Layout (Part 3)

The dining area at the hotel was crowded, the tables were full and most of the chairs were taken as several of the townspeople were interested in getting a chance to meet the visitors. I was already sitting at my table with a cup of coffee when Thomas Burlington and the man Flynn came down the hall from their side by side rooms. Flynn in his peculiar brogue quipped loudly to something that Burlington had said, "aye kap'm shei'el be shor'n sench'd opp tyt'ern sait'ns rump dey whil , n'ail den bea'arf fer eh shekdewn o' er de lokell puub ter whet mee whirstle." Flynn was out the door and gone even as the last of his lilting words hung in the air. Burlington himself took one of the empty chairs at the table with Gus and Clem Warner.

Warner owned a small spread South of town past Bear Creek. Unlike the much larger Wilkinson outfit, Clem had filed a claim on his section of land and in order to make it legal and receive a permanent deed Warner and his men were only running a few head of cattle and a few horses while they built structures and put up fences to show improvement on the land. Compared to the Warner ranch of six hundred and forty acres, Jud Wilkinson's range was massive. Sprawling over close to seven thousands acres of prime grazing, it cut right down through the heart of Gridiron Valley. The large two story ranch house sits in the foothills of the Iron Mountain range just below Zimny's gap. There are two bunk houses strategically located about fifty yards out on each side, just forward and slightly catty cornered to the main house. Between them they formed a type of fortress with a good field of fire in every direction. The design and position of the buildings also served to create a courtyard like area in front that could become a death trap of cross fire from three sides if the ranch were to ever be attacked. One of the bunkhouses, the one on the South side partially blocked from the North wind, is used full time by the permanent ranch hands. And the other on the Northern side only during roundup time in preparation for the yearly cattle drive to market. The barn and stables are a sight to see, Jud is a hard man, stern and self righteous, but he is a builder like few others. None of the buildings had any wasted space and everything was perfectly structured and organized for ease of use and efficiency. He has the largest free range heard in the valley by far, and probably the largest west of the Texas Panhandle, and all of it prime beef! His hands also ride some of the finest horse stock in the Country, it has been said that he brought some Arabians into the valley years ago at great cost, and then bred them profusely with the native stock horses.

You are probably thinking that all of this building that's been going on around here takes a lot of materials, especially wood, nails and fence wire, and you would be right. The great need for wire and hardware has been a big key to the success that Gus has seen from an expanding shipping business. Gus has the Livery stable, but he is also the conduit for the sale of most of the horse flesh in the area. He buys and sells for profit himself, and he holds stock for sale by others in his corals and pens, keeping them well brushed and fed for a fee until sold. Gus is the only blacksmith in the area, and business has been so heavy lately that he has had to bring in a young apprentice named Andy Wagner. Soon after arriving Gus discovered that Wags as he likes to call him, was a natural salesman that could make an old toothless nag sound like a race horse. With a brisk business selling saddle horses and the burgeoning freight business to go along with livery fees and blacksmithing work. It all added up to a sizable income. But Gus was tight with his money and even tighter lipped, not that anyone could have understood much of what he was saying anyway, even if he talked all day long about it. No one was going to learn anything about Gus's prosperity from big Sam either, he for sure never talked about how much money he was holding in his safe for folks. That is one of the reasons that so many trusted him with their savings.

