“He is taking his meal with Missy Meagan and the mayor,” Wang said.
“We need to let him know what’s going on.”
The two men left the Hidden Trail Saloon and crossed the street to Bear Tracks Restaurant.
“They’re plannin’ on lynchin’ Drexler,” Elmer told Duff as soon as he and Wang approached the table.
“What?” McGregor asked. “’N would ye be for telling me why they would be doin’ such a thing? Why, I know Mr. Drexler. He was one of the first men I met when I settled here. He’s never been anything but a fine, upstanding citizen.”
“They’re sayin’ he’s the one that give the note to this Yancey feller to give to Schofield,” Elmer said.
McGregor shook his head. “I don’t believe Drexler would do such a thing.”
“You may be right, Mayor. He might not have been the one what done it, but right now it don’t make no difference whether he done or not, ’cause the whole town is a-gatherin’ down at the livery barn to watch ’im hang.”
“I’d better tell the sheriff,” McGregor said.
“Aye, that you’d better do,” Duff agreed. “I’ll see if I can stop them.”
“Oh, Duff, this is a mob you’re talking about!” Meagan said. “Not even all three of you can stand up against a mob. Hadn’t you better wait for the sheriff?”
“If we wait for the sheriff, lass, it’ll be too late. Drexler will be dead. The men in that mob think they’re doin’ the right thing. Perhaps all we have to do is convince them that they’re making a mistake.”
“Be careful, please,” Meagan said, putting her hand on Duff’s arm.
As McGregor left to find the sheriff, Duff, Elmer, and Wang hurried down to O. D. Clayton’s Livery and Stable. There, they saw at least thirty men gathered near the front opening. Drexler was sitting on a horse in front of the barn with a hangman’s noose looped around his neck. His hands were tied behind his back.
“I didn’t do it!” Drexler said. “Please, fellers, you got to believe me. I didn’t do what you said!”
“You said you was goin’ to join ’em, Drexler. You condemned yourself!” Truax said. “Give that horse a slap,” he said to a man standing by the horse.
“Git!” the man shouted, slapping the horse on the rump.
What happened next caught the men by surprise, for few saw the knife thrown by Wang to cut the rope. All they saw was that no sooner was Drexler pulled from the horse’s saddle, than the rope parted and Drexler, still very much alive, fell to the ground.
“What the—? What happened?” someone shouted.
“Get ’im up again,” Truax ordered.
As a couple of men started toward Drexler, they were stopped by the sound of a pistol shot.
“Leave him be!” Duff shouted.
When the others looked toward Duff they saw that he was holding a smoking pistol.
“Elmer, would ye be for helping Mr. Drexler to his feet ’n untying his hands?”
“Wait a minute, Cap’n MacCallister! What are you doing?” Truax asked. “Maybe it is that you don’t know what happened here, but Drexler tried to get word to Schofield about all the work we’d done. If Schofield knows that, why he can plan for it.”
“I didn’t do it, I tell you,” Drexler shouted.
“Yeah, well I heard you say that you was goin’ to be a-joinin’ up with Schofield,” Truax said. “Are you goin’ to lie ’n say you didn’t? On account of Collins ’n Morley also heard you say that.”
“Hold on there, Truax, don’t you go usin’ my name in this,” Morley said.
It was clear to Duff that Morley had not been a part of the would-be lynch mob, for he was just arriving then.
“’Cause I didn’t take it that he was goin’ to actual join up with ’em, ’n if he says he didn’t give that feller the map, well, I’m sayin’ that I believe him.”
“I didn’t give nobody no map about nothin’!” Drexler said as Elmer was untying his hands.
“Gentlemen, I want ye to think about what you’re doing here,” Duff said. “If ye hang this man, be he innocent or guilty, it’s a thing that will stick with ye for the rest of your life.
“Gibson, I know that ye have a fine wife ’n two wee ones. Can ye face them for the rest of your life ’n know that ye took part in hangin’ a man? Especially if the man is innocent?”
