Prairie Fire, Kansas

by John Shirley

  “Yes?” She knew the Kelmers a little, mostly from the store. The Kelmer patriarch, James, was the most powerful rancher in the county. He had used his money and influence to make Lem Chilroy, his accountant, the mayor. James was part owner in the bank, too. He was a superficially affable man, always with a big smile for her, but he was well-known to be ruthless underneath.

  She knew his son, Heywood, a little more, a man who talked a good deal without saying much, interrupting other people to do it, always playing a part of some kind. He’d hinted at taking her to the summer dance. She had not yet said no. He was wealthy, he was good-looking, and one could get used to a man’s annoying ways. Perhaps she could learn to like him if he courted her. Other men had tried to court her—but her father had driven them away. The son of James Kelmer was too powerful to drive away.

  “I spoke to James,” her father went on around another mouthful of chicken, “to try to come to a deal. He did not want to change the price. Then I spoke to Heywood—always so friendly. I thought maybe he would speak to his father for me. He said maybe so. But he said, ‘I am in need of a wife, and your daughter is the prettiest unmarried girl in town.’”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Papa! Are you thinking of . . . of trading me for land?”

  “In the old country, in many places, such things are done, and why not? You moon about, wishing for a man, and here he is—a fine-looking man with money! Me, I will find a squaw to do your work.”

  She shook her head in wonder. Traded to the Kelmers? It was true she wanted to be married. Partly to get away from her father; partly because she was lonely for tenderness. And she loved children. But it was not unthinkable for her to live without a man. Why not? If her father was any measure of what men were like . . .

  Admittedly, despite her indifference, at best, to Heywood Kelmer, there would be money. She might have a housekeeper and perhaps be able to raise the sheep and goats and horses she’d always wanted. A woman should be practical, shouldn’t she?

  “But,” her father went on, “there is no completed deal as yet. He wishes to . . . to walk out with you.”

  Josette frowned. How far did “walking out” go with Heywood? She had heard a rumor of another girl and a baby given away. Did he wish to ride the mare before he purchased her? Well, she knew herself to be a strong woman. She would keep him on the other side of the corral fence.

  “Very well, Papa. I can let him court me, and we will see. What is the harm?”

  What, indeed? But she had some nagging inner prompting, some instinct, that told her Heywood himself might be the harm. . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  Well, that was a good breakfast,” said Franklin. “Had to have them hot cakes. Never could make ’em myself.”

  “I’m about filled up to bust,” Seth said, gazing out the flyspecked window of the café.

  The two cowboys were used to rising with dawn most times, and they’d been waiting at the door of the café when it opened a little after seven. It was a trifle after eight now as they finished their meal. They sat by the window at Seth’s insistence so he could keep an eye on the sunny street.

  “Be good to ride out of town right smart, Seth, before it gets hot out. Hell, it gets too hot, we can find a little shade and take us a siesta this afternoon.”

  “Oh—no hurry,” said Seth, setting down his coffee cup. “We might want to buy some fresh eggs to take along.”

  “Last time we done that, you busted them in your saddlebag.”

  “I’ll pack ’em right on top this time, and take good care.”

  “I suppose some eggs would go good tomorrow morning. Where you reckon to get them? Oh—I have me a notion. The F. Dubois General Store. They might have some eggs in from Farmer Brown or Farmer Green. That it?”

  Seth dabbed at his lips with the plaid napkin. “And why not?”

  “Why, I bet we’d get a better price just stopping at a farm on the way,” said Franklin, grinning and watching Seth’s face.

  “I just thought . . . She’s my old friend. Dang it, Franklin. Why shouldn’t I see her once more?”

  “Fine and dandy. Then we ride out?”

  “I reckon so.”

  But Seth wasn’t so sure.

  They went to see to their horses, brushing them down themselves to save on the fee and because the horses liked it better; they saw that they were grained and watered.

