Thunder of Eagles

Chapter Five

Over the last twenty-five years, Ike Clinton had bought, stolen, and bullied his way onto one hundred thousand acres of good grazing land. He did this by the sweat of his own brow, and with the blood of the Mexicans and Indians who got in his way. With a sense of irony, he named his ranch La Soga Larga, or “The Long Rope,” a tacit admission that he wasn’t always too careful about whose calves he rounded up for branding.

His wife, Martha, had been appalled by her husband’s ruthlessness and greed, but she was a good woman who would never think to leave her husband, or to tell anyone else of his misdeeds. Adhering to the Biblical injunction to honor and obey her husband, she lived her short married life without complaint, no more than a shadow within the shadows. Martha died when the youngest of her three children, Billy, was five years old.

She didn’t live to see any of her sons grow up, and they, especially Ray and Cletus, were the worse for it. Perhaps the ameliorating influence of a good mother would have made Ray and Cletus good men instead of the pompous bullies they became. Billy, everyone agreed, was made of better stuff.

Having invited all the neighboring ranchers over for a meeting, Ike was now standing by the liquor cabinet, leaning back against the wall, looking out over the gathering. His arms were folded across his chest, and his hat was pushed back on his head. He was smoking a thin cheroot as he watched the others arrive.

“Ike, what’s all the secrecy? I mean, why are we meeting here, instead of at the Morning Star at our usual time?” one of the ranchers asked.

“I reckon enough of you came to take care of what we need to take care of,” Ike said. “So, if you’ll all get settled, we’ll get started.”

While waiting for the meeting to start, the visiting ranchers had gathered into conversational groupings to exchange pleasantries and information. With Ike’s call to them, the little groups broke up and everyone started looking for a place to sit. Ike waited until all were settled and quiet before he continued.

“I’m sure that by now nearly all of you have met a fella in town by the name of Wade Garrison,” Ike started.

“Garrison, yeah, I know who he is,” one of the other ranchers said. “He’s a pretty nice fella.”

“Yeah, he’s a real nice fella,” one of the other ranchers put in.

“Got hisself a real pretty daughter, too.”

“Tell you what, George, you keep that up and Louise is likely to use a frying pan to knock out what few teeth you got left,” one of the others said, and all laughed.

Ike, perceiving that the meeting was getting out of control, held up his hands to call for quiet.

“We ain’t here to talk about Garrison’s pretty daughter,” he said.

“Well, what are we here to talk about?”

“The railroad.”

“The railroad? What railroad?”

“The one that Wade Garrison is plannin’ on buildin’ between Higbee and La Junta,” Ike said.

A couple of the ranchers let out a whoop of joy.

“No kiddin’?” one of them said. “We’re gettin’ us a railroad? Why, that’s wonderful news!”

“No, it ain’t good,” Ike said. “It ain’t no good a’tall. We got to stop this from ever happening.”

The other ranchers looked confused.

“Now, why in the Sam Hill would this be a bad thing?” a rancher named Phillips asked. “If we could take our cows into Higbee, instead of La Junta or Benton, think how much easier that would be.”

“And think how much money it’ll cost us,” Ike said. “Don’t you see? If Garrison gets control of the railroad, he can hold us up for any amount he wants.”

“What makes you think he would do that?” a rancher named Warren asked. “The other railroads don’t do such a thing.”

“All the other railroads already have the tracks laid and their routes formed. They make enough money they don’t need to hold us up. It’s different with Garrison. He’s tryin’ to do all this on his own. It’s costin’ him a ton of money and trust me, he’s goin’ to be wantin’ to get it all back from us. He’ll hold us up for as much as he can get from us.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought about that,” Warren said. “It could be you are right.”

“You say we have to stop him?” Phillips asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, my question is, how do you plan to do that?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Ike said. “He is going to have to have cattle to ship, in order to make a profit. All we have to do is deny him cattle to ship. If we don’t ship any of our cattle—if we don’t use the railroad for freight, he’ll be done for. A railroad can’t make it on just passengers.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Warren said.

“Mr. Clinton, I have to ask this. Suppose he goes ahead and builds the railroad,” a man named Lassiter said. “How far are you willin’ to go to stop it?”

“If he finds out that we are all determined not to use it, he won’t build it. He’s not going to just throw his money away.”

“But what if he does start buildin’ it, how far are we goin’ to go to stop it?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when it happens,” Ike said.