The lumber supply is another story, and it is a good one. Up in the foothills West of the Wilkinson Spread, starting at Zimny's gap and to the North is all timber land, one of the finest growths of virgin pines and hardwoods west of the Mississippi. The forest runs all the way from the valley through the foothills to the top of the High Mesa. When you pass through the massive trees heading West into the mountains the growth tapers into mostly Aspen which then gives way to low growing shrubs and flowering plants. It is along the Eastern edge of this forest that Woody Haynes and his family built a log home and established a crude lumber mill. Here Woody and his thirteen sons work the timber, creating logs, rails posts and even rough boards with hand tools. The older boys fell the trees and snake them out of the woods and into the lay-down yard with Oxen. I had a run in one time with one of those critters and I steer shy of them now, ornery cusses'ed just a'soon stomp a man flat as chew cud. The rest of Hayne's boys had developed specialized skills and worked with the logs once down at the mill. They could all do each other's job if one needed help filling an order, but it was pure genius of old man Haynes to streamline his operation into specialty shops. It is an impressive thing to sit and watch a man split out and trim a plank from a huge round long using nothing but hammers, wedges, chisels and hand saws. Beyond a doubt these were some of the hardest working and most skilled folks in the area, and every building, every store, all of the homes and even the outhouses in Gridiron and throughout the valley were a testimony to that skill.

Burlington was very curious about the people who lived in Gridiron and especially those holding land in the area. Felding Yost had taken a seat at the table with me, He and Clem were more than happy to fill this newcomer in on the particulars. Felding also had a small spread on the other side of Bear Creek West of the Warner Ranch, but unlike Clem he had never filed on his land so he free grazed alongside Wilkinson range, the creek representing the boundary. There was bad blood between both Warner and Yost with Jud Wilkinson, Jud was not really satisfied with having most of the valley's grazing rights and best grass, Jud wanted it all! There was always friction between the outfits, especially in the Spring during roundup time. It was not unusual for year old Yost or Warner calves to show up for the cattle drives wearing fresh Wilkinson brands, and if you put both of these ranchers together with all of their hands they were still no match for the Wilkinson riders. Worse yet was that Jud always kept one or two "cowboys" on the payroll that sported clean saddles that had never been chaffed by a rope. they wore tied down guns pistolero style, and they had soft un-calloused hands not at all accustomed to ranch labor. For a man to accuse Jud of stealing was to invite death, no one even dared whisper the thought in passing.

It was Felding that steered the conversation toward the Fransuelo Lehenóz incident. The Lehenóz family had lived in the valley and raised sheep long before there was a Gridiron Crossing or any white settlers in the area at all. It was said that Fransuelo's father had title to the entire valley through a Spanish land grant that was signed by King Fernando VI, whether this was true or if it had any legal standing today was not known for no proof has ever been brought forward. When Jud came into the valley driving a large herd of both cattle and horses and not a few riders, all heavily armed, they began to immediately drive Fransuelo and his sheep out.

Fransuelo was no coward, he was a proud man from and old aristocratic blood line and they had lived in this wild country in relative peace with the Indians for years. They had suffered through many hardships in the past that came from living apart from the civilized world, and they had thrived here living off of the land and sending fine wool to the markets South into Mexico. But this was something far different, and he had a wife and three small children to worry about. There was also his widowed sister and her children that lived with them in the valley and helped with the shearing and getting the wool to market. Fransuelo had been forced to move the sheep and his family out of the fertile valley and out onto the Mesa, losing a large portion of the heard in the process. Word was that Fransuelo had appealed to both the United States and the Mexican Governments concerning his claim to title, but soon after those rumors surfaced he had been killed in an "accident," taking a fall off of a forty foot bluff while gathering sheep ahead of an approaching storm.

That had been over ten years ago and the children were now grown. Maria, the oldest, was a stunningly beautiful woman who knew full well how to utilize the power of her femininity in a land populated mostly by men. She could simultaneously arouse a man's egotistic and prideful desires with a single glance, while at the same time turning his knees into jelly with the swaying of her hips and then cut out his heart out with the sharpness of her wit and a tongue which spoke with a heavy, sultry Spanish accent. She was all woman that one, full of passion for life and having a natural and almost hypnotic alluring way of moving and speaking. But any man brash enough to lay a hand on her might lose it in the process. One cowboy had made the mistake of addressing her with a crude remark as she passed by on the boardwalk, to this day he still carries the mark across his cheek and jaw from the lightening fast crack of the riding crop that had dropped him to his knees. Hardly missing a step Maria had continued down the walk not bothering to even turn and inspect the damage that she had incurred on the insolent young man.

