The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set

by Robert Vaughan

  “I agree, Carter added. “This here is the best meal I’ve had in a coon’s age. I can see why you married her, Mr. Jenkins. Why, she’s not only a handsome woman, she can cook too.”

  “Oh, how you men carry on,” Edna said, blushing slightly and turning her head in embarrassment.

  “We been married some forty-seven years now ain’t it Edna? I was twenty, ‘n the missus, why, she weren’t quite sixteen.”

  “We had to sneak out in the middle of the night to do it,” Edna said. She reached over to take her husband’s hand. “Papa didn’t much want me to marry this here’n, but I knowed soon as I seen ‘im, that Red was the man for me.”

  Red and Edna looked at each other and had their guests been more discerning, they would have been able to see the love in the eyes of this old married couple.

  But Weasel and the others were totally insensitive to such things.

  “Say, Mr. Jenkins, I wonder if you’d mind me lookin’ over your wagon?” Weasel asked as they were finishing their meal.”

  Red broke the eye contact he had with his wife. “You want to see my wagon? Well, sure, of course you can look at it. Don’t know why you’re so interested, though.”

  “Well, as I told you, we’re kind of new in the freightin’ business,” Weasel said. “So I’m always interested in wagons ‘n such.”

  “All right, come on, then. I’ll be glad to show it to you.”

  As Weasel and the others followed Red Jenkins outside, Edna began cleaning up after the meal as she hummed a nonsensical tune. In this isolated country, company was always welcome.

  Dutch Henry pushed on the side of the wagon while Weasel checked each wheel. Fargo examined the tongue and double-tree.

  Jenkins laughed. “The way you boys is a lookin’ this wagon over, you’d think you’re ‘a wantin’ to buy it.”

  “We’re takin’ it,” Weasel said.

  “What? What do you mean, you’re takin’ it? I ain’t a’ sellin’.”

  “And we ain’t buyin’,” Weasel said, shooting him.

  “Red?” Edna called from the house. “Red, what was that shot?”

  “Mrs. Jenkin’s maybe you’d better come out here quick,” Weasel called. “There’s been a terrible accident.”

  “What?” Edna shouted. “Red? Red!” Edna hurried from the house to the wagon, where she saw her husband lying on the ground. “My God! What happened?”

  “I killed him,” Weasel said in a calm, and conversational voice.

  “You what?” Edna turned to look at Weasel, who was pointing his pistol at her.

  “I said I killed him,” Weasel repeated, as he pulled the trigger.

  Edna fell close to Red, and with her dying breath, reached out to clutch Red’s hand in her’s.

  “Now, ain’t that sweet?” Weasel said, his voice totally devoid of emotion. “Come on, let’s get these skins transferred to the other wagon.”

  As the men began moving the skins from one wagon to the other, a hound dog came loping up to the bodies, sniffed both of them, then lay down near them and with his head on his paws, began to whine.

  After about half an hour the new wagon was loaded, and the mules hitched to it.

  “What are we goin’ to do with this wagon?” Fargo asked, pointing to the freight wagon.

  “Burn it,” Dutch Henry said.

  “Good idea,” Weasel replied. “We’ll burn the wagon, and the house.”

  “The house? Why are we goin’ to burn the house?” Carter asked.

  “So nobody finds these two. We’ll burn the wagon, the house and the bodies.”

  When they started to move Edna’s body, the dog bared its teeth and began to grow at them.

  “This damn dog won’t let us touch the old woman,” Carter said.

  Dutch Henry pulled his pistol and shot the dog in the head. The dog died instantly.

  “What’d you do that for? He was just a dog.”

  “He wanted to be with ‘em, now he is,” Dutch Henry said. “Come on, let’s get this fire goin’.

  A short while later, with the wagon and the house in flames behind them, Weasel and the others got under way.

  “This wasn’t done by Indians,” Cade said, as he and Bat stared down at the bodies of Morris and Lamdin. The birds had had four days to work on them, but still the bodies had not been mutilated the way an Indian would do it.

