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CHAPTER 10
TUCSON, 1871
Miller's brother-in-law, Moss Burton, still lived in Tucson, and he made directly for his house. Slinging his kit over his left shoulder, he walked up to the door, knocked. Burton's adult daughter, Cordelia, answered. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, when she recognised her unwelcome visitor.
"Well," said Miller, "ain't you gonna invite me in?' and he pushed past her into the house.
"My dad's working just row, Mr Miller."
"That's just fine - I can wait, I've got aaaall day." he drawled, dumping his kit in the centre of the floor and stretching his lean frame full-length on a couch.
"Are you planning to stay, Mr Miller?' asked Cordelia, as politely as she could.
"Sure am, honey - jest as long as I need to."
---oo0oo---
Burton returned home from his work in the evening. Opening the door, he called "Cordelia! I'm home! Whose horse is that ..." Then he saw Miller, still lounging, full-length, boots on, on his best couch. "Miller! When did you get here?"
"Oh, sometime this mornin', Burton. I reckon I'll stay awhile - if you don't mind!" he said, sarcastically.
Flustered and annoyed at this intrusion to his house, Burton nevertheless backed down, as Miller knew he would. "Mind? Why, no, of course not, Miller. How's Ellie?"
"She left me awhile ago. Far as I know, she's still in Kansas, with friends."
Burton made to say something but, when he saw the look in Miller's eyes, he closed his mouth again.
Miller got of the couch to eat. The conversation was spasmodic and entirely originated by Burton. Once he had exhausted all the small talk he could think of, he remembered something he'd heard in the shop during the day. "Met a US Marshal today." Miller's eyes narrowed and he stopped eating for a moment, then continued. The reaction was not lost on Burton. He went on: "Yeah, he's after the man that killed an Army Paymaster, robbed him of $9,000 and deserted. Killed a young trouper, too. Marshal reckoned the man was still in this area. Funny thing, said the man's name was Miller, and he kinda answers your description." He looked straight at Miller, and saw sweat break out on his forehead - and it was not caused by the chili he was eating.
"What did you tell him, Burton?" Miller's voice was suddenly husky, the fork in his hand pointing menacingly at Burton.
"Nothing, Miller, I told him nothing, I swear!"
"Good, because there's nothin' to tell, is there?" and he resumed eating.
Cordelia, seeing an opportunity, spoke up. "That's a coincidence," she said, "I was talking to Jed Catlow the other day, and he told me the same thing. Seems to know the Marshal - Ben Cowan's his name. Says the Marshal's after him for rustling and he headed out yesterday to where Catlow's camp is."
Miller's mind was in ferment. "Catlow! He was here again! Now, maybe now, I will take the opportunity to get even, and this time I'll not just wing him. Now, I will find, and kill, Catlow!"
"Burton, I enjoyed your food, it was real fine. But it seems I have a pressing engagement elsewhere. Thank you for your hospitality!" and Miller grabbed his kitbag and made a hasty escape into the night.
---oo0oo---
In 1871 the cattlemen around Tucson were waging a constant war against the branding of maverick steers rounded up by rustlers before the steers could be branded and driven to the Army forts for sale. A cattle baron called Parkman, who knew of Miller's reputation as a bounty hunter and ruthless killer, recognised him in the street and called a meeting of his colleagues, who wanted rid of maverick branders, especially a man called Jed Catlow, who was running a herd through to Abilene. Fate drew the strings tighter around Orville Miller.
---oo0oo---
Miller went to the stables for his horse. He did not hear the man approach as he hurriedly saddled his horse.
"Mr Miller!" Orville swung round, Winchester in hand.
"It's OK, Mr Miller, I'm not a lawman. I work for a man called Parkman." He came out of the shadows, his hands up in submission. "Mr Parkman would like to meet you. He has a proposition to make that might interest you. Come, please, now!"
There were half-a-dozen grim-faced men in the smoky upstairs room he was taken to. He was introduced to Parkman, the chairman of the group. "Mr Miller, do you know a cowboy by the name of Jed Catlow?"
