She unloaded her pistol and reloaded with five of the new cartridges. They fitted perfectly and, walking a short way from the wagons, she discharged her pinfire against a convenient tree. The five shots rang out and Abbie nodded in satisfaction. The powder load seemed the same as the ones she had been using, but which, of late, she had to use sparingly, as she had fewer than forty left.
Over their evening meal Abbie related what she had learned and experienced that day and remarked that Roger Fenton must be getting agitated about the recent enquiries as he seemed to be showing his less than pleasant self in his dealings with the newcomers.
As the group sat chatting around the campfire in the soft evening air, another figure loomed up out of the darkness. It was little Joey, out of breath, indicating that he had been running fast and that his visit was urgent. He sought out Abbie in the firelight and, apologizing for breaking in on their evening’s rest, he burst out with, ‘’Scuse me, ma’am, but this is terribly important. Old Fenton has got some of his men together in town an’ they’re agonna pretend they’re Injuns an’ attack your camp later tonight! I thought I’d better warn you! They mean business!’
Abbie immediately took command of the situation. ‘Thank you, Joey, it might be better if you stay here. Jack, get everyone together so we can inform them of the problem. Then get the men to start rolling these wagons together to provide a better defence. Miguel, this is not your fight. If you wish to leave, we won’t hold it against you. On the other hand, if you wish to stay and help us defend the wagon camp, you and your compadres will be more than welcome.’
Miguel, Pedro and José all expressed a desire to join in the defence. The people were gathered round and the situation was explained to them. In addition to Jack and Dora, the three Mexicans and herself, there was Bobby Smith and his mother, Beth Isaacson and Ann Marlowe and two men who had joined the wagon train at Fountain Creek. That gave them a total of twelve defenders, all of whom were reasonably good shots, and a quick survey indicated that there was an ample supply of both powder and shot.
Abbie left it up to Jack to spread the people around the defence perimeter and to ensure that buckets of water were standing ready in case the counterfeit Indians attempted to set the wagons on fire.
While all these arrangements were being made, Abbie had a long talk with the man who had just warned them of the forthcoming attack, ‘Joey, I want you to tell me all you can about Mr Gillis and also Mr Clifford.’
‘Well, ma’am, Mr Gillis came to Colorado City about the same time as I did. He was a real swell, being an agent for some Englishman who had invested a lot of money in the area. Me? I was just a nobody, bin kicked off a wagon train ’cos I had no money. That didn’t matter to Mr Gillis. He always treated me just like you would regular folks. Gave me little jobs to do, and little errands to run. He always said I was his general . . . general . . . what’s the word? I know. His general factotum. He promised that later, when he was fully settled, he’d have a regular job for me.
‘Then he went missing. His horse came back without him, and a few days later his body was found in an arroyo. That there marshal, Henry Firman, said his horse had rolled on him or had thrown him. The story seemed to change, an’ no wonder. The chestnut that came back with an empty saddle was not the one that he’d ridden off on. Close, mind you. Very close. But I’d know old Brownie anywhere. I’d groomed her enough times!
‘Well, anyway, that Roger Fenton turned up and said he was authorized to handle all the investment holdings that Mr Gillis had looked after. Then Daniel Clifford came to the city. He questioned the legal rights of Fenton and actually challenged him to prove his case. They were in that office where Miss Dora was held. I was underneath. (I sometimes check the crawlspace under the saloon looking for coins that customers drop accidentally through the cracks in the floorboards.) Well, anyway, I heard them talking, and Mr Clifford said that he had definite proof about all the property rights. Fenton indicated that he had to go out to his ranch but, being a reasonable man, he would be delighted if Mr Clifford could come out that evening and show him the papers.
‘Well, I quietly left from the rear of the saloon and went back to the livery stable. Early that evening, Mr Clifford came for a horse. He had a small leather satchel with him and was wearing a gun belt. Now that was mighty strange, as he’d never worn one before. Before he left he said to me, “Joey you’ve always done a good job for me! I like the way you still look after Mr Gillis’ grave; continue to care for it. Promise?” I promised and he left. The rest I already told you.’