  “Why would anyone do this?” Cade asked. “Who can be this evil?”“Maybe they just wanted the cargo,” Bat suggested. “The team and wagon are gone.”

  “One hundred twenty-six bags of flour? Who kills two men for that?”

  “There is, of course, one other possibility,” Bat said. “It’s quite likely we are dealing with a person or persons who need no motives at all, save the very worst. We might well be dealing directly with evil incarnate.”

  “Bat, quit your psychologizing for once,” Cade said as he began finding a spot to bury the men.

  “I’m not looking forward to this,” Cade said. “I can still see her bringing fried chicken to Dan and Walt.”

  “Do you want me to come, too?” Jeter asked.

  “You don’t have to,” Cade said. “I can do it by myself.”

  “I know, but I want to come. Especially for Lambdin’s kids. Maybe I can help.”

  “I guess you do have a better perspective on this than I do. How old were you when your ma and pa were killed?”

  “I was five,” Jeter said. “I’ll never forget when I crawled out from under the floor of that old house. It’s a good thing Indians didn’t burn the place down, or I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I know that was bad, but look at the good side. Your own mother couldn’t love you anymore than Mary Hatley loves you.”

  Jeter looked directly at Cade. “You mean like a man could love a daughter that wasn’t his own flesh and blood?”

  “Yes, like a man could love a daughter,” Cade said and then he continued. “I know you won’t believe this, but I think I’ll start looking for a wife.”

  “It won’t work if you’re going to find a woman just to be Chantal’s mother,” Jeter said. “You’ve got to find someone you can love as much as you loved Arabella.”

  “It’ll never happen.”

  “That’s what you’re saying now, but that’ll change if you just let it.”

  Cade hit Jeter on the shoulder. “Tell me, have you been learning all this stuff from Masterson?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bat. He’s the amateur psychologist around here.”

  23

  Dan Lambdin lived in a sod house just west of town. He had two very young children who were playing out front when Cade and Jeter arrived.

  “Well, Mr. McCall, Mr. Willis,” Rowena Lambdin greeted them with a broad smile. Have you word on Dan? I expected him back yesterday. Did the wagon break down?”

  “Mrs. Lambdin . . .” Cade started, then he stopped, searching for the words he could use to tell her.

  The smile left her face. “It’s Dan, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “You have come to tell me about Dan. Something has happened to him, hasn’t it? Has he . . . is he . . .?

  Cade looked down, still unable to answer.

  Rowena raised her fist to her mouth and bit on her knuckle for a moment before she spoke again.

  “I knew it,” she said, when she was able to form the words. “I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.”

  Although there was palpable grief in her voice, Rowena didn’t break down, and Cade was thankful for that.

  “Mrs. Lambdin . . . Rowena, if there is anything we can do for you, please let us know.”

  “Where is he? I would like to see him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have wanted to see him, trust me.”

  “Wouldn’t have wanted? You mean it’s too late?”

  “We buried both of them out on the trail.”

  Rowena hung her head, then, after a pause she spoke aga
in. “Yes, that is best. Dan loved driving, he loved being out on the road. That’s a fitting place for him to be.”

  “What will you do now?” Jeter asked.

  “Dan was trying to save enough money for us to move back to St. Louis,” Rowena said. “Both of our families are there.”

  “Would you like to go there?”

  “Yes, I think I would.”

  “We’ll buy the train tickets for you and the children,” Jeter offered.

  “Thank you, I would appreciate that.”

  “If you would like, I’ll sent my mother over to help you get ready to go. She’s very good with children.”

  “The children,” Rowena said. “I’m going to have to tell them, but they’re so young, I’m not sure they’ll understand.”

  “Children are stronger than most people give them credit for,” Jeter said. “They’ll come through this all right. Trust me, I know.”

  Cade and Jeter were having a drink at the Dodge House having just come from the train station.

  “That was a good thing you did, paying for Mrs. Lambdin and her kids to go back to Saint Louis,” Jeter said.

