In the beginning there was Duncan Campbell, a hard Scotsman with nothing but his energy and brains to get him by. He used both to form The Kingdom Ranch, which he built up from a livery that rented horses out into the biggest cattle ranch in all of Southwest Texas. This story isn't about how Duncan built his Kingdom, though. It's about how he lost it.

Now, Duncan had three top hands, in addition to his son: Woodrow McAlister, John MacDuff, and Ben Abernathy. McAlister and Abernathy were thick as thieves, life long friends, while MacDuff and Matthew were close with each other.

Duncan had a big house for himself and Matthew. Abernathy was a bachelor, and bunked with the other bachelors in a long bunkhouse, there were maybe six or seven men in that house. McAlister and MacDuff were both married men, though McAlister and his wife Lisa had never been able to have kids. MacDuff, though, had two sons, one just a baby when this tale picks up, and the other around ten or so.

There was a stampede one night, happens every so often. Duncan was at his house, by now the old man did not spend his evenings in the field with the cows but let the younger hands do that, he had hired them for a reason, after all. McAlister and Abernathy were out that night, giving a watchful eye on the herd and making sure the younger men stayed out of trouble.

It was just one of these young cowboys that McAlister sent back to the house to report that all was well, that McAlister and Abernathy had been able to turn the herd and get them back under control. McAlister had sent the young man ahead so he and Abernathy could try to determine what had spooked the herd, though they both knew it could have been just about anything and there really was no telling with cows. Duncan and Matthew were waiting on the porch when the cowboy rode up, they were light sleepers and the stampede had woken them up.

"What's the word, son?" Duncan asked as the young man reached the porch.

"Stampede, sir," he said. "McAlister and Abernathy got 'em turned and down, but they're lookin' now to see what spooked 'em. They're comin' in to let you know what they find, but wanted me to come on and let you know everything's fine."

"Well, the cows do get restless during branding season," Duncan said. He turned to Matthew. "McAlister's a good man, Matthew. You'll be wise to keep him on, once the Kingdom is yours."

"I know that," Matthew said. "Him and Abernathy, both. And MacDuff. I'm no fool to let good men leave if I can keep 'em."

McAlister and Abernathy were riding to the ranch house at that very moment to fill Duncan and Matthew in on the stampede. Near as they could tell, a rattlesnake had gotten in among the herd and got everything riled up, getting trampled for his troubles. Still, no worry about rustlers starting the stampede, so that was good.

"A lousy way to spend a night," McAlister said to Abernathy. "Although I don't know that spending it in the saddle is any worse than sleeping on the ground, for my back, that is." He sat up straight and stretched.

"You're just sore you had to sleep with the herd at all, you're getting soft in your old age," Abernathy said. The two men smiled, McAlister shaking his head at his friend's words.

"You have got some sass, don't you," McAlister said.

"Ay, and I let you have it when you deserve it. Oh, what's this?" He pulled up on his reins and McAlister did the same. They had turned a corner on the path right into a trio of old women, standing around a fire just off the path, they looked like they were roasting a rabbit or some other small animal. Lightning had begun to spark in the sky over them, though there had been no hint of a storm just a moment before. A chill ran down the spines of both men, hardened as they were by a life of action and violence. Something about seeing three old women out here where they had no business was more unnerving than running into a party of Comanche on the war path. They were talking to each other, with no interest in McAlister or Abernathy.

"Where have you been, Sister?" asked the first old woman.

"Killing swine," said the second woman.

"And what of you, where have you been?" a third sister asked of the first.

"A sailor's wife was in Galveston had a basket of pecans in her lap and was munching and munching. 'Let me have some,' I said to her. 'Be gone, old crone,' she said to me! Her husband, aye, has sailed off for a land of sugar cane, and shall be gone long."

"I'll supply a strong wind to blow his ship around," the second witch said.

"I thank thee," said the first witch.

"And I as well," said the third witch. "That will show that nasty woman to be selfish with her pecans."

"Ah, McAlister approaches," said the first witch, having at last noticed the two men riding towards them.

"Ho, who's this?" Abernathy asked the crones. "It's been years since any Comanche medicine women were around here, and here you're all out on a night like this?"

"If you can speak English, tell us, who you are," added McAlister.

"Ah, McAlister, old Duncan's chief," cried the first witch.