“I . . . I have to confess, I wasn’t feelin’ all that good about what we was doin’.”
Duff looked at the bugler. “Hawkins, you were with them?”
“I ain’t no more,” Hawkins said.
“Lads, we have a war to fight,” Duff said. “That means we have to be together. Now whether Drexler gave the map to Yancey or not—”
“It warn’t me!” Drexler shouted again.
“The point is, something like this would come in among you and fester like an untreated sore.”
“Yeah, maybe the Cap’n is right,” one of the others said. “I mean even if Drexler did do this, we ain’t got no right to take the law inter our own hands. This is somethin’ for the sheriff to take care of.”
“He done said he warn’t goin’ to do it,” Truax said.
“Aye, I did say that.” Campbell was arriving then with McGregor. “But I dinnae expect a lynching. Mr. Drexler, come with me. I’ll be putting ye in jail now.”
“What for?” Drexler demanded. “I’ll tell you like I told ever’one else. I didn’t give no map to nobody!”
“’Tis safer ye will be in jail than out of jail, for who knows but what someone might decide he’ll be for taking care of you all by himself?”
“The sheriff might be right, Mr. Drexler,” Duff said. “Ye may be safer in jail than out.”
“It’s for sure that if Schofield attacks, you won’t be shot while you’re in jail,” Morley said. “That’ll be about the safest place in town.”
“We’ll get this all straightened out, lad. ’Tis promising ye I am about that,” McGregor said.
Drexler nodded. “All right. All right, Sheriff, I’ll go with you. I didn’t do what they’re sayin’, but I’ll go with you.”
* * *
When Captain Bond returned to Cottonwood Springs, he gave the telescope back to Schofield.
“Did you see anything of interest?” Schofield asked.
“I did, but I don’t know if it relates to us in any way. I saw a lynching. Or at least, a near lynching.”
“What do you mean by a near lynching?”
Bond described what he had seen from the time the rope was put around a man’s neck, until the would-be lynch victim fell from the horse to the ground. “I don’t know if they had done it merely to frighten him for some reason, or if the rope broke . . . but I don’t see how the rope could have broken.”
“Did they put him back on the horse and try again?”
“No.”
“Then it is obvious that they were trying to extract some information from him,” Schofield said. “Was it Yancey? It could be that they have taken him prisoner and they used the threat of a hanging to encourage him to tell all about us, our strength, our troop dispositions, and such.”
“No, sir, I don’t know who it was, but I do know that it wasn’t Yancey.”
“Prime Director, do you think it might have been our spy?” General Peterson asked.
“It might have been.”
“Well if it was, and they didn’t kill him, that means he might have given them some information about us.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Schofield said. “He has no information about us that would be of any use to MacCallister. On the other hand, Yancey could be of some considerable value to them if he is still alive.”
“Do you think we should send somebody in to find out if he is still alive?”
“No. I think the best thing we can do now is attack. Not merely a demonstration as before, but a full-scale attack just like the ones we conducted against the other towns.”
“Yes, sir!” Peterson said with a broad
smile.
“Assemble the men, General. I will address them.”
Half an hour later the men of Schofield’s Legion, in full uniform, were standing in a military formation in the middle of Malone Street. Schofield, also in uniform, came out the house he had confiscated in order to address them. Several of the townspeople drawn by curiosity and barely contained fear had gathered nearby to watch.
“Officers and men of Schofield’s Legion,” Schofield began in a stentorian voice. “We shall leave immediately for Antelope Wells. At some distance from the town we shall bivouac for the night, then shortly after dawn tomorrow morning, I will put you in motion to offer battle to the defenders of Antelope Wells. With the resolution and disciplined valor becoming fighting men such as yourselves, we cannot help but ride to a decisive victory and thereby complete the total subjugation of this land which shall become a new nation—a nation in which you shall in your lifetime realize great monetary gains, and in the years to come, occupy positions of honor to the future citizens of Tierra de Desierto.