As the evening wore on the conversation moved on to the Walapai Indian Camp that was about twenty miles East of town, and also to the Dobie Brothers Outpost that served as a go between for trade with the Indians. Glory Dobie drank too much and spent more time in the Camp with his two squaws than he did at the outpost. His brother, Guts, did most of the trading that was done and he had never been married and really never seemed to show much interest in either woman or alcohol. Not that many women would be interested in the first place, for Guts was not what you would call a handsome man. In fact he was downright hard to look upon. Another thing that Guts never seemed to care for was a little soap and clean water, for all the time that I had known him I never had seen, or smelled him clean. And I doubt that a razor had ever touched the skin of Guts Dobie.

There was also some mention during the conversation of the Alfonz Stagg gang that worked the area from time to time rustling cattle or holding up lone travelers or settlers that strayed too far from the beaten path. And about the Bryant mines up in the mountains above the headwaters of bear creek, as well as Lute Rockne's working claim farther North, neither of which had shown much more than a promise and enough color to keep them operating. Soon the crowd began to thin and since I had an early day planned for tomorrow I took my leave and headed over to my office, bunkroom and the town jail that adjoined the General Store and was right across main street from the saloon. As soon as I opened the door and stepped out though I knew that there was trouble, bad trouble at the saloon. I could hear the shouts, much cussing and the breaking of glass, and I saw several men making hasty exits. Some were in such a hurry that they were stumbling over each other and crawling to get clear of the door. There was screaming inside the saloon also, high pitched agonizing screams that made my blood run cold and the hair stand up on the back of my neck. As I hurriedly made my way down the walk there came the unmistakable deep voice of Big Sam from inside the saloon and then the dull double thud that could only be the sound of the club finding a victim followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Standing at the door taking in the sight was shocking even for me, a man who was not at all unaccustomed to violence. There was fresh and dripping blood everywhere, it was on the ceiling, on walls, along the bar and running off the sides of the tables. There was no one in the saloon that was not covered in blood, I had never seen anything like it and never want to witness anything like it again. It was a butchers nightmare come to life, and I was having trouble making sense out of what could have taken place here. There were three bodies sprawled out on the floor and only one was breathing, and that of the little Irishman Flynn still clutching a bloody wicked looking blade in his right hand.

After carefully looking over the scene and interviewing everyone that had been present I had a fairly clear picture now of what had taken place and how the nightmare had started and ended with such speed and abruptness that made it ever the more startling. An argument of sorts had developed between two Wilkinson cow hands and Flynn that soon escalated into shouts and insults. One of the cowboys had pulled a knife, and that's when it happened. No one is sure where Flynn pulled the knife from, in fact everyone thought him to be unarmed, but when the cowboy came out with a knife one had also suddenly appeared in Flynn's hand and with uncanny speed and agility he had proceeded to cut both cowboys to ribbons. It only stopped when Sam's arm stretched over the bar with club in hand and stealthily caught Flynn in the side of the head laying him out cold. I had a couple of bystanders pry the knife out of Flynn's drawn and still clutching hands, and then carry him over to the jail. I also sent another man to get Doc to go take a look at him. I locked Flynn up, not because I could charge him with a crime, everyone agreed that it was the Wilkinson men who first pulled a knife, but I wanted to protect him from any other Wilkinson riders that might be in town and want to come seeking revenge for the deaths of their friends. I also wanted to keep him close because I needed to get his statement for the record when, or if he woke up.

I was certainly going to need someone to help out around here for a couple of days because now I needed that ride more than ever. So after Doc assured me that Flynn would live, but that he would surely have a massive headache when he awoke, I sent for and deputized Jake Grissom to watch him and then I laid down in my bunk to try and get some rest. As I drifted off my thoughts were not on the events of the day, but of getting an early start on a mind clearing ride in some crisp mountain air.