Chapter 4
Chapter Four
South of Bonedale, Colorado
Elijah Starr reined in his horse on the rise overlooking the Caswell farmhouse.
Off to his right, the Roaring River shimmered like some heathen snake god in the midday light.
Stretching off into the narrow valley to the east, the curving brown furrows of the fields sat, no doubt newly planted with potatoes and corn the farmer took such inordinate pride in growing.
The damp smell of the freshly turned fields hung in the warming air.
Here in the higher elevations of Colorado, the seasons ran later than they did back in Indiana.
Back there, the clods who worked the fields would be finished with the first haying.
And in the cornfields, green shoots would already stand more than a foot high, waiting for the plague of locusts to destroy everything.
Elijah couldn’t understand why Cain’s descendants took such great pride in their farming. Things didn’t turn out too well for him.
And they wouldn’t for Caswell either.
It was God’s plan that the white man should serve as the rightful steward of His creation.
To do that, the railroads needed to open this pagan land.
I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, 'Make straight the way for the Lord.
' Only a sinner would stand in the way of His plan.
And Elijah, as his servant, would strike down those sinners.
He wouldn’t admit it to his men, but he’d looked forward to coming down here himself.
This was the last property the company needed to complete the branch line from the mining region around Aspen northward to the Blue River.
There it would join the main line that would eventually stretch from the terminal in Denver all the way through Salt Lake City to Reno.
The railroad was going to be built. And this fool Caswell had pushed Elijah’s patience to the bitter end.
There was no sign of the farmer in the fields.
Smoke curled from the chimney of the gray wood frame house.
A number of aspens clustered around one corner of the house and a mature orchard of fruit trees extended out beyond a chicken coop.
It was the very picture of domestic bliss.
Elijah envisioned Caswell sitting right now at the kitchen table, his wife serving up the noon meal, a child riding on the woman’s hip.
Enjoy that meal, he thought, for the contented, prideful life you’re enjoying at my expense is about to change.
The sun was growing warmer, and he removed a glove and ran a finger under the edge of the patch he wore over his right eye. Or rather, what had been his eye before a rebel ball had taken it. There was a time when the patch annoyed him, but not so much now. He removed his stove pipe hat.
As he wiped the beads of sweat from his face, Elijah’s fingers skimmed over the mass of scarred flesh that marked the left cheekbone all the way to the ear.
That other remnant of his past still caused his blood to rise.
Because of it, he couldn’t grow the full beard favored by his employer and by the other men of business in the East.
It was his cross to bear, but vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. Some day.
Shaking off the thought, he jammed his hat back on and looked at the large barn and the sheds and outbuildings that formed the heart of the farm.
His tracks would run directly through the house, take out the corner of the barn, and continue on to the rail beds that had already been laid to the south.
Elijah turned in his saddle. His prune-faced secretary and the half-dozen men he’d brought along were a pack of hounds awaiting their master’s command. The guns holstered at their waists and the rifles in the scabbards lent them an air of real and imminent menace.
Beyond them, Elijah could see smoke from the construction camp rising above the line of ridges and hills.
As he often did, he’d ridden out from his base office in Bonedale and inspected the work.
Not two miles north of here, his crews were ready to push onward onto Caswell’s land.
From this point, the terrain was flat enough to complete the rail into the gold fields ahead of schedule.
They’d made good time with this project, and if the director deigned to come through on his planned trip West, he’d surely be pleased. Elijah had given his word that the entire line would be operational by the first of September. He was going to make it. And no potato farmer was going to stop him.
With a gesture to the men, he dug his heels into the sides of his chestnut stallion.
They were not halfway across the field when the farmer emerged from his house and strode toward them.
He was hatless and carrying a shotgun. As they drew closer, Elijah realized he’d never seen the man in the flesh.
But he was exactly as he pictured him. A dirt farmer who wasn’t worth the worn-out boots on his feet.
“That’s far enough,” Caswell barked, raising the barrel of the gun. “Who are you?”
Elijah had no time for lies or pleasantries. His people had done enough talking with this pissant in the past. He reined in about fifteen feet from the farmer, and the others formed a line to his right and left. “Your last chance.”
“Told them before. Git.”
“You’re not hearing me. You’re selling.”
Caswell peered up at him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you ain’t telling me what to do on my own land.”
“I am telling you. You’re leaving.”
Caswell’s wife appeared on the porch of the farmhouse a hundred yards away. Two boys, one taller than the other, clung to each side of her apron. She carried a third one in her arms.
“Who in tarnation are you?”
“I’m Elijah Starr.”
“Don’t give a damn about a name. Say your business.”
“I am putting the rail line through here.”
“Well, you’re not.” The fool was running the muzzle of that shotgun up and down the line of men like he thought it was a gatling gun.
“I seen that sour-faced clerk enough, and there ain’t nothing more to talk about.
You done all the jabbering and threatening and lawing that I can stand.
So turn around and get off my land. I ain’t selling. ”
“We’re done talking.”
“This is my family’s land. My grandpappy bought this land from Chief Ouray hisself,” Caswell continued, wound up and foaming at the mouth. “And no two-bit four flusher with a dang patch over his eye is gonna drive me off. So you git. This is yer last warning.”
A breeze had begun to pick up out of the west, and the scent of sage wafted in. It was quiet out here, except for the low murmur of the distant river.
“Do you know the Bible, Caswell?”
The man frowned. “What’s that got to do with my land?”
“Proverbs. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”
Elijah drew his Remington from his holster and took aim for the center of the farmer’s chest. Caswell had no chance. The bullet struck home, and he dropped to his knees before falling flat on his face.
The wife screamed from the porch. Still clutching her child, she left the older two and stumbled toward them, wailing as she ran.
For a moment, Elijah considered dealing with the woman himself. He frowned and decided against it. He had more important things to do.
Holstering his pistol, he turned to his secretary. “Take her back to the house. Explain to her that her husband threatened to kill me. Give her $500 and have her sign the bill of sale. If she hesitates at all, shoot the older boy. She doesn’t sign, kill the other two. Go.”
The secretary and one of the other riders rode forward to head the woman off before she reached the body.
Elijah Starr yanked the head of his horse around and rode back across the field. He’d give his construction foreman orders to proceed immediately. Tomorrow, they would pull down that house and barn. A very satisfactory transaction.
And the way was made straight.
He looked out at the Roaring River as he cantered along. He’d be back in Bonedale in time for an early supper.