"McAlister, the boss of Kingdom Ranch," cried the second witch. Their companion spun their meat on a spit over the fire, now and then looking up at McAlister and smiling. Her silence was more unnerving than her companions.

"Y'hear that, McAlister? Duncan's Chief! Now, that's good news if ever I heard it," Abernathy said, laughing at the prophecy.

"And Abernathy," said the first witch, turning her attention away from McAlister. "Lesser than McAlister, but, then, greater."

"Not so happy, but much happier," said the second witch.

"Aye, your sons will be Boss of the Kingdom Ranch, although you will not," said the third witch.

"McAlister and Abernathy!" said all three witches in unison. Lighting cracked across the sky, though no rain fell.

McAlister looked at his friend. "See how you like it? Now you know why I didn't smile when they made my prediction." He turned to the witches. "But you're wrong. I'm not the head foreman here, just another hand, though I'm older than the young rascals we got riding for us. And as for owning the ranch someday, that'll go to Duncan's son Matthew, and that's as it should be."

Just then a lightning bolt split the night, striking the spot where the old Comanche witches were standing. McAlister and Abernathy were both blinded, and when they could see again the three old women were gone. Their fire remained, and the meat roasting over it. McAlister looked at it and decided he did not want to know if it was rabbit or not.

The two men looked at each other. "Let's just keep this to ourselves," McAlister said.

"No problem from me, partner," said Abernathy.

They continued their ride back to the ranch house in silence, both feeling a cold hand on their chest but neither wanting to admit it. Duncan and Matthew were on the front porch waiting for them, the young cowboy messenger having been sent to wash up before breakfast. The sun was still hours away but the day started early at the Kingdom Ranch. Duncan rose from his rocking chair to greet McAlister and Abernathy. He had a smile on his face, which McAlister thought odd, considering the stampede they had just seen.

"Hail, McAlister! My new head foreman," said Duncan, waving his blue bandanna like a Roman victory laurel. Being called 'head foreman' put McAlister and Abernathy both in mind of the three witches and their prophecy. They exchanged glances but did not mention their frightful experience. McAlister dismounted his horse and tied it to the hitching post, Abernathy did the same.

"What's all this about head foreman?" McAlister asked. He shook Duncan's hand then Matthew's. "I never heard the Kingdom having a head foreman, just you telling us old salts what to do."

"Well, that may have been how we done it in the past," Duncan said, "but we can always change. And I think giving my best man a promotion, of sorts, is smart business. You're important to us, McAlister, me and Matthew both."

Now McAlister, even before he was given the title of head foreman, had enjoyed the benefits of his status among the men of the Kingdom and had a little cottage of his own, set back behind the main house the Campbells lived in. Nothing fancy, just a kitchen and a bedroom, but it was plenty for McAlister and his wife Lisa. They had loved each other fierce when they were younger, but had never had children of their own and now their marriage was more of a partnership than a love affair. Still, if they were partners in life then they were the closest of partners there could be, and McAlister never let a decision or problem go by without seeking Lisa's advice.

"Three witches? What are you and Ben drinking out there branding all those cows?" Lisa asked. "You need to get some sleep."

"No, listen," McAlister said. "Me and Ben wasn't drinking, you know Duncan won't abide alcohol out there on work. It was three old women, Comanche witches I guess, though I know there haven't been wild Comanches around here in ages. But they said I'd be head foreman, even though Duncan's never had a head foreman, he's always been sort of the head foreman himself. Well, now look, and I'm head foreman."

Lisa stared out the window at the Campbell house. The cottage may have been good enough for McAlister, but she had stared out that window and seen the back of the Campbells's big house for too many years to be content with just a kitchen and bedroom. And not even their own house, Duncan could kick them out any day he took a mind, though she knew the kindly old man would never do that.

Still, Duncan would not be around forever, and there was no telling what that son of his had planned for when he took over the Kingdom. Lisa had come West with a drunk for a father and a mouse for a mother. The mouse died first, the drunk not much later, and she was alone until Woodrow McAlister rode into town with Duncan's cowboys. The town was Laredo, McAlister had taken her from it, and she had no intention of ever going back.

Her mind moved sharp, and it moved fast. She whirled to catch McAlister before he collapsed into their bed.

"You can own the Kingdom, Wood," she said. "You're a better man than Matthew, the men like you, not him. Duncan won't be around forever, at his age."

McAlister sat down onto their bed and stared at her. He had just managed to get his boots off and was not in the mood for any kind of foolishness.