  “She couldn’t have stayed here without a husband. She isn’t strong like Arabella was, and Magnolia is. Look at that Markley woman that Jacob was trying to hitch up with. How long did it take before she was back on the train to Ohio?”

  “There’s going to be somebody out there for you, if you can ever stop measuring every woman against Arabella.”

  “I know, but she was one of a kind. It might take a while.”

  Weasel Slater looked around as he and the other three with him had just arrived in Dodge City. He pulled his hat down to shield his face, even though his full beard gave him what he thought would be a disguise.

  “Who’s this here guy that’s gonna take these hides off us,” Fargo asked.

  “His name’s Lobenstein, and he’s got a place down by the depot,” Weasel said.

  “What about sellin’ ‘em here?” Carter said as they passed by Charles Rath and Company. “Just look at all them hides theys got piled up in that lot. Why don’t we just sell ‘em here.”

  “Because Charles Rath knows who I am, and Lobenstein don’t,” Weasel said.

  “That I understand,” Carter said.

  When they reached the depot, Weasel sent Fargo in to talk with Lobenstein. It was only a minute before he returned to the wagon.

  “Your man ain’t here. They say if we want to get rid of this load, we have to deal with Rath.”

  Weasel let out a sigh. “Hell, nothin’s going right. All this because the damn Indians don’t use white man’s money.”

  They had to go around the block to get the wagon turned, and when they stopped in front of Rath’s store, Alonzo Webster came out to the wagon with a ledger in his hand.

  “How many you selling, gents?” Alonzo asked.

  “Five hundred good clean skins,” Weasel said.

  Alonzo jerked his head around. “Well I’ll be damned, if it ain’t Weasel Slater. You know the army’s still lookin’ for you?”

  “You mean for killin’ that feller that come after me with a axe? That’s all been took care of,” Weasel lied. “Even the army knows that it was self-defense now.”

  “I hope that’s so,” Charles Rath said as he stepped out of his store. “I wouldn’t like to see our town closed down again.”

  “No, sir, that ain’t goin’ to happen no more,” Weasel assured him.

  “So you have five hundred skins,” Rath said. “Let me take a look at them.”

  Alonzo pulled the canvas back and Rath examined a few of the skins.

  “Good skins,” Rath said nodding his head. “Looks like they were cleaned by Indians.”

  “Yeah, we bought ‘em from the Injuns.”

  “I’ll give you two dollars apiece for them,” Wright said.

  “Two dollars? I thought they was goin’ for three dollars?”

  “Three dollars from Lobenstein, but he’s not here right now. And who knows what the market will be when he gets back. Two dollars is all I’m prepared to pay right now.”

  “All right,” Weasel said, reluctantly. “I know I could get more if I wait till he gets back, but I need to get ‘em off my hands. How soon will I get the money?”

  “As soon as we get ‘em counted,” Rath said. “Alonzo, go round up the boys and let’s get these on the pile.”

  A few minutes later, half-a-dozen men were gathered around the wagon, unloading the skins. One of the men stopped, and looked at the mules.

  “Hey, where’d you get these mules?” he asked.

  “Why are you asking, Sam?” Rath asked.

  “I know these mules,” he said. “I seen ‘em when I was workin’ for Mr. Young. This here mule’s Rhoda, that one’s Harry, that one’s Bridget, ‘n that one’s Cooter. They was Mr. Young’s, but now they belong to Harrison and McCall.”

  “Are you sure?” Rath asked.

  “Damn right I’m sure. I’ve put them same mules in harness . . . wait a minute, these here is the same mules that Lambdin ‘n Morris was a drivin’ on that last trip.”

  Wright looked at Weasel. “Sam’s asked a good question, Mr. Slater. Where did you get these mules?”

  “From the same place we got the skins,” Weasel answered, quickly. “The Injuns sold this here wagon ‘n these mules to us so’s we’d have a way to bring these skins up here.”

  “That’s it then,” Sam said. “We’ve been wonderin’ who it was that kilt Lamdin ‘n Morris, ‘n now we know. It was the Injuns.”

