Unaware of the events that had taken place in Arizona, Ben Cownan stared silently over his ranch. Something was going on here, that he knew, but he did not know what. It had been four days since the killing of the strange cowhand had taken place. There had been a small search but nothing was found. The killers, whoever they were, escaped.
Just what was going on? Who were the rustlers? And what did that man, Jasper Kodiak, have to do with it? What of the cowhand or the fact that he has been shot dead so he would be silenced? What did the cowhand know?
These thought shifted through his head as he stared through the ranch. He continued to study it when his thoughts were interrupted by the galloping of hooves. Looking up, he saw it was his son Bijah.
"Howdy Pa, where's ma at?" Bijah asked.
"I think she's in the kitchen son. How's that buckskin working for you?" Cownan asked.
"He a might frisky, but he's got some good speed to em'."
"Good, good . . . Son did you see anything unusual on the Ranch today? I mean, did you see any strange tracks, or any signs of rustling?" Cownan asked.
"It's still bothering you, ain't it pa. No I didn't . . . well, come to think of it, I actually saw the tracks of a unshod horse back at the point. I thought nothing of it-thought it might be some renegade Indian, but it may be something." Bijah Answered.
Cownan watched as his son headed back to the house and smiled. To say he was proud of his son was an understatement. He was every bit like himself, and he would make some woman a good husband one day. Abijah Cownan, that was his full name, named for his best friend Bijah Catlow, who he had one of the most interesting friendships with.
Abijah Catlow and Ben Cownan had been friends since they were kids. Several times they helped each other out, and several times they fought with each other. As they grew older they took different paths. Ben Became a U.S. Marshal, whereas Catlow's tought life turned him into an outlaw.
Catlow began pulling jobs all over the country, and he soon became a legend, and he gained many friends, partners, followers, and enemies. Several times he had broken jail, and then he proceeded to pull his biggest job in Mexico, and it was a doosey.
As he and his gang tried to steal an old Mexican treasure, they caught the attention of everyone. Cownan was ordered to arrest him and bring him back to the states. Cownan arrested Catlow once, but he broke prison and went to Mexico, where he soon became the target of the Mexican Army, Seri Indians, Mexican bandits, a vengeful killer, and Cownan himself.
After a long, brutal, life threatening chase, Cownan and Catlow fought a brutal battle and came out on top. Cownan arrested Catlow and his outlaws, saying he would defend them in court. Not surprisingly however, they all broke jail, and Catlow took off for Oregon to live a law abiding life. A letter from him to Cownan said they named their first son Ben, and likewise, named his first Abijah.
Now, thinking of his friend, Cownan realized it had been years since he had seen or heard from him. How was his old friend? Was he still in Oregon? Were they living well? Pondering these things, he went into the house, smelling the soothing smell of a good meal.
Still however, he was not fully satisfied. Something big was happening here, something more than just rustling. What was it? Was he connected? He had spent several years as a U.S. Marshal, and during that time he had made enemies. Was he a target? He did not think so. But still, it would not hurt to be careful.
His thoughts were interrupted by the call of his wife for supper, and he went to join his wife and son at the table. His thoughts of the mystery drifted away, and he enjoyed a wonderful dinner with his family. His worry's aside, Cownan forgot all his troubles, expecting a quiet and fine night, but what was to follow was sheer horror.
Sonora lay quiet, and several of the citizens had closed their doors, and those who were still up late were at one or two saloons. For some reason everyone seemed to turn in early that night, as if they had sensed the trouble to come.
The sun was just setting when some ten riders rode into the large town. The citizens probably passed them off as drifting cowhands, but nothing could be further from the truth. These were hired killers who had one mission-to eliminate a man named Ben Cownan. No one knew who they were, nor did the men know who their employer was. All they knew was that they had received over three hundred dollars up front, and more when the job was done.
Quietly they strolled down the street, trying to act casual. They knew their orders, and they were intent to follow them. They had no idea why this man was wanted dead, but followed what the letter said.
