The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “Lemon has offered to make a deal with us,” Fargo told Mack Slater after the introduction was made.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I can get you some horses, at least ten of ‘em, and it’ll only cost ya ten dollars apiece,” Lemon said.

  “Ten dollars? Where’re you goin’ to get horses for ten dollars apiece?”

  “It’ll be easy,” Fargo said. “Lemon’ll be with a detail of soldiers that’s goin’ to be takin’ ten remounts to Camp Supply.”

  “But how big’s this detail gonna be?” Mack asked.

  “Just me and three others,” Lemon said.

  “And when will it head out?”

  “We’ll be leavin’ tomorrow mornin’ fore the sun comes up.”

  Mack nodded. “All right, I can give you ten dollars apiece.”

  A big smile crossed Lemon’s face as he held out his hand.

  “What’s that for?” Fargo asked.

  “My money,” Lemon said.

  Mack and Fargo both laughed. “That ain’t how it works, son. You get your money when we get the horses.”

  The blackboard had been Jeter’s idea and it had been mounted on the back wall of the freight office. On the blackboard was a list of the wagon drivers, where they were going, and what they were carrying. While Cade was out tending to the mules, and Jacob was looking over the spare parts needed to keep the wagons in repair, Jeter was in the office writing on the blackboard.

  “What do you think of it?” Jeter asked, pointing to the board.

  “Looks like a pretty good idea to me,” Cade answered. “Have Morris and Lambdin left yet?”

  “No, they’re still down at the depot loading up. John Miles sent a telegram from the agency saying they’re about plum out of flour,” Jeter said. “We’re sending ‘em 126 hundred-pound bags. Do you think that’ll be enough?”

  “It’s a lot of flour,” Cade said as he began opening a drawer. “Where’s that . . . ?” He was interrupted when a woman stuck her head in the door.

  “Hello?” she said, tentatively.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lambdin.”

  “Ah, Mr. McCall. Have Dan and Walt left yet?”

  “No, they’re still here, at least they’re still in town. Do you need something?”

  “It’s nothing,” Rowena replied with a smile. She held up a sack. “I fried a chicken for them this morning. Dan loves fried chicken, and he said Walt did too.” She laughed. “He didn’t come right out and ask for it, you understand. He just said that he and Walt really ‘liked’ it.”

  “Well, it looks like his hinting about it got the job done, didn’t it?” Cade said, with a little chuckle.

  “Yes, it did. I made enough for both of them,” Mrs. Lambdin said. “Shall I leave it here for them?”

  “They’re at the depot, and it looks like they’ll be there for a while. Why don’t you take it on down to them?” Cade said. “I’m sure they will appreciate it.”

  “I’ll just do that. You have a good day, now.”

  The next day, Sergeant Gulliver and his detail made camp on Sand Creek. He and the three privates who were with him were sitting around a campfire. The coffee was already made, and several slices of bacon were twitching in the pan. There were fourteen horses tethered to a rope that stretched between two trees, the ten remounts for Camp Supply, and the horses the soldiers were riding.

  “Spivey, is it true that you fell in love with one o’ them whores in town?” Private Whitman asked. “’Cause if it’s true, which one of ‘em is it? The reason I ask is ‘cause they’s one of ‘em that’s in love with me.”

  “Which one’s in love with you?” Private Spivey asked.

  “Why whichever one I give the two dollars to,” Whitman replied, and the others laughed.

  “I knew a whore back in Jefferson Barracks,” Sergeant Gulliver said. “Then when I seen her again at Fort Leavenworth, she was married to a captain.” Gulliver chuckled. “That captain give me ten dollars a month not to tell nobody. Yes, sir, I had a sweet deal while I was stationed there, but then one day I got orders to come to Fort Dodge. ‘N I know damn well it was the captain what got me shipped out.”

  One of the horses whinnied, and it was answered by another. Several of them began moving around, tossing their heads and stamping their feet.

  “Sarge, them horses is gettin’ spooked over somethin’,” Spivey said.

  “Yeah, they do seem a bit antsy, don’t they?

  Private Lemon got up and moved away from the fire.