  Back on the street, noticing the blacksmith already at work, they strolled over and Franklin asked the big, yellow-bearded man if he could fix the failing belly buckle—jury-rigged now with rawhide—on his saddle. The big man agreed, and they brought the saddle back, Seth the whole time keeping an eye on the general store.

  At last, as they were watching the blacksmith repair the buckle, Seth saw Josette and Dubois walking up to unlock the store.

  Seth shifted his feet impatiently, waiting a couple minutes so he didn’t seem like he was rushing at Josette. He looked at the blacksmith. Then he looked at the store. Finally, he said, “Franklin, I’m going to see about them eggs.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Seth crossed the street, entering the store moments after the wooden sign reading Open was hung in the window.

  Josette looked up as he came in, met his eyes, and smiled. That smile was so bright and lively, he almost stumbled over a crate of apples.

  “Well, my goodness, don’t fall and injure yourself, Seth,” she said, leaning on the counter. He didn’t see her father; he supposed he must be in the back room. That was good luck, anyhow.

  Seth strode over to her and said, “Would you . . . Could we . . . go for a walk? After you get off work?”

  “I have to go prepare my father’s meals then. And do many other chores after.”

  “He doesn’t give you any time to take your leisure?”

  “Precious little.” She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “The store is closed on Sunday, and being as I often pick berries out along Black Creek this time of year . . . in the morning, round ten, a little to the north . . . I—”

  “Josette!” Dubois roared, coming in. “What do you say to this cowboy?”

  “I . . .” She licked her lips. “He was asking if we had any fresh berries. I told him I hoped to have some in on Monday.”

  Dubois scowled, his lower lip half covering his upper. “You—cowboy! What you want? More supplies?”

  “I . . . You got any fresh eggs, Mr. Dubois?”

  “We do not!”

  “Mrs. Emery’s farm—they’d have some,” Josette said. She gave her head a little shake as if to warn Seth to say nothing more.

  “You think I am a fool, cowboy?” Dubois demanded. “You think I don’t see what it is you do here? You are looking at my daughter like a bull at the cow!”

  “Papa!” Josette hissed, turning to him, her eyes flashing. “To say such a thing!”

  “Soit silencieux!” Dubois snarled. “Into the back room, Josette!”

  “No! I am not a child!”

  “You go, or I throw you there!”

  Seth felt his hands ball into fists. It was going to take some power of will not to throw a sockdolager into this man’s loud mouth.

  The door jangled. “Seth?”

  He felt Franklin’s hand on his shoulder, a firm but not unkindly grip. “Franklin—this man—”

  “Please . . .” Josette shook her head at him. “Go.”

  He saw the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. Then she turned away and almost ran through the curtains to the back room.

  His emotions churning, first this way, then that, Seth turned away.

  “Stay away from her!” Dubois called after Seth. “I have the shotgun! She is loaded!”

  Outside, Seth couldn’t keep from slamming the door shut.

  “I have the shotgun! She is loaded!” Frankli
n said, mimicking Dubois. “Well. This here’s a good town to leave behind, Seth. And right now . . .”

  “Leave?” Seth looked at him as if he were the one speaking a foreign language. “I’m going collecting berries on Sunday. By hook or by crook.”

  “Sunday! That’s more’n two days off!”

  Seth shrugged. “What’s your durn hurry?”

  * * *

  * * *

  They’re gonna come lookin’ for these here stolen nags, Hannibal,” said Diamond.

  “You complaining?” Fisher snorted. “They were going to hang you! I got you out. You stick with me, and I’ll get you riches, too.”

  It was dark on the prairie. There was the making of a summer storm off to the north, where lightning flickered blue-white in a bank of dark clouds. But nearer at hand, the sky was full of stars and a rising moon.

  “Hold up. My rump’s fair worn away by this damn greenhorn saddle.”

  They reined in under a big sycamore tree. Some startled animal, maybe a possum, clattered its way up the trunk into the shadows of the foliage. They’d been riding over rough ground, trying to stay off the main road, and it was hard on a man’s behind, along with these new saddles. They’d taken the horses from a big barn at the outskirts of Newton—a new barn for a new ranch with new horses and even new saddles. The barn had smelled of green planks. Fisher had taken charge of a loaded Henry rifle holstered in saddle gear hanging on the barn wall.