"Matthew'll get the Kingdom, you bet," he said. "What am I gonna do, get the old man to adopt me? Work my way into his will?"

"You don't have to work your way into the will," she said. She was moving now, beyond anyplace McAlister could go alone. She loved her man but he was simple. "We're way out here, the closest town is El Paso, and that's three days' ride. If the old man dies, you can just tell everyone he left you the Kingdom. By the time the law gets wind, it'll be too late, everyone will have just accepted you, and Matthew would be left out."

"Ok, so, let me get this straight," McAlister said. "Duncan dies. Somehow, I find out before anyone else, and just tell everyone he left me the Kingdom? How would I know before his own son?"

"Because," she said, "you're going to kill him. Tonight, before anyone wakes up. You'll kill him in his bed, in his sleep. A knife, a quick slice across the throat, easy as slaughtering a lamb. Quicky and he won't feel a thing, he'll just go. But you have to do it tonight.

"Put your boots back on, go over there. The lights are out, I can see from the window here. Matthew's in bed. Kill Duncan, come back, then tomorrow morning he'll be found. Matthew's the only other one in that house, everyone will think he killed his pa just to get a jump-start on the inheritance. You make your claim, and I just know the men will side with you."

McAlister did not want to admit that the plan made a certain amount of sense. "I suppose the men do respect me more than they do Matthew," he said. "Ben, for sure, would be on my side." He shoved his foot back into its boot and stood back up. "I can't have you living in this shack forever. Time I did something about it." He sounded like he was telling himself these things, and not talking to his wife. He adjusted his suspenders, put on his hat, and headed out their door towards the big house.

McAlister woke up in bed, screams from the big house dragging him from his sleep. He had hoped that what he had done the night before, only hours ago, had all been a nightmare, but the screams told him otherwise. Lisa was already in the kitchen making their breakfast but came back to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed in his long underwear with his bare feet on the floor. She sat next to him and took his hands into hers.

"He's been found," she said. "Now we have to react as we would normally, with surprise, sadness. But also anger, because that no good son of his killed our good Duncan. That's the way this will work, Woodrow."

McAlister composed himself, shoved down the vomit that threatened to spew his fear and revulsion, and ran to the big house like he did not know that Duncan was lying in his bed, his throat cut from ear to ear with Matthew's own knife. McAlister had found it lying on the dining table when he snuck over just hours before.

The Campbells' maid, Maria, had found Duncan when she checked his bedroom, he had not come for breakfast and she was worried about him. She loved the old man as a father and was worried lately that the ranch was too hard on him. McAlister found her collapsed on the floor outside Duncan's chambers.

"Maria, Maria, what's wrong?" he asked, sick that he knew the answer.

"Señor Duncan, he is dead!" she wailed. "Someone has cut his throat, Señor McAlister, I found him just now!"

McAlister went into the bedroom, knowing what he would find. There lay Duncan Campbell, the greatest man in this part of Texas, his throat cut in his own bed. Blood stained his sheets a dark rust color. McAlister could not control himself and shoved his fist into his own mouth to stifle his cries. Luckily Maria interpreted this as a natural reaction to finding their beloved benefactor dead.

"Where's Matthew?"

"I don't know, Señor McAlister," Maria said. "He came in when I screamed and saw his father like this," she said, fighting to keep her composure, "then he ran outside, I don't know where he ran to."

This was music to McAlister's ears. Their plan had been to frame Matthew for his father's murder, and by running like he did he only helped make their case.

"Maria, this is Matthew's knife," McAlister said.

"Are you sure?"

"I'd recognize it anywhere, as big as it is. A Bowie knife, that is, Maria. It's not for shaving calluses off your big toe, that's for sure." He ran to the big bay window at the front of the house, looking for signs of Matthew. Before he had fought to control his revulsion at his deed, now he fought to control his elation that Matthew had been so foolish as to run when doing so would make him look as guilty as if Maria had seen him slicing Duncan's throat herself.

"I'll have to tell the boys," he said, turning back towards the maid. "They probably heard you scream, same as I did, and will have questions."

He walked out onto the front porch and saw that indeed the men had heard Maria's scream.

"Now, boys," he said, "I've got some bad news. You heard Miss Maria, I reckon, same as I did. I went inside just now to see what the ruckus was, and, boys, I've got bad news." He looked at their faces. A mix of young to old, a few older than he himself. "Mr. Campbell, well, he's dead. Killed, looks like." A general murmur started, shock and disbelief.