  “Where you goin’ Lemon?” Sergeant Gulliver asked.

  “I gotta take a piss. You don’t want me pissin’ close to where the bacon is cookin’ do you?”

  “Sarge, you want me to take a look at them horses?” Whitman asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t reckon it’d hurt to take a look around,” Gulliver said. “Could be nothin’ more ‘n a fox or somethin’ or maybe . . .

  That was as far as Sergeant Gulliver got before Weasel Slater, Dutch Henry Kraus, Lum Fargo, and Silas Carter came riding into the soldiers’ camp, with their guns blazing. It was over within seconds; Gulliver, Whitman, and Spivey going down without ever even drawing their weapons.

  “Looks like there’s more’n ten horses here,” Weasel said.

  “Yeah, the extras is what we was a ridin’” Lemon said. “Looks like you boys can count them as a bonus.”

  “That’s mighty thoughtful of you,” Weasel said “This worked out right easy. You done real good.” Weasel took out a hundred dollars and gave it to Lemon. “Do you think maybe we can do business again?”

  “What kind of business?” Lemon asked.

  “Well, just kinda keep your ear to the ground. If you hear of somethin’ else that’s gonna happen, like any more horses that’s bein’ took somewhere without too many goin’ with ‘em, then we can steal ‘em.”

  “I can do that,” Lemon said, as he shoved the money down in his pocket.

  “Good.” Then suddenly and unexpectedly, Weasel shot Lemon, hitting him in the arm.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Lemon shouted in anger. “I done what I told you I was goin’ to do.”

  “You want the army to think that you was the one told us about them horses?” Weasel asked.

  “Hell no, but why’d you have to shoot me?”

  “It’s just a little ole scratch,” Weasel said, “and it’ll show the army that you put up a fight to save the horses, but you was the only one that survived.”

  Lemon stared at Weasel for a long moment, holding his hand over the wound in his upper arm.

  “The bullet went clean through, didn’t it?” Dutch Henry asked.

  “Yeah,” Lemon said.

  “Well then, all you got to do is put a bandage around it to stop the bleedin’ ‘n you’ll be all right.” Weasel chuckled. “Hell, you’ll be more ‘n all right, you’ll be a hero.”

  Lemon smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I will be a hero, won’t I?”

  “A hero with a hunnert dollars in your pocket,” Weasel said.

  Cade was in the Alhambra Saloon that evening, having his dinner. He was having one beer with his dinner, a self-imposed limit since he had emerged from the year-long drunken bout with depression.

  “You son of a bitch!” Someone shouted. The words were hurled in anger, the same kind of anger that preceded gunfire and Cade, as did everyone else in the saloon, braced himself for the shooting that was sure to come.

  But there was no shooting. Instead Cade looked up to see Bat Masterson holding a gun on a very angry man.

  “I think perhaps you should leave, now,” Bat said to the man, making a motion toward the door with his pistol.

  The man glared at Bat, then got up and left the table where he, Bat, and two others had been playing poker.

  “Gentlemen, I’ve lost my desire to play,” Bat said to the two others. Seeing Cade he came toward him.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Sit down. What was that all abou
t?”

  “That uncouth lout accused me of cheating, and if that wasn’t enough in itself, he also drew a gun on me. Or at least, he attempted to. As you can see, I was faster.” He patted the gun butt, which was back in the holster.

  “Would you have killed him?”

  “I didn’t have to.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Would you have killed him?”

  “Well, I . . . I don’t know, I . . .”

  “It’s too late, you’re dead,” Cade said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bat, it isn’t how fast you are. It’s how willing you are to follow through. Most efficient gunmen are nowhere near as fast as you are. But they have something you lack. They have the willingness to kill their adversary. And until you develop that same . . . willingness, you are a sheep among wolves.”

  Suddenly, and shockingly, Cade drew his pistol.

  “You little son of a bitch I’ll . . .” that was as far as the man got before Cade shot him down. It was the same man with whom Bat had had the earlier altercation. Only this time, there was a gun in the man’s hands.

  “You just saved my life,” Bat said.