"Yeah, I know him." he replied, warily.
"Good, good. I have an offer to make you, Mr Miller, and we consider you the best man for the job."
"What job?"
"We want you to - ah - dispose - of Jed Catlow."
Miller's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. "How much?"
"We'll pay you handsomely for your trouble, never fear."
He was going to get paid to kill Catlow! "I repeat - how much?"
"Five thousand dollars, payable after you complete the job."
"Its' a deal, Mr Parkman! What's the story?"
"I have a warrant" Parkman showed a piece of paper to Miller - "for his arrest for cattle rustling. He has taken cattle with my brand on them, claiming them to be mavericks. That is illegal. I want you to dispose of Catlow and his crew and bring me back the herd! I'll give you a number of my men, who will assist you in your task."
"More work, more money." replied Miller, shrewdly.
"I'll double the money if you wipe them all out and get the steers back safely."
Miller nodded. He took a room in a boarding house that night and left before dawn on the ride out to where Parkman had said the herd was situated. It appeared that they had stopped the drive because one man was ill or injured. "Good." Thought Miller. "I'll get Parkman's men and ride out tomorrow morning, before they strike camp. They'll not be prepared for an early morning raid." On the ride back, he worked out his plan of action, ordered Parkman's men to a meeting that night in the cattle baron's office and briefed them as to what he wanted of them. The gang rode out before dawn the next morning.
Ben Cowan, in trailing Catlow the day before, had been ambushed by indians and stopped an arrow in his left leg. Catlow, hearing gunfire, came on the scene just in time and rescued the helpless Cowan and took him out to his campsite. There, he removed the arrowhead and cauterised the wound. However, Cowan had lost a lot of blood and the fever, which arose after the treatment for the wound, forced Catlow to stop driving the steers that day.
When Miller and his men arrived at the campsite, Miller could overhear a conversation between Catlow and Cowan. Cowan was saying: "Jed, you know I got a warrant on you."
"Parkman?"
"Yeah."
"Rustlin'?"
"Yeah."
"Have you ever known me to steal from any man?"
"His wife, maybe. You usually gave her back."
"I'll get back any steer that has Parkman's brand on it!" asserted Catlow.
"Why?" asked Cowan.
"Ben, they're mavericks! Nobody owns them! I reckon I have the same right to brand them as anybody else!"
Miller took this as his cue to make his move. "And I say you're a damned, no-good cow rustler!"
Catlow looked up to see Miller on his horse up on the canyon rim. Catlow's men made to grab their guns but Miller saw them. "Slow! Slowly!" The rest of Miller's gang appeared at the rim of the canyon. "Drop 'em!" Seeing Miller's gang had the drop of them, Catlow's men threw down their guns and rifles.
"Orville Miller!" said Catlow. "Parkman's bought himself the best!"
"Only the best - for Catlow!" responded Miller. All of Miller's gang were now off their horses and had their rifles and guns pointed down towards Catlow's men in the valley. "You've been stirrin' up a lot of trouble, mister!" Miller continued. "Givin' the other boys big ideas!"
"How?" asked Catlow innocently.
"Independence!" replied Miller. "Mr Parkman and his rancher friends have been talkin' 'bout the independent ways you got with their cattle!"
"Maverick cattle!" asserted Catlow.
"Well, you did a good job roundin' them up for us." Remarked Miller. "Now, how good are you on a horse?"
"Good as the next man!"
"You ain't heard the conditions. You ride this bronc with your hands tied behind your back - and your neck in that noose!" and Miller indicated one of his men, high on the hill, who was throwing a noose over a solitary dead tree. Unseen by Miller, Catlow's second in command, crawling low behind Cowan, gave him a gun.
"I thought Parkman liked things legal!" Catlow was now stalling for time.
"There's a warrant out." assured Miller. "But Mr Parkman figures your buddy the Marshal might not be able to find you!" he added, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Now, if you're worried about gettin' a fair trial - here's your jury -" he indicated his men - "and I'm the judge! All those here who reckon Catlow here's guilty of rustlin' - raise your hands!" All of Miller's men raised their hands, laughing. "There's the verdict - now here's your sentence - hang him!"