As Joey completed his narration, there was a low call from Jack Harding. ‘Stand to, everyone! We have unwelcome visitors.’
Telling Joey to stay under cover, Abbie seized her Springfield rifle and ran to her allotted defence position, already occupied by Ann Marlow and Beth Isaacson. In the bright light of a nearly full moon, she saw a number of riders, possibly more than a dozen bunched together as they received their final instructions. The bunch broke apart and spread out into a line with some of the riders carrying lighted torches.
At a given signal they began to move forward, their pace quickly changing to a gallop as they swept down upon the supposedly sleeping camp. At the same time the night air was filled with hideous yells and screams as the raiders attempted to emulate a true war party. Jack Harding called out, ‘Hold your fire! Let them get closer!’
Then as the horsemen got well within one hundred yards, the order rang out, ‘Fire at will!’
Jack had positioned most of the rifles on the city side of the wagon train, making the logical assumption that this was the direction from which the attack would come and, at his order, a ripple of rifle shots rent the night air. The initial volley was followed by a flurry of pistol shots as those with side-arms aimed and fired them at the advancing enemy.
The result of the wagon defenders’ fire was devastating. Fully half of the bare-chested white men, daubed with paint to suggest they were Indians, were either down and dismounted or lying motionless on the ground. The attack faltered and faded away as most of the survivors suddenly realized that this simple hoorah against unsuspecting settlers had turned into a disastrous defeat and they obviously believed that they had urgent business elsewhere.
Those dismounted, and still able to walk, turned and ran. Only two or possibly three attempted to press home the forlorn attack. One was opposite Abbie’s position. Drawing her pinfire, she levelled it and, aiming with care, brought the rider down when he was but ten feet from the wagon. With a 12mm ball in the centre of his chest, he fell, and his horse, relieved of the weight, trotted to a standstill and stood there motionless, as Jack called out, ‘Cease fire!’ followed by ‘Reload!’
Silence fell upon the little battlefield. Silence, that is, apart from the groaning of wounded men and the shrill whinnying of crippled horses. After a short wait the defenders realized that there would not be a resumption of the pseudo-Indian attack and they walked out to aid the wounded and put the injured animals out of their misery.
Abbie walked forward and stared down at the man she had just shot with her pinfire. It was quite evident that his wound was fatal and she knelt down and stared into his pain-wracked features. He looked up at her and grimaced, ‘Sorry, Abbie. I didn’t think life would end like this. There was nothing personal. I just had a job to do, that’s all.’
His head fell sideways and his eyes glazed over.
Abbie bit her lip as she looked down at the dead Arnold Le Clair, remembering the pleasant meal they had enjoyed together, and then she rose to her feet. Arnold had made his choice and, if the attack had been successful, it would have been her and possibly most of her friends who would have been lying dead in the warm summer’s night. As it was the defenders had no casualties; they had been lucky.
Le Clair and the other three dead ‘Indians’ were loaded belly down on horses and Abbie, Jack and Miguel saddled their own animals and prepared to deliver the corpses to Colorado City. Abbie told Joey before they
departed to slip unnoticed back to the livery stable. She would undoubtedly have need of him again. The wounded attackers were made as comfortable as possible until they could get Dr Stevens to come out to the wagon camp and Abbie and her companion left to deliver their gruesome cargo.
The solemn procession wended its way down the main street and halted in front of Marty’s Bonanza saloon. The lights were on and there was activity inside, but nobody emerged to see what was going on in the street. Quietly the four corpses were unloaded from the horses and laid out in a line on the boardwalk. When the three were back in the saddle, Abbie pulled her pistol and fired three shots in the air. Inside the Bonanza, the piano stopped and the normal loud chatter fell silent. Then the batwing doors swung open and men headed by Marty spilled out, only to stop short at the bodies lying in front of them.
Abbie raised her voice. ‘I understand that Mr Le Clair and his other associates lived here or close by. Perhaps you’ll be good enough to give them burials. Unfortunately, they made very poor Indians. You might tell Mr Fenton that. We are sure that he will be interested.’