"You have already been paid $300 up front, and will receive the rest when the job is done. If you want to know why this man needs to be killed, I'll simply say he knows too much. He must be silenced. I recommend you not ask questions, but if you must, direct them to the owner of the livery stable, as I have ties with him. I do not care of what happens to his possessions, only that he is dead. He knows too much, and be wary as was once a U.S. Marshal. Do as you are told and the reward will be great."
The message was short and simple, and to those men the sum was great. They quietly rolled out of town, taking a trail that led directly to the Cownan ranch. For some reason, all were quiet, and no one felt like talking. They were men with a job, and they were going to see that through.
As they edged up the trail to the ranch, the sun had set, and now Darkness was befalling the country. At the ranch, Cownan prepared for bed, his wife and son already have fallen asleep. The hands were not at the ranch, for he had no hands at the moment. Many had come and gone, simply taking their pay and time and then going. His foreman had died in a stampede, and several of the loyal hands had returned to their families.
Now, as Cownan closed his eyes, no one could have told him that the ten mysterious men had ridden up to the ranch. No one would have told them how they dismounted and checked their guns. And no one could tell him about one lighting a match, and throwing it at the house.
Quickly the house caught fire, and at the smell of smoke Cownan awoke. He stood still for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on, and then he suddenly knew.
Smoke! Fire! Someone was burning the house! Someone was trying to kill him!
Leaping out of bed he grabbed his rifle and went for the door. He yelled at his wife, Rosita, and Abijah to get out of the house.
"Use the back for cover! Take the rifles and stay low! They might be out there waiting for you!" He shouted.
Now the house was an inferno of flames and smoke. Cownan broke out of the front door, rifle in hand, and found himself facing the rifles of several men. No one spoke, but all fired.
Cownan raised his rifle and fired, but the bullet hit nothing. He tried again, but his body was riddled with bullets, and slowly he felt the pain spread through his body. His knees then began to buckle, and he realized he was fighting a losing fight.
"Keep shooting!" One of the figures said.
Cownan stared deeply at the man facing him, trying to make out faces, but he could not. And then his body gave way, and he crumpled into the ground. He tried to fight it, but his body shut off and he lay motionless.
"Think he's dead?" One asked.
"What do you think? 'Course he's dead, ain't no man who can survive that!" Another said.
"I don't know man. There was a cowboy down Arizona way named Rip Cocker, and he took over ten shots to the body and survived. He took out that Clell Miller with him, and that was in the land fight with Utah Blain."
"I remember that," Another said, "Blain took over for Joe Neal and dealt with all of those trying to take the land. Glad I stayed out of it. That Blain is a fighter, and he reputed to be the best in the west. He tamed Alta and he won that fight against all of them-Rink Witter, Lud Fuller, Ben Otten, and the rest of 'em. He's a good man to leave alone."
"That don't matter! Cownan is dead and the house is gone!"
"I thought I head others in the house-might have been other family in their-what about 'em?" One said.
"He's right! I saw a women and a boy leaving the backside of the house!" Another commented.
"I don't care! I'm not getting paid to kill anyone else, let alone a woman. I got my man, and I'm getting my reward. Follow them if 'ya want to, but I'll have no part in it."
"They might recognize us," One said.
"In this light? Not a chance. Let's go!"
"I still don't like this. He may be dead, but I don't like the body laying their like that. Makes it look too suspicious." One said.
"Oh fine then! Patterson, you put the body on that pack horse in his stable. We'll put it in the woods, but I ain't got no time for burying!"
Together they rode off, leaving behind them the burned remains of a ranch, and carrying with them a man they thought dead. Not a mile off, Abijah and Rosita Cownan stared back at the remains, and then rushed back to the rubble. The hastily searched the remains, but found nothing.
Rosita began to cry, and Abijah desperately cried out for his father. When he received no answer, he went to comfort his mother, trying to fight back the tears in his own eyes.
When the sun rose, all of Sonora was talking. Ben Cownan, one of the top ranchers in the area, had had his house burned, and he himself was missing, and shots had been fired. Someone had commented on some strange faces in town that evening, but no one got a good look.
The sheriff found nothing, and the town was shocked by the event. The word traveled fast of what had happened, and quickly spread from Sonora country all the way up to the states.
It would take another two months before word of the event reached Abijah Catlow in Oregon.