Catlow realised there was no point in stalling further. He made a grab for his rifle but Miller was quicker and shot the rifle from his hand. "You said I was the best, Catlow! The sentence was hangin'. Don't make me change it! Now, get up there - I've got a herd to drive!"
Catlow shrugged in mock surrender. "Well, I always figgered I'd die with my boots on!" and he sat down, pulled his left boot on, then made to pull the right boot on, but concealed inside the boot was a Derringer pistol. He held the pistol inside the boot, pointed the sole of the boot upwards and pulled the trigger. Miller felt the bullet hit him on his right shoulder. A gunfight ensued, during which a number of Miller's men were shot and killed. Miller was forced to retreat and he, and the remaining members of Parkman's gang, rode off fast.
Catlow confided in Cowan that he intended to sell the herd in Abilene before Miller could accuse him of murdering his men during the gunfight. However, Cowan's first priority was to put Catlow behind bars. Then he intended to capture Miller.
Wounded and beaten, Miller rode back to town with the remnants of his gang. Fortunately for Miller, the bullet in his shoulder had not penetrated deeply. Parkman summoned his own doctor to attend to Miller. The man had a round, craggy face with clear blue eyes that seemed to look right through Miller. "Say, don't I know you?" the doctor drawled.
Miller, lying face up with his eyes tight shut against the pain, only grunted.
"Mexican War - were you in the Mexican War?"
"Uh - yeah." gasped Miller as the doctor probed for the bullet.
"You shore won't die'o this popgun wound, cowboy!" and he drew the bullet out.
---oo0oo---
Wounded arm in a sling, Miller faced the cattle barons.
"You failed, Miller, and not only failed, you made widows outa some of our womenfolk!" shouted Parkman.
"Not my damn fault Catlow's men are marksmen!" Miller riposted.
"I hired you to be the marksman, Miller, and you failed. You don't get paid. Now get outta here and don't show your ugly face in this town again until you've killed Catlow - then you'll get paid!"
Miller's eyes burned like two black coals in scarcely-contained rage, but he could do nothing with a Parkman's henchmen standing protectively around him. He left the room, headed back to the stables, where he had left his kit, and took his horse to the railroad station. He knew that Catlow was driving his herd East to Abilene to the cattle auctions there. Knowing Abilene so well, he decided to go there ahead of Catlow, plan out how and where to kill him and, with a bit of luck, steal the money he got for the steers as well. The train was already in motion when Miller saw Cowan jump on.
---oo0oo---
Abilene had changed drastically since the last time Miller was there. It had become a booming, busy cowtown in its heyday, where Wild Bill Hickok walked the streets as Abilene's Marshal, a tall, well-built man with long, auburn hair. It was the terminal of the Kansas Pacific Railroad and the nearest railhead for the shipment of cattle brought north over the Chisholm Trail. The Shawnee Trail had closed shortly after the Civil War. Bewildered by the changes in what he considered his 'home town', Miller went to ground, keeping well out of both Hickok's and Cowan's way, waiting and watching as Catlow finally drove his herd in.
Just as soon as he had got the money for the steers, Catlow left Abilene again, thwarting Miller's carefully laid plans. Cowan left Abilene just behind Catlow and his men. He had met Catlow briefly in a bar and Catlow had told him of a consignment of maverick gold that was being shipped by a Mexican military mule train. He gave Cowan the chance to come in with him, but Cowan refused, so Catlow left town, fast.
Miller, ever watchful, bided his time and left Abilene after Cowan. He was unaware of the plan to steal the Mexican gold shipment. All he cared about was to kill Catlow.
Catlow and his gang, rich from the money they'd been given for their maverick cattle, headed back West again. Tirelessly, Cowan trailed them. Cowan was well aware that he was being followed at a distance by the tall, dark, malevolent presence of Orville Miller.
