Chapter 19
“I say we give up and light a shuck out of here right now,” Oscar Kipp declared in his rumbling voice. “We got fast horses. We can pick up the rest of the gang and be back in Dodge City in a few days. There ain’t nothin’ for us here, Jake. Nothin’.”
It was unusual for Kipp to speak that many words at one time, Fraker thought. And there was a reason for that.
Kipp was dumb. He had just proved it.
“I told you, we’re hitting the bank.”
“When?”
“When the time is right, damn it.” Fraker leaned forward over the table. “Are you questionin’ my judgment, Oscar? Is that really what you want to do, after all the successful jobs I’ve planned?”
“Nobody’s questioning your judgment, Jake,” Macauley put in. “Oscar just got excited because he thought tonight was the night. He’s disappointed things didn’t work out. That’s natural.”
“Yeah,” Kipp said, not meeting Fraker’s eyes now. “I’m just a mite disappointed, that’s all.”
Fraker sat back in his chair as the killing tension that had gripped him at being challenged eased. “All right,” he said. “I reckon I can understand that.”
“I just hope when the time comes, it’s worth it.”
Kipp hadn’t been able to resist getting in that last word. Fraker decided to be generous and let him have it.
Sure they were getting nervous and tired of hanging around this backwater town. So was he. But a man had to be patient if he was going to clean out a bank.
Their bottle and glasses had still been on the table when they got back to the saloon after that party of buffalo hunters arrived in town. They had just about finished off the whiskey since then.
The saloon was doing a booming business now. The bar was crowded with men in greasy clothes that stunk of blood and death. Those were the skinners. The hunters had taken tables. The divide between the two sorts was clear. They would drink in the same place, but they wouldn’t sit together.
Macauley said quietly, “Isn’t it just going to make things trickier, having more men in town?”
“And what if the cavalry shows up again?” Kipp asked.
“None of that will matter if they’re all busy fighting the Pawnee,” Fraker said. His eyes narrowed as an idea occurred to him. “We need to make everybody even more nervous, and I think I know a way to do that.”
He leaned forward again and clasped his hands together on the table as Macauley and Kipp listened.
“I heard the marshal talking about havin’ outriders patrolling around the town. What would happen if one of those outriders got his throat cut, like a redskin had snuck up on him and done it?”
“Who could do a thing like that?” Kipp asked.
“I know somebody who’s good at cuttin’ throats,” Fraker said, remembering what had happened to that whore.
Macauley said, “You’d be taking a big chance, Jake. Slipping out of town without anybody seeing you wouldn’t be easy.”
“No, but think how worked up people will get if I can pull it off. This town’s already a powder keg…” Fraker grinned. “And that would burn a few more inches off the fuse.”
“Why you, Bill?” Eden asked. “Isn’t there anybody else?”
“Now, honey, I can’t very well ask somebody else to do a job I won’t do. Anyway, accordin’ to Josiah everybody except Aaron Wetherby is too spooked tonight to go back out there. So I don’t have much choice. One of the buffalo hunters, a man called Costigan, volunteered, too, so that’ll be three of us.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
“You’d better be,” she said, trying to sound stern. Bill heard the faint tremble that fear put in her voice, though.
“You and your pa go on back to the house. I’ll see you later.”
He kissed her forehead and left her standing there in the mercantile’s doorway. That had gone better than he expected it would.
He hadn’t been looking forward to arguing with a woman who had a Winchester in her hands.
When he reached the stable, Hartnett had his horse saddled and ready. Costigan had switched horses, moving his saddle to a leggy chestnut gelding that was the liveryman’s personal mount.
“Take care of this big fella,” Hartnett told Costigan as he patted the horse’s shoulder. “He’s the steadiest animal I’ve got, and probably the fastest, too.”
Costigan nodded. “I’ll do my best to bring him back safe, Mr. Hartnett.”
Aaron Wetherby rode up to the front of the barn. His fair hair shone in the lantern light.
“Are you gents ready to go?” he asked. Bill heard the eagerness in Aaron’s voice and asked himself if he had ever been that young. He supposed he had, but it was getting harder all the time to remember those days.
Bill and Costigan swung up into their saddles and joined Aaron. Side by side, the three of them rode toward the western end of town. Once they got there, they would split up and go their separate ways to start their patrols.
“Remember, if you see anything that looks like trouble, don’t try to handle it by yourself,” Bill told the other two. “Just light a shuck for town as fast as you can. When you get close enough, start hollering so the guards on the roofs will know it’s you comin’ in. Otherwise they might start shootin’.”
“How far out are we going?” Costigan asked.
“Half a mile, maybe a little more. Whatever you feel comfortable with. But if those Pawnee show up, the more warning the town has, the better.”
Costigan nodded. “I understand.”
Still eager, Aaron asked, “Have you ever fought Injuns before, Mr. Costigan?”
“No,” Costigan said. He was silent for a couple of seconds, then said, “But I’ve seen my share of combat.”
“You were in the war?” Bill said.
“That’s right.” Costigan glanced over at him. “Is that a Texas drawl I hear, Marshal?”