  “No, I just gave you an extension. And if you aren’t ready to kill someone anytime you’re forced to draw your gun, it won’t be a very long extension.”

  “Five hundred flint buffalo skins,” Stone Eagle said. Stone Eagle was chief of the Kiowa village where Weasel had brought the horses they had stolen from the army.

  “Buffalo skins? Ain’t you got no white man’s money?” Weasel asked.

  “Take ‘em, Weasel,” Dutch Henry said.

  “What? What do we want with five hunnert buffalo skins?” Weasel asked. “What are we goin’ to do with ‘em out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  “We’ll take ‘em back to Dodge City?” Dutch Henry said. “We can get three dollars apiece.”

  “Three dollars? That don’t make no sense. We paid ten dollars apiece for them horses.”

  “Damn, Weasel or you as dumb as you look? Three dollars a skin,” Dutch Henry explained patiently. “Five hunnert skins means fifteen hunnert dollars.”

  Weasel finally understood what Dutch Henry was talking about, and the frown on Weasel’s face turned to a smile. “Yeah!” he said. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

  “Only one problem,” Lum Fargo said. “How we goin’ to get ‘em to Dodge?”

  “We’ll get us a wagon ‘n a team,” Weasel said.

  “And how much will that cost us?” Fargo asked.

  Weasel smiled. “It won’t cost nothin’. We’ll just wait is all.”

  That same afternoon, Weasel was looking down at Sully Road when he saw what he waiting for—a large freight wagon being pulled by four mules. He could hear the squeak and rattle of the wagon, the hoof beats of the four mules, as well as the conversation of the two men who were on the wagon.

  Weasel smiled. He’d show Luke and Mack. He could pull this off just fine without their help.

  Ten minutes later, the wagon started back toward Stone Eagle’s village, with the two drivers lying dead on the road behind them. Their bodies were already drawing a circle of vultures.

  When they reached Stone Eagle’s village, several of the Indians gathered around the wagon.

  “Look,” Dutch Henry said. “We’ve brought you a gift.” He pointed to the canvas that covered the load.

  “Gift?” Stone Eagle asked.

  “Yes, a gift for our friends.”

  “That is good,” Stone Eagle said, as he motioned for the women to come. When they looked under the covering, they all began talking at once, angry scowls on their faces.

  “What’s wrong with ‘em? Don’t they like our presents?”

  “They want cloth, they want beads, they want umbrella. Not this,” Stone Eagle said as he threw back the canvas.

  “Well, you’re going to have to take it, ‘cause we sure as hell can’t haul it and the buffalo robes.”

  Stone Eagle spoke sharply to the women, and they began unloading the wagon.

  “Have we heard word from Morris and Lamdin?” Cade asked, coming into the office.

  “Nope. They should have reached the Agency yesterday, but we haven’t heard from Miles,” Jeter said.

  “It’s too bad Darlington died. He always sent a telegram back to us telling us the wagon got there, or if it was late he would send somebody out to look for it,” Jacob said.

  “It could be they’re broken down somewhere,” Cade said. “It was going to the Indians anyway, so they aren’t likely to cause any trouble. And no highwayman’s going to steal a load of flour.”

  “You’re probably right. But it just seems to me like we should have heard by now.”

  “I tell you what, if we haven’t heard anything by tomorrow, I’ll go look for them,” Cade said.

  “You mean we’ll go look for them,” Jeter said.

  “No, I’ll go by myself. Or maybe I’ll take Bat with me. He needs to get out of town for a while.”

  22

  Dutch Henry was driving the wagon, and his horse was tied on to the back while Weasel, Fargo, and Carter were riding just ahead.

  “Hey, Weasel,” Dutch Henry called.

  Weasel turned his horse to come back to the wagon. “What do you want?”

  “I been thinkin’, we can’t take these hides to Dodge City.”

  “And why not? That’s the best place to sell the hides.”

  “Look at the sign that’s wrote on the side of the wagon. This here wagon’s from Dodge,” Dutch Henry said. “If we go prancin’ into town you know somebody’s gonna see us.”

  “Hell, Weasel, one wagon looks purt near like another ‘n, don’t it?” Carter asked. “More ‘n likely, there won’t no one that’ll even pay any attention that sign no how. I don’t see no problem.”