Cowan rode into Nogales, a Mexican border town, closely followed by Miller, who boldly tied up his horse right beside the Marshal.
Cowan looked at Miller. "What makes you think he's in Mexico?"
"You got the badge, I let you do the thinkin'." replied Miller, surlily.
"How much is Parkman paying you?"
"Enough."
"Oh? He must want Catlow real bad."
Miller turned to look straight at him. "I want Catlow - real bad."
"Miller, let me give you a little warning. It's my job to bring him in to trial. Don't get in my way." and he moved off into the cantina, feeling Miller's air of insolent arrogance behind him. He walked up the stairs of the taverna, Miller following warily after him. They went to their separate rooms. Once again, Miller set in to wait. He stayed in his room after ensuring it was the one next to Cowan's. Cowan left his room and found and spoke to Catlow, who was aware of Miller's presence there and his intention to kill him. Catlow was unconcerned, but started to formulate a plan to stop Miller's relentless pursuit of him as quickly and as effectively as possible.
Miller ordered a meal in his room and decided to take a bath, as a bathtub was already in the room.
The fat Mexican senorita called Sara, who brought him hot water for it, was in on Catlow's plan to dispose of Miller once and for all. Pouring the water, she said "This is the best bathtub in the whole of Nogales. After so long a journey, you need a bath, huh?" in a voice that was loud enough for the listeners outside to hear every word she spoke to Miller.
Miller was not in the mood to talk. "Just get the rest of the water and get out." he said curtly.
"Si, senor. It is in the hall." She went out for the water and saw Catlow and Cowan outside Miller's door. Catlow blew her a kiss, whispering "OK", and she took the second pitcher of water into the room and poured it into the tub.
Miller, thinking he heard a movement outside his door, went and looked outside, but saw no-one. Satisfied, he went back into the room. To his mind the woman appeared to be an unnecessarily long time over the bath water. He unbuttoned and took off his shirt and, wanting rid of the woman, he said gruffly "Leave it!"
Sara put down the water pitcher and, as he sat on the bed pulling his boots off, she came up behind him. "A man always feels good after a bath. Then, I will give to you a nice massage."
He felt her hands massaging his neck. Losing patience, he said "Get out!"
She was persistent, however. "But you will like it, senor. And after ..." her massaging hand moved down to his chest ..."you will sleep - like a baby!"
Pushed beyond endurance, he said "I never sleep!" and grabbed her wrist, throwing her away from him. At last, she took the hint and left him alone.
Still cautious and suspicious, Miller listened through the wall separating his room from Cowan's. He heard snoring and, satisfied that Cowan was asleep, he stripped and stepped into the bath. A short while later, he was rinsing himself down when the unlocked door suddenly flew open to reveal Catlow with a woman Miller had never seen before standing behind him. Catlow held a large pitcher and offered Miller more hot water. Anger flashed in Miller's dark eyes and his mouth set in a determined line. He was angry at being tricked and even angrier at being caught naked in his bath.
"Get up!" ordered Catlow but Miller, noticing the woman, hesitated. "Never forgive you to be bashful!" taunted Catlow.
Miller thought fast, the adrenaline coursing through him. His Winchester was hidden behind the towel rail beside him. Appearing to reach for the towel as he rose from the tub, he grabbed the gun and fired, shattering the pitcher in Catlow's hands. Catlow threw the broken pitcher at the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The spilled oil took light, starting a fire. Miller's body, still slippery wet, made it difficult for Catlow to grapple with him. As Catlow lost his grip, Miller spun and fired the gun again, but missed. Catlow disarmed him and a hand-to-hand fight followed, with the strange woman roaring in excited laughter at Miller's nakedness. Miller hit Catlow on the jaw, then tried to drown him in the dirty bath water, but the bathtub capsized and Catlow got in a blow to Miller's jaw that stunned him. Miller crashed to the floor in the middle of the shards form the smashed pitcher and lay unmoving. Catlow quickly put out the fire and made his escape with his woman, saying "We travel!".