"What happened?" asked a voice in the crowd.

"Looks like he got his throat cut," McAlister said. "With this!" He produced the knife that did the deed, that he had used to kill Duncan. He had tossed it onto the bed after but took it this morning to show everyone. "This was on the bed next to him."

"That's Matthew's knife," said another nameless voice.

"Where is Matthew?" Another voice.

"I don't know," McAlister said. "I don't know. John, Ben, can you come inside and we'll talk about what to do?" MacDuff and Abernathy stepped forward and followed him into the house.

Maria was still inside, she had begun cleaning Duncan's body.

"You gotta admire her devotion to her duties," Abernathy said. McAlister and MacDuff exchanged a glance but did not comment on Maria's devotion, to her work or otherwise.

"Boys, this is bad," McAlister began. "Matthew's knife, Matthew's gone, run off somewhere."

"You don't think he killed his own pa do you," said Abernathy. "I can't believe that."

"Sure looks that way, though," said McAlister. "Why run?"

"Maybe he's scared," said MacDuff. "What reason's he got to kill Duncan? He loved his old man, they didn't quarrel, that I could tell."

"Maybe he wanted the Kingdom before Duncan was ready to give it to him," said McAlister.

MacDuff waved his hand, dismissing the thought. "I don't see it," he said.

"Well," said McAlister, "Matthew running away, even if he weren't the one killed his pa, means no one's here to take charge, at least until the law gets here and sorts it out."

"Could be that's where Matthew ran off to," said MacDuff. "Like as not he thought he was the next man up, so to speak, with his pa dead and all."

"Maybe, maybe not, but he ain't here no how," said McAlister, "and we got a crowd of young boys out there with no one in charge, and that ain't a smart situation, in my mind. Until the law, or Matthew, or whoever, gets back, I think we need someone in charge. And I think that someone oughta be me."

"Why you?" asked MacDuff.

"Well, Duncan already'd made me head foreman, didn't he? Seems like he'd had some measure of trust in my abilities."

Abernathy had not been following the conversation too close, as far as he was concerned either McAlister or MacDuff could be in charge, he had no ambition to that sort of responsibility. But his ear cocked when he heard Mcalister claim that being head foreman made him next in line to be in charge. He looked up at McAlister, who looked back at him. McAlister did not like that Abernathy perked up just then. Was he remembering the witches? Their prophecy? He wanted his friend to lay low, be quiet, and not get in the way.

"I don't know as we need a formal proclamation," said MacDuff.

"Well, I guess we don't need anything formal right now, you're right," agreed McAlister. He decided then that he would have to kill MacDuff, too. He had killed his old and loving benefactor Duncan, he could not let that heinous deed pass in vain, he now knew he had to have the Kingdom Ranch or his murder would have been wasted. Abernathy, too. What's started must be ended, he thought.

"Well, all this talk of who's in charge has got me sore hungry," said Abernathy. "Reckon Cookie is in the mood to get breakfast going?"

"Yeah, and the boys will be needing something to do to keep them from dwelling on Duncan too much," said MacDuff. "Best rouse Cook and see what we can get. Make something special, maybe."

"For Duncan's memory, I like that," said McAlister. "Go on, Ben, and get Cookie started on that." McAlister suddenly had an urge to have the last word, to be issuing the commands. Abernathy and MacDuff both left and McAlister watched them before heading back to see Lisa.

McAlister walked into the kitchen from the yard between their house and the Campbells. Lisa had left her breakfast plate on the counter next to the wash tub. It was unlike her but he decided most of what they had done the last twelve hours had also been our of the ordinary. He set his hat down on the dining table and walked into their bedroom.

There Lisa lay, on the bed they had shared for their entire marriage, as dead as that old man in the big house. Her skin was pale as chalk but that only made her black coal hair even darker. Blood had pooled on their bed by her wrists, he could see where she had cut herself. He stood and stared, rushing to her side would do no good. He looked for a note but he had an idea why she had done what she done. His own guilt was eating him alive, too, but he would not give into it like she had.

There was a knock at the door and he heard it open. He closed the bedroom door quickly so Lisa would not be discovered. He did not know what he planned to do about her but he knew he could not let anyone else find her.

Ben Abernathy stood in their kitchen, leaning against the counter with his hat tipped back.