“Yeah, but if you’re worried because you were on the other side, don’t be. I was too young to enlist.”
“So was I,” Aaron said, sounding disappointed.
“Count yourselves lucky, both of you.” Costigan’s voice was hard and flat. “I saw too many boys like the two of you—”
He stopped short and didn’t say anything else. Bill didn’t figure it would be a good idea to press him on it. Anyway, they had left the settlement behind and were riding across open prairie now. It was time for them to split up.
He sent Costigan north and Aaron south. “I’ll ride out a little farther and then start circling. You don’t have to ride any particular route, just keep movin’ and keep your eyes open.”
Costigan lifted a hand in farewell and turned his horse. Aaron said, “See you later, Marshal,” and urged his mount into a trot that carried him away into the night. Costigan, moving slower, faded from sight in the other direction a few moments later.
Bill was left alone on the prairie.
Costigan was a little surprised Dave McGinty hadn’t volunteered to ride patrol around the town, too.
McGinty had been avoiding him more and more over the past few days, though, so Costigan supposed that was the reason. McGinty was ashamed of the part he had played in the massacre, and the journey to Redemption had given him plenty of time to brood about what had happened.
Colonel Bledsoe wasn’t ashamed, that was for sure. Bledsoe had stepped in to prevent Costigan from telling Marshal Harvey about the killings because he didn’t want any blame from them coming back on him. By now Bledsoe would have talked himself into believing that none of it was his fault, that he and the other men hadn’t had any choice but to shoot those Indian boys.
If that was the way Bledsoe wanted to think, then so be it. Costigan didn’t care anymore. When this was over—assuming that he came through it alive—Costigan intended to ride away and give up buffalo hunting. Bledsoe owed him wages and a share in the profits, but he didn’t really care about those, either.
> He wasn’t sure what he would do, but as long as it didn’t involve killing, it would be fine. He’d had enough of spilling blood, whether human or buffalo. Maybe if he gave it up, he could start sleeping better again.
Of course, in the meantime he might be forced to kill some more. If the Pawnee followed them to Redemption, Costigan knew he wouldn’t be able to stand aside and do nothing. He would do his best to help fight off any raid.
He didn’t know much about the citizens of the town, but that young marshal seemed like a good man—
Costigan reined in abruptly as movement caught his eye. He sat up straighter in the saddle and narrowed his gaze. His hands tightened on the Henry.
Then he grunted and relaxed as the prairie dog he had seen ducked back down into its hole. Nothing to worry about there.
Unless something had spooked the prairie dog by skulking around. Or someone…
Costigan kept Josiah Hartnett’s horse motionless as he slowly turned his head and scanned the landscape around him. A quarter moon hung in the sky, along with millions of stars, and the silvery light from them was enough for Costigan to make out his surroundings.
Nothing was moving. After a few moments, Costigan lifted the reins and nudged the horse into motion again.
If he was seeing things that weren’t there, he supposed he was lucky that at least he hadn’t imagined seeing that old colonel and those boys marching across the plains tonight. He didn’t need to relive that. Not tonight. He had found out later that they were from a military academy. By that time in the war, the Confederacy was down to using “troops” like that in a futile effort to slow the advance of the Union army.
They had known what they were getting into. Costigan had told himself that a thousand times, and he was convinced that he was right.
But that didn’t make the memories any easier to bear.
He shoved those memories away. If he didn’t concentrate on the real reason he was out here, he might wind up with a Pawnee arrow sticking all the way through him.
Haunted he might be, but he wasn’t ready to die just yet. As he rode through the night, he moved his fingers a little on the smooth wooden stock of the Henry rifle.
Getting out of town was easier than Fraker thought it would be. He told Macauley and Kipp that he was going to take a leak, just in case anybody was listening, and headed for the alley beside the saloon after pushing through the batwings.
Once he was in the shadows, he stayed there, working his way along the alleys and lanes until he reached the edge of the settlement. His clothes were dark and helped him blend in, and he kept his head down so the brim of his hat shielded his face.
As Fraker slipped through the darkness, he kept waiting for a yell of alarm from one of the rooftop guards, but obviously none of them spotted him. When he reached the north edge of town, he took a deep breath and dashed across the twenty yards or so of open ground between him and the little cottonwood-lined creek that meandered along that side of the settlement.
He didn’t breathe again until he was in the shadows of those cottonwoods. Sticking to them, he followed the stream as it curved to the northwest. The banks were shallow, only a few feet, but between them and the trees, nobody could see him. Not easily, anyway.
Fraker had heard how the outriders were making circuits all the way around the town. When he was about half a mile away from the settlement, he stopped.
He didn’t have to find one of the outriders. If he waited here, sooner or later one of the men would come to him.
That would be their bad luck.
Fraker hunkered on his heels under the trees. He reached into his pocket and slid out the straight razor he always carried. It was honed to a keen edge, but he had never used it to kill anyone before, only to shave.
The best tools served more than one function, though, he thought with a grim smile.
Life as an outlaw and killer had taught Jake Fraker how to wait patiently for what he wanted. Time passed, but he wasn’t really aware of it. All his attention was focused on the sounds of the night around him.