And with a mocking salute Abbie and her two companions swung round and galloped out of town.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the morning Bobby Smith was delegated to bring Dr Stevens out, and meanwhile Abbie, Jack and Dora held a council of war. Jack opened the debate with an observation that Roger Fenton was certainly going to react to the failure of his ‘Indian’ attack.
‘Abbie, I’m sure there’ll be another attack, if not against the wagons, but more likely against individuals in town.’
‘That is what will most likely happen, Jack. I’m sure there are plenty of decent people in Colorado City. Somehow we’ve got to get more of them involved on our side.’
Dora spoke up, ‘Look! Would the locals swing behind us if we could prove that Roger Fenton is an outright crook and has no legitimate claim to the properties in the city and beyond?’
Jack Harding nodded in agreement, ‘That’s right! Abbie, you were having a long chat with Joey just before the attack. Did you learn anything more?’
Abbie related the content of the conversation she had with the livery ostler, and the three of them sat silent in thought. Finally Jack looked up and said, ‘’Ere! What ’appened to the satchel that Daniel Clifford was carrying when ’e left to go to Fenton’s ranch?’
‘Well. . . .’ Abbie paused. ‘I suppose Fenton must have it hidden it away somewhere, or probably he destroyed it.’
Dora interjected excitedly, ‘If he had it, he would have been waving those documents around just to prove he was the legitimate owner, but I’m certain that he wouldn’t destroy land claims. I don’t think that he ever got them.’
‘Well where are they?’ rejoined Jack. ‘Abbie, tell us that last bit again!’
Abbie did so, and as she finished the three looked at each other and simultaneously cried out, ‘The grave of George Gillis!’
Abbie continued, ‘Clifford knew that he was making a dangerous visit to Fenton, that’s why he was wearing a gun belt. He obviously didn’t think that he’d be ambushed on the way there, but as a precaution, he may have buried the satchel in the grave and, to make sure nobody would suspect the hiding place, encouraged Joey to tend it and replace the flowers frequently. Since it is highly probable that Le Clair and company will be buried in the same graveyard, it might be a good idea to get over there now and see if our theory is correct. Come on, Jack!’
Leaving Miguel and Dora in charge of things at the wagon camp, Abbie and Jack rode to the little lonely overgrown Boot Hill. The place was deserted and Jack, taking the shovel they had brought with them, followed Abbie over to the grave of George Gillis. ‘Jack, I suggest that we dig the area close to the headboard. Not too deep! Clifford quite probably did not have any tools with him. He probably used a stick or something to scrape away the dirt.’
Jack did as Abbie advised and, as he carefully turned over the topsoil, his efforts were almost immediately rewarded, as the edge of a leather object came into view. The earth was carefully cleared away and there lay Clifford’s satchel, its leather damp and grimy, the steel protective corners red with rust and the brass hasp green with verdigris.
Abbie picked up the satchel and wiped it off with a riding glove. Having no key, she slipped her Bowie under the lock and twisted, prying the satchel open. Inside were packets of papers, carefully wrapped in oilskin which had preserved them from the elements. She opened one packet and the name Frederick Martin, her own father, stared up at her. They had found what they were looking for. Jack tidied the grave and they rode back to the wagons, jubilant that they had been successful in their quest.
Back at their camp, Abbie slipped from the saddle and walked over to where Dr Stevens was standing, sipping a welcome mug of coffee after patching up the wounded ‘Indians’. He lowered his mug and looked at her quizzically. ‘Ah! So here’s the young lady who has been creating all the mayhem around here. The Pinfire Lady, I presume. Or would it be more correct to address you as . . .’ he paused and looked at Abbie hard, ‘Miss Martin? The daughter of the late Major Frederick Martin?’
Abbie took the hand the doctor offered and remarked, ‘And you must be Dr Stevens, who apparently knows more about me than I do about him. Perhaps we may exchange information?’