  “Tried to make it look like the horses busted loose and run off,” Fisher said. “Maybe they bought into it. We’ve ridden so twisty out on the prairie, up creeks and across rock, they’ll have a deuce of a time tracking us.”

  “What makes you think we’re nigh to that bounty hunter?”

  “He was gnawing on a corncob pipe when he was taking me to Newton. Mentioned he goes through two or three a month. Well, I saw just such a pipe with the smell of his tobacco at the last campfire. It’s him—and that was last night, just plumb on the route I said he’d be on. Now, if we stay on this route and watch for a campfire . . .”

  “I need me a rest.” Diamond climbed off the horse, rubbed his rump with one hand, with the other taking up his canteen. “Nothing but water to drink . . .”

  “We’ll get some whiskey soon enough. Ruskett carries a jug in his pack.”

  “You sure this Ruskett’s worth chasing?”

  Fisher thought about that for a moment. Then he said, “I’m as sure as can be. I’ll tell you something. The world just decided, sometime this year, to be contrary to me, whatever I did. Run out of one town after another. That ruckus in Kansas City fairly gave me the blue devils, Curt. Then I made up my mind, next time I was going to ride right over anyone who was in the way of getting myself ahead. I had a warmish run of luck at cards, and I went to double my winnings. And first that Coe wins most of my ready, then calls me out so’s I get on the wrong side of Wild Bill! Then a bounty hunter rides me down. That’s enough of that now! When I make up my mind to something, I follow it all the way to hell and back. Ruskett tossed me in the jug, so he’s going to pay for it. That Coe’s going to pay. They’re going to bite dirt!” He jabbed a forefinger at Diamond. “And don’t you run afoul of me, or you’ll get the same!”

  Fisher could see Diamond’s eyes go cold at that. He didn’t like being threatened—especially when he was unarmed.

  “You stick by me, Curt,” Fisher said in a milder tone, “and I’ll fill your pockets with cash, both gold and folding.”

  Diamond grunted and peered down their back trail. “First thing is to get ourselves clear of the law.”

  “Then let’s ride on!”

  “Not quite rested yet. Nor is my mount.”

  They rested the horses for half an hour, Fisher chafing at the delay, and started out once more. “Let’s go down to the road, and just keep quiet, listen for anyone tracking us,” Fisher said. “He won’t be far off the road.”

  “’Bout time we get out of the toolies,” Diamond said.

  Two hours more, and they were crossing a log bridge over a creek when they saw a light twinkling off to the south. It had the red flicker of a campfire. “Could be him,” Fisher whispered. “Let’s walk the horses into those willows yonder, and we’ll move in slow to see whose fire it is. . . .”

  “I’m not feeling so charitable I care whose fire it is,” Diamond growled.

  The horses tied up in the willows, they crept through scrub brush a few steps off the creek, approaching the firelight, Fisher carrying the Henry.

  They were within six yards of the campfire, when Fisher got a good look. It was Ruskett all right, sitting on a folded blanket by the fire, taking a pull on a jug he’d propped on one shoulder. Fisher signaled to Diamond, and both of the stalkers stopped where they were. Seeing the shotgun cradled across Ruskett’s lap, Fisher tried to figure how to come at Ruskett without catching a bellyful from the ten gauge. Was he close enough for a sure shot with the Henry? Maybe so.

  Fisher raised the Henry and took aim—and Diamond whispered, just a little too loud, “Careful not to hit that dang jug!”

  Ruskett swore to himself, dropped the jug, and swung the shotgun their way—Fisher had to take his shot.

  It went right home, hitting Ruskett in the heart, and the bounty hunter jerked back with the impact, falling on his back, twitching, calling out what might have been an Injun name . . . and then he went limp.

  “Got him, by God!” Diamond crowed.