“You are expected to show yourselves worthy of your valor, whose noble devotion in this cause has never been exceeded in any time. With such incentives to brave deeds and with the trust you have shown in me as your Prime Director, I and General Peterson, as well as your officers and noncommissioned officers, will lead you confidently into the battle with the absolute assuredness of success.”
The men gave a throaty hurrah at the conclusion of Schofield’s speech.
Chapter Twenty-three
The men of Schofield’s Legion had made their bivouac about two miles north of Antelope Wells and were beginning to stir. Unlike a cattle drive where one cook fed the entire company, the Legion, as had the armies of the North and South during the recent war, had several “eating clubs”—gatherings of no more than five or six men who built their own cooking fires and prepared their own meals. That morning nearly a dozen fires were spread out across the camping ground and the aromas of bacon and coffee permeated the area.
Lieutenant Fillion had stepped away from the main encampment and was relieving himself when he saw a rider approaching from the south. A single rider might not have attracted his attention except for the fact that the rider was carrying a white flag.
“What the hell?” he said quietly.
Fillion returned to the fire that represented his eating group. “Harper, Logan, arm yourselves. I’ve got a detail for you.”
“What you got, Lieutenant?” Harper asked.
Fillion pointed south. “A rider bearing a white flag is coming this way. Go get him and bring him here.”
Fillion watched as his two men accosted the rider, then started back with him. Harper walked in front, leading the horse by the reins he had taken from the rider. Logan was walking alongside the rider.
“Dismount,” Fillion ordered the rider when the three men reached him.
“Are you Schofield?” the rider asked.
“No. Who are you?”
“My name is Carson. Paul Carson. And I demand to be taken to see Schofield.”
“Mister, you aren’t in position to be demanding anything,” Fillion said. “You may have noticed that you are in the midst of an armed camp while you are unarmed.”
“Yes, and you may have noticed that I have come under a white flag of truce,” Carson replied. “And international convention demands that a flag of truce be accorded peaceful access to negotiation.”
“Whooee, he sure does talk purty, don’t he, Lieutenant?” Logan said.
Fillion stared at Carson for a long moment, then nodded. “All right, Mr. Carson. Come with me.”
“You’re going to take me to Schofield?”
“Come with me,” Fillion replied without directly answering Carson’s question.
Schofield and Peterson were standing in front of Schofield’s tent when Fillion approached them. Fillion had his pistol pointed at Carson, who was still carrying a stick to which he had attached a white flag.
“Who do we have here, Lieutenant?” Schofield asked.
“Prime Director, this man just came riding into our camp carrying that white flag that you see there. He says his name is Carson, and he’s been demanding to speak with you.”
“Are you Schofield?” Carson asked.
“Mister Carson, you will do well to speak only when spoken to,” Peterson said. “And when you do address the Prime Director, you will address him as such, not by his name.”
“Well, which one of you—”
“I’m Schofield. What can I do for you, Mr. Carson?”
“You can accept our surrender,” Carson said.
It was Schofield’s time to be confused, and it showed on his face. “You want to surrender?”
“Yes, sir, we do,” Carson replied. “We are well aware of what has happened in all the other towns you have attacked. Pillaged would be a better word for it. And from what we have observed, you have killed more than half of the men in every town.”
“Are you the mayor of Antelope Wells?”
“No sir, I am not. I am, however, a member of the city council.”
“Tell me, Councilman Carson. Have you brought an instrument of surrender negotiated by your mayor?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then by what authority do you offer to surrender your town?”
“By the authority of reason,” Carson said. “I don’t want to see wanton killing going on in my town.”
“Reason is a platitude, not an authorization. I cannot accept the surrender from you, Mr. Carson. I can accept it only from someone who is authorized to tender an instrument of capitulation. And since you are unable to do that, the attack will take place as scheduled.”
“If you will not accept my surrender, then please understand that I have no choice but to return and warn the others of how imminent an attack is,” Carson said.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you return,” Schofield said. “You must remain here until after the attack.”