Higbee

Wade Garrison was a former general in the Army of the Confederacy. Before the war, he had been a major in the United States Army, a graduate of West Point with a degree in engineering. He had built railroads for the army; now he was planning to build a railroad for himself.

“These are damn good doughnuts, General,” Simon Durant said. Durant was a banker from Denver, one of four bankers who were gathered in Garrison’s Higbee office.

“You’ll have to thank my daughter for that,” Garrison replied. “She made them.”

“All right, General, you got us all here,” one of the other bankers said. “What do you want to talk about?”

“This,” Garrison said, pointing to a large map that was tacked up on the wall of his office. The map covered Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas, and it was crisscrossed with blue lines, and one red line.

“Gentlemen, on this map, you see the railroads that serve our fair state, and in fact, connect our state with both coasts. Those railroads are represented by the blue lines. I propose to add to that network by building the CNM&T from La Junta, Colorado, to Big Spring, Texas,” Garrison said. “On the map, the CNM&T is represented by this red line.”

“The CNM&T?” one of the bankers asked.

“The Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas,” Garrison said. He stepped up to the map. “As you can see, that will open up all of Southeast Colorado, Northeast New Mexico, and Northwest Texas. That would provide service to several thousand miles of country not now served by rail. And the connections at either end, with existing railroads, will mean that we can ship our cattle from here to Chicago, we can import fruit from Florida, or we can buy a ticket to San Francisco or New York and be there within a matter of a few days.”

“If I might ask a dumb question,” one of the bankers said.

“Greg, as I used to tell my junior officers, there are no dumb questions,” Garrison replied. He paused for a second, then added, “Just the dumb-assed people who ask them.”

For a second, the four bankers looked surprised. Then, realizing that it was a joke, they laughed appreciatively.

“Go ahead, ask,” Garrison said.

“If you look at that map, you will see that there are very few towns or even settlements along the proposed route. Where will the business come from?”

“Ah, the railroad will generate its own business,” Garrison said. He pointed to the state of Nebraska. “Gentlemen, when Nebraska was admitted to the Union in 1867, it had a population of just over one hundred thousand people. Today, it boasts over one million. That is a tenfold increase in two decades’ time, and that increase is due to the railroad.” Again, Garrison pointed to the route of the CNM&T Railroad. “Our railroad is covering twice the area of the Nebraska railroads, which should mean at least twice as many people.”

“You are painting a rosy picture, General,” one of the bankers said. “But let’s get right down to it, shall we? You are going to need financing.”

“Yes.”

“How much do you need?”

“I’ve worked it out very carefully,” Garrison said, “taking into account right-of-way that must be purchased, as well as right of way that will be provided by grants from the federal and state governments. I have also considered the cost of supplies and labor.”

“How much?” the banker asked again.

“Twenty thousand dollars per mile, which means ten million dollars,” Garrison said without blinking an eye.

“Ten million dollars?” one of the bankers replied, blanching at the prospect. “That’s a lot of money.”

“Yes, it is,” Garrison said. He smiled. “That’s why I have brought four of you here. I’m not asking you to compete for the loan, I’m asking you to share it. This way, you would only have to come up with two and a half million dollars each.”

One of the bankers laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the words ‘only’ and ‘two and a half million’ mentioned in the same sentence.”

The other bankers laughed as well.

“Gentlemen, I’ve done an economic analysis of ten Western railroads. I had Mr. Denham, publisher of the Higbee Journal, print out the report for me.” He passed out four printed packets, then pointed to a stack of them on the table. “When you go back home, you can take several of these with you to present to your boards. You will see that, in every case, the railroads recouped their investment within the first eighteen months after construction.”

The bankers began examining the booklets.

“To secure your cooperation, I am prepared to issue stock, equal to forty-nine-percent ownership of the railroad, to be divided among those who contribute financing, in accordance with the amount of their investment. Gentlemen, within four years, you will double your investment.”

“I’m in,” one of the bankers said, dropping the booklet on the table. This was C. D. Matthews, of the First Colorado Bank and Trust.

“Thank you, C.D.,” Garrison said. “For how much?”

“If nobody else comes in, I’ll take all of it,” C.D. said.

“Not so fast,” Dan Michaels said. “I’m in as well.”

“So am I,” Durant said.

“That leaves you, Percy. Are you in or out?”

“You think I could have another doughnut?” he asked.

“Sure,” Garrison said, handing him one of the confections.

Percy took a bite, then licked the end of his finger. “These sure are good,” he said. “Yes, I’m in.”

“I’ll be damned,” C.D. said, laughing. “Boys, we’ve just seen a two-and-a-half-million-dollar doughnut.”