  “Damn your noise, anyway!” Fisher muttered, pushing through the brush to the campfire. “I wanted him to know who it was! I wanted him to know why he was going to die!” He kicked idly at the body. “I’d’ve got the jump on him. . . .”

  Diamond had already scooped up the jug. “He’s a considerate gent, ain’t he?” He took a slug of the corn liquor. “Whew! Yes, sir, he built us a campfire, left us all his gear, and even bought us a drink. What about the money, Hannibal?”

  Fisher knelt beside the body, dug around till he found a leather bag, tugged it free, and, hands trembling, forced it open. “Considerable sum in here. Looks like about two hundred dollars.” In fact it looked to be above four hundred.

  “He was supposed to have four hundred!”

  “Maybe sent the rest on.”

  “Let me look at that purse!”

  Fisher swung the rifle toward Diamond. “You going to call me a liar?”

  Diamond stood there, glowering at him, his face taking on flickering red tones in the firelight. But he was unarmed. After a moment, he said, “I reckon not.”

  Fisher tugged out some bills from the leather bag, tossed five folded twenties at Diamond’s boots. “There’s your share.”

  “How about his horse? His saddle?”

  “You been complaining about your saddle. You can have his. We’ll sell his horse and share the money. And you can have that shotgun. I’ll take his six-shooter.”

  Diamond bent over, reaching for the shotgun.

  “Nope, not yet!” Fisher snapped. He prodded Diamond with the muzzle of the rifle. “Back up.”

  Diamond stepped back, his scowl deepening.

  “One more step,” Fisher said.

  Diamond hesitated—then took another step back. Fisher put the small leather bag of cash in his pants pocket, then picked up the shotgun. He tucked his rifle under one arm, quickly emptied the two shells out of the street cannon. Then he tossed the weapon to Diamond. “When I decide I can trust you, you can have those shells. But I’m not sure right about now—I saved you from hanging and gave you a hundred dollars, and you’re calling me a liar! And, Curt—I need you to know who’s boss.”

  Diamond let out a long breath. “Let’s put it behind us. I didn’t mean nothing. Let’s see if he’s got anything to eat. . . .”

  “Right after you drag that body off into the brush.”

  “Yep. He’s p
oor company the way he is.”

  “Just sling him behind that pile of rocks back there.”

  “Where we going after this, Hannibal?” Diamond asked as he came over to take the corpse by the collar. “I mean—for the plan and all.”

  “Back west a ways. Then we ride hard to the south. The road to Texas. I’m going to find that cowboy that took my money. We’ll take it back, and I’ll take a good deal more out of his hide. . . .”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  You mooning over that girl isn’t going to win her, Seth,” said Franklin. “She didn’t seem the type to disobey her father. And you don’t really know her—what you remember is a little girl. She’s a grown woman now and has ’most forgot about you.”

  They were in the Gypsy Saloon, in the early afternoon, sitting at the bar. The saloon was a little east of Prairie Fire, as if deliberately set apart from the respectable part of town. It was set a bit back from the road, too, as if to make it yet more inobtrusive. Four men—three ranch hands and their boss, it looked like to Seth—were crowded at the far end of the bar, grousing about something in an undertone.

  “I was always sweet on that little girl,” Seth mused, “but I was too young to say so. I knew it wasn’t the time.”

  “Now you’re old enough to know it’s clearly not a winning proposition, Seth. The man threatened you with a shotgun! Even if she eloped with you, he’d have the sheriff chase you down. She may be of age, but out here, it’s expected that a man’s children do his bidding right along.”

  Seth shrugged. “I just knew when I saw her, Franklin. What a wild roll of the dice it was, me finding her here at a time when I’ve got no further plans to ever come back to Kansas. I had one chance to come across that girl! I’ll tell you what it is—it’s fated by providence!”

  Franklin made a little scornful puffing sound. “Providence! Your pa tell you about that?”

  “My ma.”

  “Oh, it would be, too, wouldn’t it? How long do you reckon to chase this here will-o’-the-wisp?”