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Authors: Wayne D. Overholser
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the dam on Buffalo Creek and the main canal as well, so the completion
of the irrigation project was insured at last.
As far as Sheriff Jerry Corrigan was concerned, this was fine. In fact, it was strictly wonderful because he could marry Jean
Dugan next month as planned. Not that there had been any doubt-except in his own mind. He had worried because the sheriff’s
salary was pretty slim for supporting a family.
But now all his worries were over, for Corrigan was one of the lucky ones. His quarter-section below town would be under the
ditch and so overnight he had become a well-to-do man. Not by any effort on his part. It was just that his place was located
in the right spot. Land that had been good only for grazing would now be the most valuable in the country.
The trouble was that Amity had rolled out the red carpet for the celebration tomorrow. In spite of the hot weather that had
held for several days, everybody who lived in the county was in town, and it even seemed to Corrigan that most of the people
of Colorado were here, too. The hotel was crammed, every spare bedroom had been rented out for the night, and people were
camped up and down the creek on both sides of town.
Tomorrow at noon the Populist governor of Colorado, Benjamin Wyatt, would speak. There would be a band concert, a free lunch,
and then the land that was for sale and would be irrigated from the proposed Buffalo Creek project would be auctioned off.
After that, there would be dancing in the Masonic Hall.
Yes, Corrigan told himself as he prowled Main Street and the side streets and the alleys, this was all very fine. It was stupid
to kick good fortune in the face. Still, it was a hell of a thing when you’re twenty-five years old and so much in love with
your girl that you can’t bear to be away from her, but you can’t leave your job long enough to take her buggy riding as you
had promised.
He was supposed to have picked Jean up hours ago. Yes, supposed to, and then he was supposed to get back to town in time to
attend a meeting that Jean’s father, Matt Dugan, had called for the committee heads to go over the final plans for the celebration
tomorrow.
Matt was the general chairman. Corrigan didn’t want to make him sore, but right now he knew he wasn’t going to that meeting.
If Jean wasn’t mad at him, and, if the damned town ever settled down, he was still going to take her buggy riding.
The crowd had thinned out and the men who were here seemed peaceful enough. He returned to the street and moved on down to
Cassidy’s Saloon. It, like the hotel bar, wasn’t crowded as it had been all evening, and he guessed that both of them would
be empty in another half hour.
The Palace across the street was the only other saloon in Amity. Corrigan hesitated, having a notion to get the buggy and
pick up Jean and leave town for an hour. The Palace catered to ranchers and cowboys, and, if they wanted to kill each other
off, it would be a good idea.
So far today he had stopped three fist fights and one gunfight and had tossed eight men into jail for disturbing the peace
or drunkenness or, as he’d told the last one, just plain orneriness. There hadn’t been a farmer or a townsman among them.
All had been cowboys.
Then he shrugged and crossed the street. When he pushed through the batwings and glanced at the crowd, he groaned. The place
was jumping just as it had been an hour ago. From the buzz of talk, he had an idea these men had no intention of leaving.
By the time this crowd went home, Jean would be in bed asleep and maybe never speak to him again.
He saw Uncle Pete Fisher talking to three Owl Creek ranchers at the far end of the bar. He started toward them, surprised
that Uncle Pete was here. He was an old man, seventy or over, bent by rheumatism and hard work in his youth. He had been the
first to settle in Buffalo Creek valley, his original sod house still standing on the slope north of
of the irrigation project was insured at last.
As far as Sheriff Jerry Corrigan was concerned, this was fine. In fact, it was strictly wonderful because he could marry Jean
Dugan next month as planned. Not that there had been any doubt-except in his own mind. He had worried because the sheriff’s
salary was pretty slim for supporting a family.
But now all his worries were over, for Corrigan was one of the lucky ones. His quarter-section below town would be under the
ditch and so overnight he had become a well-to-do man. Not by any effort on his part. It was just that his place was located
in the right spot. Land that had been good only for grazing would now be the most valuable in the country.
The trouble was that Amity had rolled out the red carpet for the celebration tomorrow. In spite of the hot weather that had
held for several days, everybody who lived in the county was in town, and it even seemed to Corrigan that most of the people
of Colorado were here, too. The hotel was crammed, every spare bedroom had been rented out for the night, and people were
camped up and down the creek on both sides of town.
Tomorrow at noon the Populist governor of Colorado, Benjamin Wyatt, would speak. There would be a band concert, a free lunch,
and then the land that was for sale and would be irrigated from the proposed Buffalo Creek project would be auctioned off.
After that, there would be dancing in the Masonic Hall.
Yes, Corrigan told himself as he prowled Main Street and the side streets and the alleys, this was all very fine. It was stupid
to kick good fortune in the face. Still, it was a hell of a thing when you’re twenty-five years old and so much in love with
your girl that you can’t bear to be away from her, but you can’t leave your job long enough to take her buggy riding as you
had promised.
He was supposed to have picked Jean up hours ago. Yes, supposed to, and then he was supposed to get back to town in time to
attend a meeting that Jean’s father, Matt Dugan, had called for the committee heads to go over the final plans for the celebration
tomorrow.
Matt was the general chairman. Corrigan didn’t want to make him sore, but right now he knew he wasn’t going to that meeting.
If Jean wasn’t mad at him, and, if the damned town ever settled down, he was still going to take her buggy riding.
The crowd had thinned out and the men who were here seemed peaceful enough. He returned to the street and moved on down to
Cassidy’s Saloon. It, like the hotel bar, wasn’t crowded as it had been all evening, and he guessed that both of them would
be empty in another half hour.
The Palace across the street was the only other saloon in Amity. Corrigan hesitated, having a notion to get the buggy and
pick up Jean and leave town for an hour. The Palace catered to ranchers and cowboys, and, if they wanted to kill each other
off, it would be a good idea.
So far today he had stopped three fist fights and one gunfight and had tossed eight men into jail for disturbing the peace
or drunkenness or, as he’d told the last one, just plain orneriness. There hadn’t been a farmer or a townsman among them.
All had been cowboys.
Then he shrugged and crossed the street. When he pushed through the batwings and glanced at the crowd, he groaned. The place
was jumping just as it had been an hour ago. From the buzz of talk, he had an idea these men had no intention of leaving.
By the time this crowd went home, Jean would be in bed asleep and maybe never speak to him again.
He saw Uncle Pete Fisher talking to three Owl Creek ranchers at the far end of the bar. He started toward them, surprised
that Uncle Pete was here. He was an old man, seventy or over, bent by rheumatism and hard work in his youth. He had been the
first to settle in Buffalo Creek valley, his original sod house still standing on the slope north of
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