?

“Who the hell are you?” Dancer asked.

“I thought we had settled that. I’m Mr. Hawke.”

“I wouldn’t get too smart…Mister…Hawke.”

“Yes, well, it’s not very likely that you would,” Hawke said.

Dancer’s eyes narrowed for a second. He had the idea that he’d just been insulted, but he wasn’t sure exactly how.

Despite the tension of the moment, Pamela couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

Dancer pointed at Hawke. “One of these days, you’re going to find yourself dancing with the demon.” Slapping his legs against the side of his horse, Dancer rode off quickly.

When he was gone, Pamela shuddered. “What do you suppose he meant by dancing with the demon?” she asked.

“I’ve heard tell that’s what he says to someone just a’fore he shoots ’em,” Willie said.

“Oh!” Pamela said, putting her hand to her mouth and looking at Hawke with fear in her eyes. “Hawke! He just said you were going to dance with the demon.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it.” He smiled. And to ease her fear, he joked, “My dance card is already full.”