  “Well, there is a problem,” Weasel said. “This wagon belongs to Cade McCall. ‘N he could be trouble.”

  “So, what are we goin’ to do?” Fargo asked. “If we don’t sell these here skins, we just lost our money.”

  “I don’t know yet. Let me think about it.”

  As the four men progressed toward Dodge City, they stopped at Bluff Creek to allow the mules and horses to drink.

  “You two wait here for a while,” Weasel said. “I’m goin’ to scout ahead, some.”

  “You think they’ll have the law out lookin’ for this wagon?” Weasel asked.

  “There more’n likely ain’t been time for the wagon to get back, so there prob’ly ain’t nobody missed it yet. But if someone found the bodies, ‘n knowed who they are, they could be out looking for the wagon. At any rate, it don’t hurt none to be careful.”

  Leaving his three cohorts behind, Weasel went ahead for about another mile. That was when he saw the farm. More importantly, he saw the farm wagon, and with a triumphant smile on his face, he hurried back to the others.

  “Come on,” he said. “I think I just found us another wagon.”

  Red Jenkins was pumping water when he saw the wagon approaching with three outriders.

  “Ma!” he called. “Better make up a pone of cornbread to go with them ham ‘n beans. Looks like we’re goin’ to have company.”

  Setting the bucket of water down, he walked out to greet the visitors.

  “Welcome, boys,” he said. “I hope you’ll be wantin’ to break bread with us. It gets awful lonely here, so far from anyone else.”

  “You’ve got no neighbors?” one of the riders asked, as he dismounted.

  “None within twenty miles. The name’s Jenkins. Edna, that’s my wife, why she just put in a pone of cornbread.”

  “Cornbread? Well, that sounds like it’ll be real tasty. The name’s Slater.” Weasel extended his hand. “These here boys work for me.”

  “Don’t know as if I’ve heard that name in these parts,” Jenkins said. “What is it you’re a’ carryin’ under that there canvas? Looks awful loaded down.”

  “Buffalo skins,” Weasel
said. “We work for an outfit outta Dodge City. We’re takin’ the skins up to him.”

  “Oh, yes, I see the sign on the side of the wagon. You boys must be new. I’ve met most of the Harrison, McCall, and Willis drivers, ‘n don’t recall ever seein’ any of you before.”

  “That’s right, we’re new.”

  “That’s a heavy load you got there, it’ll take you two, maybe three more days to get there.”

  “I expect it will, but that’s what we get paid for,” Weasel said.

  “Red, don’t keep them gentlemen standin’ outside all day,” Edna called. “Bring ‘em on into the house!”

  Both Red and Edna were in their sixties, and both showed the results of a lifetime of hard work. Edna had been a brunette at one time, but now her hair was literally laced with gray. Her face was wrinkled, and a tiredness showed in her eyes.

  Red showed the effects of his age even more than Edna. His hair was not only gray, it was thinning. He had a full, unkempt beard.

  “What do you grow here, on the farm?” Dutch Henry asked later, as the six of them sat around a table that was filled with food.

  “Corn, mostly, though some alfalfa too. ‘Course we keep a garden for ourselves, but next week or so, there’ll be some soldier boys from Ft. Larned that’ll be comin’ down for the hay, then after they get the hay, why, me ‘n Edna will be takin’ us a load of corn on up to Wichita.”

  “I saw the wagon. You’ll be usin’ that to take your corn?”

  “Yes, sir, ‘n a good sturdy wagon she is, too. Why we made over a thousand bushels of corn last year, ‘n hauled it all up to Wichita. Nary a problem.” Jenkins laughed. “We had a fine time in Wichita too, didn’t we, Edna?”

  “I’ll say we did,” Edna said. ‘We et at one o’ them . . . restaurants, they call them . . . a restaurant is a different from a café. They’re a bit more fancy.”

  “Well now, Mrs. Jenkins, I don’t believe you could possibly have a better meal in one o’ them restaurants than this here meal you’re ‘a feedin’ us,” Dutch Henry said.