From the Higbee Journal

NEW RAILROAD TO BE BUILT.

Financing Already in Place to Connect Higbee with Rest of the Nation.

Wade Garrison, a former general in the Army of the Confederacy, is a man who is used to getting things done. He has applied the skill and leadership that served him so ably in the great War Between the States to a more peaceful pursuit, and all will benefit from it.

General Garrison has put into motion the plans to build a railroad that will connect Higbee to La Junta to the north, and Big Spring, Texas, to the south. Such a railroad will mean that Higbee can take its place among the major cities of the nation, and indeed, phenomenal growth is predicted as a result.

General Garrison has chosen Higbee as the headquarters of the new railroad, to be called the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas line, though it shall be quickly recognized by the initials CNM&T.

Signs of the new railroad will be evident within days, as General Garrison intends to build the Higbee Depot immediately. According to the general, the construction material has already been ordered, and will arrive within the week. The office of the CNM&T, currently housed in a small building on Front Street, will be moved to the depot once construction is completed.

Between La Junta and Higbee

Taking on a load from the depot warehouse, three freight wagons belonging to the Bob Thompson Wagon Freight Company left La Junta at ten o’clock in the morning with the expectation of arriving in Higbee by noon. Norman True was the lead driver. True was the oldest of the three, and had been driving for Mr. Thompson from the day Thompson started the operation ten years earlier. The other two drivers were much younger, one a mere boy of sixteen.

The wooden seat of the wagon gave off the familiar scent of weathered wood when heated by the sun that beat down upon it, and while some complained that it was a somewhat stale smell, True liked it. To him, it was as familiar, and comfortable, as a pair of old shoes.

Loaded with lumber and building supplies, the three wagons belonging to the Thompson Wagon Freight Company rolled slowly across the southeast Colorado Plateau.

“You holding up all right, Mickey?” True called to the boy, who was in the wagon directly behind him.

“Yes, sir,” Mickey called back. “I’m gettin’ a mite hungry, though.”

True laughed. “You was born hungry, Mickey,” he said. “But if we don’t get no rain, I expect we’ll be there by noon.”

True had teased the boy for being hungry, but the truth was, he was hungry as well. Sometimes he brought a lunch to work, but today he would go home for lunch. His wife had put on beans to soak last night, and began cooking them with a ham bone this morning. He figured on having beans and cornbread for lunch, and the thought of it caused his stomach to growl.

He snapped the reins against the back of the mule team that was pulling the wagon, not to increase their speed, since they were already walking at a good five miles per hour, but just to let them know he was still here. In response, one of the mules lifted its tail and farted.

“Damn, Rhoda!” True said. “You got the smelliest farts of any critter on God’s green earth.”

Less than a quarter of a mile ahead of the three wagons, four men waited in a stand of trees. One of the trees near the road had been chopped and notched out.

“How much more before you can fall the tree?” Ray Clinton asked.

“Three, four, maybe five chops ought to do it. I don’t expect it’ll take any more than that.”

“All right, get ready. I’ll give you the sign.”

Ray watched the wagons approach. Then, as they drew even with the western edge of the little thicket, he brought his hand down.

“Now!” he shouted.

Behind him he heard three more blows of the ax, then the creaking snapping sound of a large tree coming down. It fell through branches of neighboring trees, then hit the ground with a loud crashing noise, sending up a cloud of dust as it did so. The tree fell in such a way as to completely block the road.

True heard the tree coming down before he saw it, and having once worked as a lumberjack, he recognized the sound immediately. He hauled back on the team, stopping the wagon just as the tree crashed across the road in front of him.

“Hey!” he called. “Are you a fool, falling a tree across the road like that? Don’t you know that could kill someone? Besides which, how are we supposed to get through here?”

Four men came riding out of the woods then, and they approached the wagons as calmly as if they were about to ask for directions.

“You ain’t,” one of the riders said.

“I know you,” True said. “You’re one of the Clintons, ain’t you?”

Cletus pulled his pistol and shot True at point-blank range.

“Mr. True!” Mickey called, but before he could say another word, he was also shot.

The driver of the third wagon jumped down and started to run.

“Run him down,” Ray Clinton shouted, and the other two riders spurred their horses into a gallop. Catching up with him, they shot him as well.

“Burn the wagons.”

Cletus Clinton had a can of kerosene tied to his saddle, and he began pouring it on the three wagons. Then, going back to each one, he struck a match and dropped it on the little wet spot of kerosene, and the flames leapt up. In less than a minute, all three wagons were burning.