"Ben," was all McAlister said.

"Wood, what's happening?" Abernathy sighed, blowing out breath that he may as well been holding since Maria's scream pierced their morning quiet.

"Well, Matthew Campbell's killed his pa, Ben," said McAlister. He tried to keep his voice steady and was worried to find that he had no trouble doing so.

"You sure it was Matthew? Why would he do that, Duncan'd already told everybody he was to take over the ranch someday."

"What better reason, then, Ben, don't you see? He wanted it now, not someday, but right now."

"Then why ride off? That don't make no sense."

"He probably realized what he'd done and hightailed it out of here, he's probably somewhere across the Rio Grande right now with a patch of burned earth behind him where he was riding."

Abernathy sighed. "Wood, you're sure you didn't have anything to do with this?"

"I don't know what you mean by that, Ben, but you rest assured our years of friendship ain't earned you enough credit to go accusing me of murdering Duncan Campbell."

"Wood, those Comanche witches, they were right weren't they? They said you'd be the head foreman, then Duncan made you head foreman when he'd never even had such a position before."

"And now I'm owner of the Kingdom, is that what you mean to get to? And you're thinkin' about them sayin' you'd end up even greater than me." McAlister shifted his stance, standing away from the bedroom door frame that he had been leaning on.

"No I ain't. Just, it's a little odd is all I mean to say," were the last words Ben Abernathy ever spoke. No soon had he said them then McAlister whipped his pistol out of its holster and fired a round into Abernathy's heart. Abernathy stumbled back, looked down at the blood spreading across the front of his shirt, and fell down into a dining room chair. Now sitting, he looked up at McAlister and opened his mouth, but no words came. He slid down and fell onto the floor, the second friend McAlister had killed in the last twelve hours.

A commotion was building outside, he could hear horses galloping and men shouting in the court yard. He holstered his pistol and went out to see what was going on.

The commotion consisted of MacDuff, Matthew Campbell, Sheriff Reynolds and a passle of his deputies, and the rest of the Kingdom Ranch cowboys. Campbell was talking to the younger men while MacDuff conferred with the Sheriff. When McAlister stepped into the courtyard MacDuff stopped talking to Reynolds and stared hard at McAlister.

"What's all this?" McAlister asked the crowd. "Sheriff Reynolds, I assume you're here to arrest Matthew Campbell for the murder of Duncan Cambpell!"

MacDuff stepped close to McAlister so the two could talk without the crowd interfering. "Campbell got the Sheriff, Wood. It's over." McAlister did not fail to notice MacDuff caressing his pistol, his fingers lightly brushing its grip. He was thankful his own sidearm was already loose.

"How'd he get him so quick? County seat is a day's ride at least. Seems the Sheriff may be in on this, you think of that?"

"He cabled him from the house telegraph, had him start this way and met him halfway."

McAlister did not know the Campbells had their own telegraph machine, he had never been interested in any news that was further than the borders of the Kingdom Ranch.

"Where's Ben?" MacDuff asked.

"Ben? Why, how should I know? Maybe he run off when he saw the Sheriff, maybe he did Duncan."

"We all heard a gunshot, Wood, from your house. Where's Lisa, is she alright?"

"Lisa's fine, don't worry about Lisa," McAlister said sharply. He did not like MacDuff sticking his nose into his own marital business.

"Ben didn't run to the Sheriff, Woodrow, and I think you know it," said MacDuff.

"Why would I know what Ben Abernathy does? The man's always been a fool."

"I think you know because you killed him. You shot Ben and you cut Duncan's neck and for all I know you killed Lisa, and it's got to end, Wood," said MacDuff. The Sheriff dismounted and began walking towards them. "Let's just get this all straightened out, Woodrow. Do the right thing."

"You don't tell me what's right," said McAlister as he reached for his pistol. MacDuff was faster, though, and his own shot rang out before McAlister could clear his holster. He stumbled backwards then fell down, his eyes staring up at heaven.

MacDuff and the Sheriff stood over him to make sure he was dead. "He was your friend, weren't he?" the Sheriff asked.

"He was, him and Abernathy, the three of us. I don't know what got into him, but it's over now I guess." He looked back at the ranch hands. Matthew Campbell was with them, reassuring them that the violence was over. "I best we better get these folks in the ground. It's branding season, you know. Them cows don't care what's been going on here today."