“What? No, you can’t do that. I came under a white flag. You must let me return. You have no right to hold me!”
“Lieutenant Fillion, appoint two men to . . .”
Suddenly Carson broke into a run, heading back in the direction of Antelope Wells. Schofield, unhurriedly, picked up a rifle, jacked a round into the chamber, raised the rifle to his shoulder and aimed at the fleeing Paul Carson.
The loud pop of the rifle garnered the sudden attention of all in the camp, most of whom were unaware that there had even been a visitor. Those who saw the running man also saw him throw both arms into the air, drag his foot a short way, then pitch forward to fall facedown.
One of the men nearest the man who had been shot ran toward him, looked down at him for a moment, then turned to call back. “He’s dead!”
Schofield merely nodded. “General Peterson, prepare the men to advance upon our objective.”
“Yes, sir,” General Peterson replied.
* * *
Back in Antelope Wells, Duff had a lifelong habit of rising early. He was standing at the window watching the early morning display of color in the eastern sky. The window was open and he could smell coffee and bacon from the hotel kitchen. The smells were enticing, and he wondered if he would dare wake the others and tell them he was ready for breakfast.
He didn’t have to contemplate the idea very long, because a light knock on his door was followed by a call from Meagan.
“Duff? Duff, are you awake? Do you want . . . oh!”
Her startled response was a result of the fact that even before she was able to complete her question Duff jerked the door open.
“Aye, lass, I’m awake and as hungry as a bear.”
Meagan smiled. “Good, then we can wake up Elmer and Wang and go to breakfast.”
The door to Elmer’s room jerked open. “There ain’t no need to wake us up, seein’ as there can’t nobody sleep with all the caterwaulin’ that’s goin on out here,” he teased.
Less than ten m
inutes later the four of them were in the hotel dining room, waiting on their breakfast to be served.
“Do you think Drexler was tellin’ the truth when he said that he warn’t the one that give Yancey the map?” Elmer asked.
“I dinnae know,” Duff replied. “I want to believe him. He did seem awfully sincere.”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Elmer said. “If it warn’t Drexler that give that map to him, who was it? On account of I seen when Yancey come into town, ’n I seen ’im most off the mornin’, ’n I sure didn’t see ’im drawin’ that map.”
“It almost makes a person wish that Drexler is the one who gave him the map,” Meagan said.
“Why do you say that?” Elmer asked.
“I know what she means,” Duff said. “If it was Drexler, we would nae have to be worrying about it anymore, since Drexler is in jail and out of the way. And if it was nae Drexler, then we still have a spy in our midst, and still have someone to worry about.”
“Yeah, I see. ’N that means it could be anyone, don’t it?” Elmer asked.
“Aye.”
“Duff, you don’t reckon it would be General Culpepper, do you? I mean, ain’t he the one who drawed up the plans in the first place?”
“He is indeed the architect of the plans,” Duff agreed. “But ’tis totally convinced I am that he is nae the spy we seek.”
“I don’t think he is, either,” Meagan said. “Elmer, how could you possibly accuse that sweet old man?”
“Well now, I ain’t exactly accusin’ ’im,” Elmer said. “I just pointed out that he’s the one that drawed out the plan in the first place. That don’t mean he’s the one that drawed the map, though.”
“Elmer is quite right to trust no one and be suspicious of everyone,” Duff said.
“Well, that is a good tactic I suppose,” Meagan smiled sweetly at Duff. “But I certainly hope you aren’t suspicious of me,” she teased.
Before Duff could answer, Wang spoke. “The mayor comes.”
Looking toward the entry into the hotel dining room, and following Wang’s gaze, Duff saw McGregor. Without being told, Wang took a chair from a nearby empty table and moved it over to their table.
“Paul Carson is gone,” McGregor said as he sat down. “Hugh Poindexter was standing guard this morning and saw him leave.”
Stranglehold Page 17
