Clem Harkness sat at a table in the Old Bull saloon, a beer in front of him. The newspaper he had been combing through now lay on the table. He had had a feeble hope – a desperate hope, he admitted to himself – that it would contain some word, some mention of the legislation Mr Jardine was working to push through that would force McCoy to move his operation to Ellsworth. That legislation would be the saving of the Abilene ranchers. But there was nothing. The letter he'd received from Jardine a few days ago had assured him that proceedings would soon be underway, and urged him to be patient, but Carling's presence in Abilene could only mean that McCoy was not going to sit and wait. Now time had run out. The men would arrive tonight and his decisions would have to be made. He had to be sure that those decisions were the right ones, and that was why he was here in the Old Bull.
Heaven knew, it was not where he wanted to be. There was work in plenty waiting for him at the ranch and that's what he wanted to be doing, not drifting around the town acting the spy. It seemed like that was all he'd been doing these last weeks. But he didn't want to make a mistake. Carling could be gotten rid of and no-one would lament, he knew, but Aycliffe could possibly be another matter. Almost certainly, just by the fact that he was working with Carling, he was more on the wrong side of the law than the right, but Harkness wished he could be absolutely sure. He'd lost almost everything once and had worked and struggled to re-build his life. He wasn't going to lose it all again because of McCoy's greed, but neither did he want to throw everything away by laying himself open to a murder charge.
He wished he could be sure about Garrett, too. The assumed name, and more significantly his false claim to be related to Murdoch Lancer, implied that he had no family who would be concerned about his fate. Implied, too, that whatever his business was here in Abilene, it wasn't above board. Given his contact with Carling as well, it added up to a very shady character for Scott Garrett.
But Harkness couldn't quite rid himself of a niggling doubt. It was Reverend Thomas's confidence in the man that was doing it. And there was this boy, Dennison, as well. Where did he fit into the picture?
It would come down to how closely Garrett was involved with Carling and it was the chance of finding an answer to that question that had brought Harkness into the Old Bull. He'd observed both Aycliffe and Carling coming and going from the saloon, sometimes together but sometimes separately, as if they were meeting another person there. Harkness wanted to find out if that person was Garrett. Aycliffe had gone through a door leading out of the main bar into, presumably, a private room about twenty minutes ago. Harkness had found a seat where he would be able to get a glimpse into that room when Aycliffe came out. Now he was waiting.
Reverend Thomas wiped off his pen and returned it to its holder. He was finding that he couldn't sit calmly making notes for a sermon with this worry nagging at the back of his mind. Worry for Scott Lancer, and for Clem Harkness as well.
Harkness had been alone when he arrived in Abilene. His family would be joining him once he had gotten a house built for them, he had explained. It was only some weeks later, when Clem had come to the minister to arrange his wedding to the mail order bride who would be arriving the next day, that Reverend Thomas had heard Harkness' story. A homestead claim in Nebraska, a spell of dry weather. A fire that swept through and left crops destroyed, the house burned to the ground, financial ruin and Harkness's wife and eldest son dead. The claim lost and the three surviving children sent to live with neighbours and friends because Harkness had no home to give them. Years of work to get the money to start over – any sort of work, including that soul-sickening spell as a prison warder. And a marriage to give his children a mother so he could bring them home.
The Reverend understood why Clem was willing to do anything to protect what he'd fought so hard to regain but there was a risk, a very real risk, that that very desire to protect could drive Clem into going too far. And Reverend Thomas knew that nothing would give Clem Harkness greater dismay and regret than finding he had caused harm to come to an innocent man.
He decided that he would pay a visit to the Harkness farm that evening and explain to Clem the reason behind Scott's different names. The minister was reluctant to tell one man's secrets to another, but what Scott had told him about Murdoch Lancer hadn't been in a strict confidence, and it seemed to Reverend Thomas that a few words spoken now might prevent a move which would be disastrous for Harkness and his family, and for Scott Lancer.
Finally the door Harkness had been watching opened and Aycliffe came out, pausing in the doorway for a moment for a final word with the room's occupant. For a few seconds Harkness had a clear view of the other man. Not Garrett, after all. It was Jardine.
Aycliffe closed the door and left the saloon and Harkness sat stunned for a moment. Jardine was supposed to be in Topeka, lobbying for the legislation that would protect the Kansas ranchers. The letter Harkness had received from him only two days ago had been written from there – supposedly. Now here Jardine was in Abilene, apparently in league with Carling and Aycliffe, who in turn were working with McCoy.
Harkness rose and quickly left the saloon in his turn. He didn't want Jardine to realize he'd been seen. He churned the situation over in his mind as he strode down the street. Were Aycliffe and Carling working with Jardine to get that legislation passed? Or had he been taken for a fool by Jardine? All those reassurances, those urgings to be patient – had they been a blind? Was Jardine using him to keep the ranchers quiet until … what?