Miller, lying face down on the floor, slowly came to. He rolled over, hands grasping a large shard of pottery which was embedded deep in his neck, blood flowing from the wound. Grimacing in pain, he gasped and tried to call out, but he could not speak - the piece of pottery had damaged his vocal chords.
---oo0oo---
When they heard the commotion and saw Catlow and his men ride out in a hurry, the senora who owned the taverna, accompanied by Sara, hurried upstairs to see what damage had been caused by the wild gringos and discovered the badly-injured Miller. When she saw that he was naked she pushed Sara out of the room, ordering her downstairs to bring up two vaqueros to help lift Miller onto his bed. The two men came up, covered him with a blanket, and lay him gently on the bed. The senora and Sara returned to attend to him. The wound was very deep and had to be cauterised. Gently the senora got Miller to release his grip on the shard and eased it out of his neck. The only thing they had that would do the cauterising immediately was a red-hot poker which was in the fire downstairs. Mercifully, Miller lapsed back into unconsciousness before she put the poker to his neck ...
It was Sara who nursed him back to comparative health. When he regained consciousness, reaction set in and he started shaking violently from the shock. She covered him with blankets, gave him poppy seed to calm him, then, later, gave him a stronger dose to let him sleep, as sleep, Sara's Mamma told her, is the best cure of all. Sara recalled his deep voice telling her gruffly "I never sleep!" "Well, she thought as she looked down on the unconscious man, "he's sleeping now!"
For two days and nights Sara never left his side, nursing him through the ensuing fever and pain. On the morning of the third day he awoke, his eyes clear, but, through loss of blood, he was still very weak. He tried to speak but could not. "Hush!" she said to him, seeing despair and frustration in his eyes. "You must not try to speak. I will give to you some hot soup, no?"
He nodded, but it hurt. She went for the soup, and, sitting up in bed, he sipped it gingerly. His eyes said "Thank you" and he lay back exhausted from the effort and fell asleep again. Sara's nursing was excellent, however, and he was able to get up later in the day and, although it was painful to swallow, he ate a light meal in his room. He realised that he had lost a lot of time and that, if he wished to catch up with Catlow, he had to ride out very soon. He returned to his room and rested to gain more strength.
The next morning, his bandana protecting the ugly open wound, he rode out.
He spurred his horse relentlessly to try to catch up with Catlow and Cowan. Every beat of his horse's hooves heightened the pain in his neck but his hate for Catlow and his total obsession now to kill him on sight burned brightly in his brain, spurring him forever onwards.
At one small town he stopped at he bought a buffalo rifle, complete with telescopic sights - the latest thing in shooting equipment. Out on the trail again, he fired practice rounds and was pleased with its accuracy.
The pain of his wound increased as the day wore on. He reached up and realised his bandana was sticky with blood, but he allowed himself no respite, his hate burning ever brighter within him. The one phrase which pounded in his brain to the rhythm of his horse's hooves was: Kill Catlow, kill Catlow, kill, kill, kill Catlow...
---oo0oo---
Three days down the trail, he came across Cowan, tied up across the saddle of his horse. He guessed that Catlow had had something to do with it. Miller saw the opportunity to get even with him so, despite Cowan's pleas to release him, Miller took his Winchester and fired a fusillade, frightening Cowan's horse into a gallop, and left the Marshal to suffer whatever fate was coming to him.
Further on down the trail, riding high on a canyon rim, Miller spotted Catlow and his gang at last. Miller dismounted and lay in wait, preparing his buffalo rifle. As Catlow came within its sights, Miller took careful aim for Catlow's head. Once again, fate stepped in to favour Catlow, as a rattlesnake reared up in front of his horse, making him duck and swerve. Miller's bullet tore a hole in Catlow's straw Stetson, and the gang spurred their horses away and out of danger. Annoyed at his lack of success, Miller disappeared into the country, heading for Hermosillo, knowing that they had to be heading for the Mexican town and hoping that another opportunity would present itself there.
---oo0oo---
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