  “They may have wound up with the mules,” Rath said. “But I don’t think they killed the drivers. Both Cade and Bat said their bodies weren’t mutilated the way an Indian would do it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Weasel said. “Are you a’ tellin’ me that the fellers that was drivin’ these mules was kilt?”

  “Yes.”

  “By damn, if I had knowd that, I wouldn’t have never bought these here mules.”

  Sam took a closer look at the wagon. “This here wagon don’t belong to Harrison though.”

  “How do you know that?” Rath asked. “You know they are missing a wagon.”

  “They only got four wagons, ‘n their mark’s on all of ‘em, ‘n there ain’t no mark on this’n.”

  “Well then, if these mules belong to Harrison why I reckon he’d be right happy to get ‘em back,” Weasel said.

  “He probably would,” Rath said.

  “You reckon he’d be happy enough to give us a reward?”

  “Well, I don’t have an answer for that question.”

  A few minutes later with Dutch Henry, Fargo, and Carter paid off, Weasel took the mules and the wagon down to Harrison, McCall, and Willis.

  “I was told that these here was your mules,” Weasel said.

  Jacob and Cade examined the mules.

  “This is Rhoda, look at her ear,” Jacob said.

  “And this is Harry,” Cade said. Cade looked toward Weasel. “These are our mules, all right. May I ask how you came by them?”

  “It’s like I told Charles Rath, I bought ‘em from some Injuns,” Weasel said. “But I didn’ have no idea they was stoled.”

  “How much did you pay for them?

  “Fifty dollars apiece. That should ‘a give me an idea somethin’ was wrong, ‘cause I’m sure they’re worth a lot more than that.”

  “They’re worth at least two hundred dollars apiece,” Jacob said. “But I’ll be glad to give you your money back.”

  “Maybe with a little extra, for a reward?” Weasel suggested. “After all, I brung ‘em here from down in the Territory.”

  “Technically, Mr. Slater, I don’t have to give you anything. You’re in possession of stolen property. If I were you, I’d take the money and be happy with it.”

  “What about the wagon? Since your wagon was burnt up ‘n all, maybe you’d like to buy this wagon from me.”

  Both Cade and Jacob looked up sharply.

>   “What do you mean our wagon was burned?” Cade asked.

  “Well, I mean, ain’t that what happened to it? Leastwise, that’s what I heard happened to it. Are you saying it warn’t burned?”

  “We’re saying nothing of the sort,” Jacob said. “We don’t know what happened to it.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t neither. I was just kind ‘a speculatin’ on account of what I heard, is all. I’ll take the money for the mules and thank you for it.”

  Jacob gave Weasel two hundred dollars, then stood in the door watching as he walked away.

  “Have you heard anywhere that our wagon was burned?” Jacob asked.

  “No,” Cade replied.

  “Wouldn’t you think that if that rumor was going around that we, being the owners of the wagon, would have heard it?”

  “You’d think so.”

  “They said they bought the mules from the Indians, but I’m positive that Dan and Walt were not killed by Indians.”

  “Do you think the Slaters did it?” Jacob asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s possible I guess, but if they were the ones who did it, why would they be stupid enough to bring the mules back to us?” Cade asked. “Besides, what’s the reason? Dan and Walt were hauling flour.”

  “They don’t need a reason,” Jeter said, speaking for the first time. “Depravity is their middle name.”

  A week later an article of interest to Dutch Henry appeared in the Dodge City Messenger.

  Farm Couple Die in Fire

  A detachment of soldiers from Fort Larned called upon Mr. Al Jenkins of Comanche County for the purposes of purchasing alfalfa hay on Monday previous. This was in keeping with a contract that existed between Mr. Jenkins and the army.

  To the shock of Sergeant Ernest Martell, the one in charge of the soldier detail, they discovered that the house had been totally destroyed by fire. Inside the house they found the charred bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, as well their dog.

  It is a mystery as to why the Jenkins and their dog were unable to exit the house, once the fire began. Sergeant Martell ordered his soldiers to bury the Jenkins on their farm. Their faithful dog lies beside them.