“Let’s go,” Ray said.

Higbee

Kathleen Garrison was waiting in the freight office for Mr. Thompson to come back in from the wagon yard. She was an exceptionally pretty girl, tall and willowy, with high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and long, chestnut hair that hung down her back.

Thompson came back inside. “I checked with the others,” he said. “I don’t reckon True has come in yet. Ain’t nobody seen him, and the wagons is still gone.”

“I thought they would be here by noon,” Kathleen said. “That’s what we were told.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know that’s what we told you,” Thompson agreed. “I don’t know what’s keepin’ him. He should’a been in a couple of hours ago. Could be one of the wagons broke an axle or something. If so, they would have all stayed back until it got fixed.”

“My father really needs those supplies, Mr. Thompson,” Kathleen said. “Would you please send someone over to let us know the moment they arrive?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that,” Thompson replied. He chuckled. “Even though I’m sort of diggin’ my own grave, so to speak. I mean, if your pa gets that railroad built, then who’ll be usin’ my freight wagons?”

“Why, Mr. Thompson,” Kathleen said. “When the railroad is built, your business is likely to double.”

“Double? How do you see that?”

“How do you suppose people who have things to ship by rail are going to get them here to the railhead?” Kathleen asked. “They’ll have to use your wagons. And with the railroad will come more people, which means more business.”

Thompson stroked his chin for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling broadly. “Yeah, now that I think about it, you might just be right at that.”

“Of course, I’m right,” Kathleen said.

“You tell the general I’ll let him know the moment the shipment gets here.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Thompson, and thank you.”

Leaving the freight office, Kathleen walked down to the opposite end of town to a small building that was attached to the side of the hardware store. A sign in front of the building advertised this to be the office of the Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas Railroad Company, though as Garrison was quick to point out, this was only temporary.

A little bell rang when Kathleen pushed open the door of the office. Her father was leaning over a table, examining a map. He looked up as Kathleen came into the office.

“Kathleen, the county commissioners just gave us final clearance for passage all the way to La Junta. There’s nothing can stop us now,” he said.

“Oh, Papa, that’s wonderful!”

“What about the building materials?” Garrison asked. “I’d like to get the depot built right away.”

“The shipment hasn’t arrived yet.”

“It hasn’t?” he asked, the expression on his face registering his surprise. “I received a telegram that they left La Junta at ten o’clock this morning.” Garrison glanced at the clock. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. They should have been here two hours ago.”

“That’s what Mr. Thompson said, too,” Kathleen said. “He said one of the wagons may have broken an axle or something. Anyway, I asked him to let us know the moment they arrive.”

“Good, good, I’d really like to get started on the depot right away. I think seeing a depot go up in town would have a great effect on the townspeople and—”

Garrison’s comment was interrupted by shouting from outside. The shouts were loud and angry.

“What is it?” Garrison asked. “What’s going on outside?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Kathleen replied. “It was quiet when I came in a moment ago.”

Garrison put a paperweight on the map he had been studying, then walked over to the door and stepped outside. Kathleen followed him.

“They’re dead! All three of ’em are dead!” someone shouted.

“Marshal Calhoun should get a posse together,” another called.

“What good would that do? He ain’t got no jurisdiction outside of town.”

“What about Sheriff Belmond?”

“Lots of luck getting Belmond to do anything.”

“Well, we need to do something! We should go after the sons of bitches who did this. We can’t just let them get away with it.”

“Don’t nobody know who it was.”

“Abner!” Garrison called to one of the men.

“Yes, sir, General?”

“What are you men talking about? Who is dead?”

“You mean you ain’t heard?”

“If I had heard, would I be asking you?”

“No, I’m sorry, General, I guess you wouldn’t be,” Abner said. “It’s Norman True, Josey Hale, and Mickey Wells is who it is.”

“Wait a minute, Norman True you say? He drives for Thompson Wagon Freight, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where was he found?”

“They was found out on the road ’bout halfway between here and La Junta. All three was shot dead and their wagons burnt.”

“The wagons were burned?”

“Yes, sir, all three of ’em, burnt to the ground.”

“Papa, that’s—”

“Yes, Kathleen, I know,” Garrison replied. “That’s our shipment.”

“But why would anyone do such a thing? Mr. True is as nice a man as you would ever want to meet,” Kathleen said.

“They weren’t after Mr. True, darlin’,” Garrison said. “They were after our shipment.”