One thing he was certain of: even if whatever Jardine was up to was aimed at getting the new laws passed, Harkness wanted no part in anything Tege Calton was involved in.
But he doubted that was the case, anyway. The more he thought, the more he became convinced that Jardine had taken advantage of his eagerness to settle things peacefully and had fed him a story which, he now admitted, he had wanted to believe.
Fury welled up in him. Whatever plan was going on to destroy the ranchers whom McCoy regarded as a nuisance, it was going no further. There would be an end to it, now. Johnny Madrid's fee would be a little higher than first thought – the name Jardine had been added to his assignment.
"Things are going well for you, Jack, it looks to me," Scott said to Jack Walker when he, Perry, Jack and Sarah were seated around the table in the Walkers' home that evening. It was a new, boughten table, not the home-made one of former days and it was not the only new item of furniture in the room. None of it was grand, by any means, but it all spoke of prosperous times.
"Yes indeed," Jack acknowledged, "farming is a good business to be in these days in Abilene. It's all the cowboys coming in, you see. First thing you think of them doing is drinking, and they do plenty of that, no question about it. But they've got to eat, too, and the boarding houses and the hotel and the saloons, they're yelling for more than the farmers can supply. Flour, vegetables, eggs, butter … we can't produce enough, so extra has to be freighted in, and that keeps the prices high. Forget about cattle; if you want to make your fortune in Abilene right now, just start growing potatoes," he laughed.
Scott laughed along with him. "That's good to hear, Jack," he said, "I'm pleased things are swinging your way. I've heard that some of the local cattle ranchers aren't doing so well," he added in a more serious tone.
Jack nodded. "That's right. Cattle are a good business in Abilene if you're bringing in Longhorns, but not if you're trying to raise Shorthorns. The two breeds don't mix. Have you heard of the Spanish fever?" Scott nodded and Jack went on. "Some ranchers have been wiped out and they're all getting unhappy."
"Unhappy enough to cause trouble?" asked Scott. He wanted to hear what Jack thought. As neither a rancher nor a cattle shipper, he would have a clearer view of what was happening on both sides.
"Yes. Who have you been talking to?" Jack came back at him. He, in his turn, had been wondering what had brought Scott back to Abilene, though he hadn't yet asked outright. He just hoped and prayed that his friend wasn't involved in the cattle trade here, on either side.
"A fellow named Harkness," Scott replied. "He seems very determined to stop McCoy from bringing these Longhorns into Abilene. Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes, he's been in Abilene a while now. Came here not long after you left," Jack told him. "You've got him pegged right: determined, that's what he is. Not a bad man, mind you, I think he'd rather settle things peaceably than not. Matter of fact, I heard him talking once about getting a law passed that would force McCoy to move somewhere else. That would solve the ranchers' troubles. Haven't heard anything about it going through, though, and if it doesn't, well, I think Harkness would be willing to do whatever he felt he had to."
"That's about what Reverend Thomas said," Scott remarked. "It was at his house that I met Harkness."
"Mrs Harkness has been a blessing to Abilene," Sarah put in. "She was a governess back East and she teaches the local children three mornings a week. It's the closest thing we have to a school. She's a fine woman – I'd hate to think of any harm coming to her because of her husband's foolishness. There are three children, too. I just hope Mr Harkness gives some thought to his family before he starts leading the ranchers into anything rash."
"I hope so, too," said Jack. "It was through Harkness that we heard about Carling's background – I suppose Reverend Thomas told you that?" He looked at Scott, who nodded again. Jack was about to continue when Perry broke in.
"How do you know this man Harkness is telling the truth about Mr Carling?" he demanded.
"I don't," Jack conceded, "but I have no reason to doubt his word and I don't know of any reason for him to lie. Without one or the other, I'm going to believe him."
"You said that this Harkness was against Mr McCoy's shipping business. I happen to know that Mr Carling is working with Mr McCoy. That might be reason enough for Harkness to spread falsehoods about him," Perry told Jack, a stubborn look on his face.
"Is that so?" queried Jack, looking from Perry to Scott.
"Yes, Jack, I believe it is the case," Scott told him. "At least, Carling is working with a Mr Aycliffe, and Aycliffe apparently is working with McCoy. The two of them were together when I was introduced to them, my first evening in Abilene."
"Hmm, this Aycliffe may have been in McCoy's company but that doesn't necessarily mean McCoy is doing business with him," remarked Jack shrewdly. "He wouldn't be the first tin-pot speculator fluttering around McCoy hoping to siphon off some of the money McCoy's been making, and I doubt if he'll be the last."
"Samuel Foyle was with them. He's handling the financial side of things, I gather," Scott added. Jack spluttered and burst out laughing.
"Joseph McCoy doing business with Samuel Foyle? I'll believe that when I see my son-in-law's pigs sprout wings and fly out of their pen! No, Scott, McCoy will be stringing them along for the fun of it and laughing up his sleeve the whole time. He's got a sharp sense of humour, has McCoy and he doesn't suffer fools for a moment.