That was why he didn’t know how long he had been waiting when he heard the steady hoofbeats of a horse.
Fraker tilted his head and listened. The rider was off to his north, coming toward him from the east. He came up out of his crouch and ran noiselessly along the creek.
If the rider crossed the stream and continued on his way before Fraker could get there to intercept him, it wouldn’t be a total loss. At least Fraker would know where to wait for the man to come around again.
But if he could reach the right spot in time, he could carry out his mission now and be done with it. For that reason, Fraker hurried.
He paused to listen again. The hoofbeats were closer, and now they sounded like they were right across the creek. Fraker pressed his back against the trunk of a cottonwood and opened the razor.
The rider, a looming figure on horseback, came out of the darkness and splashed across the creek only a few yards from the tree where Fraker waited, holding his breath.
As soon as the man was past, Fraker made his move. Still moving as quietly as he could, he dashed out of his cover and lunged at the outrider from behind. The man’s horse must have sensed him, because the animal suddenly spooked and danced skittishly to the side.
That bit of bad luck made Fraker’s first leap miss. The rider twisted in the saddle and said, “Hey! What the hell—”
Then fortune turned in Fraker’s favor. The horse reared up. Taken by surprise, the rider yelled and grabbed for the saddle horn, but his fingers slipped off of it and he toppled out of the saddle.
Fraker was on him in a flash, driving his knee into the man’s back and pinning him to the ground. His left arm went around the man’s neck and jerked his head back, pulling his throat taut.
Easy as pie. Even though Fraker had never killed anyone like this, he swept the razor across the man’s throat like he had done it a hundred times before, feeling the blade slice deep through flesh. Blood spurted hotly across the back of Fraker’s hand. The dying man spasmed underneath him but couldn’t shake him off.
It didn’t matter. The son of a bitch was dead already, even though he was still moving.
Fraker held the man until he stopped twitching. He let go, pushed himself to his feet, and stepped back. Even in the starlight, he could see the black pool around the head of the sprawled figure.
Fraker leaned over and wiped the razor on the back of the dead man’s shirt. He wiped his hand as well, and after he had put the razor away, he scooped up water and sand from the stream bed and scrubbed the back of his hand to remove any lingering traces of blood.
Not that it was likely anybody would suspect him, he thought. As soon as the body was found, everybody in the settlement would jump to the conclusion that the Indians were responsible for the killing. That would make them even more likely to panic when the Pawnee showed up for real.
Satisfied with his night’s efforts, Fraker turned and started back toward Redemption.
Chapter 20
Bill had gotten a little sleep earlier that night, before Josiah Hartnett’s pounding on his door woke him, but even so it didn’t take long for weariness to catch up to him as he began riding circuits around the settlement.
Like most cowboys, he had perfected the art of sleeping in the saddle. Head drooping, eyes closed, he could doze off and let the horse do all the work.
Not tonight, though. Tonight he had to remain alert.
In order to do that, he thought about Eden. That was sort of a mistake, because those musings quickly turned into a distraction.
Shaking his head in an attempt to banish the tempting images that came to mind, he approached the little creek that wandered down from the northwest, skirted the settlement, and then turned south. If the stream had a name, Bill had never heard it in the time he’d been in Redemption. Folks just called it the creek.
He had just forded the shallow stream when he heard a horse nicker somewhere nearby.
Bill reined in and lifted the Winchester. His finger curled around the trigger as he wondered if that had been an Indian pony he’d just heard. His muscles tensed in anticipation of an arrow whistling out of the night and striking him.
Nothing happened except the strange horse nickered again.
Bill relaxed slightly. If that had been an Indian pony, surely its Pawnee master would have clamped his hand over the animal’s nose to keep it quiet.
Unless the Pawnee was trying to trick him. That thought made Bill stiffen again in alarm.
He knew he should turn his mount and gallop as hard as he could for town right now, and he would have done that except just then he spotted the horse walking slowly along the creek bank toward him.
No one was on the horse’s back, but as it came closer, Bill was able to make out the empty saddle cinched onto it. That was no Indian pony.
But his heart suddenly slugged hard anyway as he realized what that empty saddle could mean.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thought. Maybe something had spooked the horse and caused it to buck off its rider. Bill knew he had to try to find out.
He rode closer. The horse came to meet him, obviously eager for the guiding hand of another human. Bill recognized the animal now.
It was the horse Aaron Wetherby had been riding.
Bill let out a quiet, dismayed, “Oh, hell,” as he reached over to take hold of the dangling reins.
“Where’d you come from, horse? Where’s Aaron?”
The horse couldn’t answer him, of course. But Bill knew the circle he had been making around Redemption was larger than the course Aaron had been riding. And the loose horse was between him and town.
Which meant that Aaron ought to be between him and town, too.
Leading the riderless mount, Bill urged his horse along the creek. His eyes never stopped moving, and he held the rifle where he could bring it into action instantly if he needed to.
He had ridden maybe five hundred yards when he spotted something lying motionless on the ground up ahead. He breathed another curse as he saw moonlight and starlight shining on fair hair.
Hunters Page 14