Abbie too took a mug of coffee offered to her by Ann Marlowe and she and the doctor walked some little way and sat down on a fallen log. Dr Stevens explained how he had been a friend of both George Gillis and Daniel Clifford and in fact had actually met Major Martin, then a young lieutenant on an extended furlough and touring the West. From Gillis he had learned that Martin had a young daughter and had become a widower. He also had a rough notion of how Gillis had become Major Martin’s agent in Colorado City and how Roger Fenton had ingratiated himself with the agent shortly after coming to work with him.
The death of George Gillis had appeared to be an accident and Fenton had indicated that he had written to England and was attending to affairs awaiting further instructions. Then gradually he had let it be known that he was assuming full ownership of the ranch and other properties.
Somehow Daniel Clifford got hold of all the deeds to the Martin holdings. ‘I suspect that he may have raided Fenton’s office in town since the latter suddenly moved everything out to the ranch. Daniel told me he had the papers and was going to challenge Fenton’s legal position. That’s really all I know.’
Abbie gave the doctor a brief outline of her autobiography from the time of her father’s death to the present day, omitting only her marriage to Bertram Penraven, and produced adequate proof of her legitimate claims upon the Martin American estate. ‘I think that it’s time that a party of us paid a visit to Mr Fenton at my ranch. Care to accompany us, Doctor?’
‘No, Abbie! I think that I’ve got a better idea. I believe that you, with enough documentation to prove your case and two or three of your people, should accompany me into Colorado City and I’ll call an emergency meeting of the City Council. Get them on our side and the word will quickly spread among the folks that you’re the legitimate owner of several of their respective establishments.’
Abbie saw the sense of Stevens’s proposal and they rode into town together with Jack and Miguel to meet with the Council. Dr Stevens used his influence as the only medically qualified man in town to get the other members of the Council to attend a meeting at the community hall.
Within the hour the members were assembled, although more than one looked askance at the presence of Abbie and her two companions. Briefly Dr Stevens outlined the history of events up to and including the attack on the wagons and then invited Abbie to speak. She rose from her seat and in a clear voice described in detail her background and her relationship to the man who had owned most of the locations during the founding of Colorado City. She ended her explanation with the story of how Roger Fenton had in effect stolen all that he now possessed and had no right to be dominating the community and living off their p
rofits.
There were nods of agreement at this last remark for all had felt economic pressure from Fenton and his cronies. The only noises of dissent came from Marty Rudd, owner of the Bonanza saloon, and Howard Benson of the main general store. The third person who no doubt would have protested but didn’t have a voice at the meeting was Marshal Henry Firman. He slipped out of the meeting when he saw the way things were moving and was reported to have left town in a hurry, no doubt to report to his master, Fenton.
Howard, in an unsteady voice, demanded proof that all was as Abbie had described. Jack handed Clifford’s satchel to her and she produced documentary evidence that left the store-keeper silent and quaking in his seat as he came to the realization that the woman in front of him actually owned his business venture.
Rudd was far more hostile. ‘Lady, you might have all these folks buffaloed but you don’t have me worried none! Possession is nine tenths o’ the law an’ I’ve got a fair deal from Roger Fenton. He’s gonna come into town and. . . .’ he paused, ‘when he’s finished, things will be jus’ as they were before ’cept you and your bunch won’t be here!’
With that he kicked over his chair and stalked from the hall.
There was a long silence broken by Dr Stevens who rising remarked, ‘And that’s the way in which the bullies who have formerly run your lives have always behaved. Now their day is done, and by uniting behind Abbie Martin and the cause of justice we can rid this city of the blackguards who have hitherto made life miserable for so many people.’
A pair of female voices echoed the doctor’s statement, ‘Hear! Hear!’ as the Partridge twins lent their shrill tones to the murmur of assent which had greeted the doctor’s observation.
Abbie said that she would bring her wagons into town and pointed out that she could furnish at least a dozen riflemen and, if Colorado City could find an equal number, there should be no problem in repelling any attack by Fenton and his minions.
The Pinfire Lady Page 11