"Folk'll tell you the story of how not long back, a railroad agent came along to see McCoy, trying to persuade him to use his company's trains for shipping the cattle. Now, before McCoy started up here, he'd gone around all the railroad companies, trying to work a deal with one of them. The president of this very railroad, he'd told McCoy real snooty-like, 'It occurs to me that you haven't any cattle to ship, and never did have any, and I, sir, have no evidence that you ever will have any, therefore, get out of this office.' So when this agent comes along, trying to get the business after all, what does McCoy say to him but that it just occurred to him that he had no cattle for his road, never had, and there was no evidence that he ever would have, and to please say so to his President." Jack chuckled again, then became serious.
"I'd say most likely that Mr Carling and his friend are in for a very rude awakening. And when that happens," he looked for a moment at Scott, then turned very sternly to Perry, "it will NOT be wise to be mixed up with them in any sort of way."
Reverend Thomas received a friendly welcome, as he always did, when he knocked on the Harkness' door that evening. Clem's wife ushered him into the living room and Clem rose to greet him.
"Evening, Reverend, come sit down."
"Thank you, Clem. How are you, Daisy?" to Clem's wife.
"I am very well, thank you, Reverend Thomas." Daisy Harkness always spoke correctly, a grace stemming from her days as a governess in good society families in Baltimore and Boston. Her flowery name seemed inapt at first glance: she always dressed plainly, usually still in the gray suitable to a governess, and there was a reserve about her that Reverend Thomas had never been able to reach through. Yet in other ways, the Reverend thought, the name fitted her perfectly. The daisy was the plainest of flowers but had an unassuming beauty for those ready to appreciate it. He had never found out why she left the comfort of a situation in one of the most elegant households in Baltimore to become a rancher's wife. He wondered if even Clem knew. But she had fulfilled the obligations she had taken on and more, and had earned the respect of all who knew her and the quiet gratitude of the man she had married.
"Clem, I came to talk to you about Scott Lancer," Reverend Thomas came right to the point when they were seated and coffee poured.
"Garrett, you mean," Harkness corrected grimly. Daisy's head came up.
"I found out about that," the Reverend smiled. "It seems he is known as Garrett amongst his friends in Boston. He was raised by his maternal grandfather and commonly uses his grandfather's name. I know you were concerned that there was something untoward about it but it's really quite simple."
Harkness frowned. "It sounds a plausible explanation he's given you, Reverend, but it doesn't explain why he pretended to be a relation of Murdoch Lancer. I checked with my cousin in California. Murdoch Lancer doesn't have any relatives in America. Garrett's claim to be related to him was a fabrication."
"Your cousin got the wrong information then, Clem," the Reverend told him. "Scott is Murdoch Lancer's son."
Daisy had been listening intently. Now she said, "Scott Garrett – that would be Harlan Garrett's grandson. I knew of the Garretts when I lived in Boston years ago."
"Really?" said Clem. "Did you ever hear of him being Murdoch Lancer's son?"
"Yes, I do recall hearing something of that."
Hearing something? The servants' halls had been abuzz for a week with speculation about the man who had arrived at the Garrett mansion on the day of Master Scott's fifth birthday party. Daisy had been in her first situation then, as nurse to the two little Elstern girls. They had been at the party, of course, and the other servants had pumped Daisy for information about the man, but she had been concentrating on her two young charges and had barely caught a glimpse of him as he'd stood in the doorway. Besides, she never did indulge in servants' gossip. The Elstern household had moved to Baltimore soon after and she hadn't given the Garretts any more thought, but she recalled now that Cook had said the mystery man was Master Scott's father, and yes, his name had been something like Lancer.
Clem was thoughtful. "It seems you're right then, Reverend. Mr Garrett – or Lancer – is a respectable person after all."
"Absolutely," Reverend Thomas declared. "I'm worried, I'll admit, about what sort of mischief Scott's young friend has gotten into, but there is no fear of Scott Lancer being anything but totally honest," the minister stated firmly.
When the Reverend had gone, Clem shrugged on his jacket and left the house through the back door. He was expecting other visitors tonight. His instructions to Madrid had been to come late, after his children would be asleep, and to wait for him at the trees behind the large barn.
He'd decided not to include Scott Garrett in Madrid's commission. He still had his doubts about the man – he wondered how a fair-haired son could tie in with Murdoch Lancer's Mexican wife – but he wasn't going to take stupid chances. If he was connected with a well-to-do Boston family, then whatever his name was, there would be a hue and cry if he were found murdered. And three should be enough. Three dead men should be enough to show McCoy that the ranchers of Abilene wouldn't stand idle and let themselves be ruined.
He could just make out two figures on horseback, well within the shelter of the trees. Clem Harkness went forward to give the instructions that would bring about those three dead men.
A short time later he returned to the house, the determination on his face set and firm. There would be no turning back now. The job was in the hands of Johnny Madrid.