The Vigilance Man

by Fenton Sadler

  With Greenhaven being less than a hundred miles from the border, it might reasonably have been expected that the town would be used as a staging post for the activities of the white slavers, as indeed it had been before Mark Seaton set up his safety committee. Having such a fierce and righteous man heading the vigilance men there these days, meant that even visiting Greenhaven to stock up on food or to buy powder and liquor was apt to be a hazardous undertaking. The least suspicion that a man might even be consorting with those transporting women into Mexico could be enough to put his neck in jeopardy.

  All of which provided a lucrative business opportunity for Jack Carlton, who kept the general store in Greenhaven. The men who escorted the women south towards the border, comancheros in the main, were seldom welcomed in respectable towns. This was particularly so in Greenhaven, where anything which even hinted at criminality was frowned upon and vigorously discouraged in the most practical way possible. Carlton drove wagons of provisions out to the comancheros where they were camped out in the hills. The wagons were often loaded not only with food and liquor, but also firearms, powder and shot as required. This enabled Carlton to profit in two ways. Firstly, by the enormous mark-up he applied to any such goods taken to the slavers and secondly by taking a regular payment from the men in order to help them chart a course through the territory which would enable them to avoid trouble en route.

  Because the leader of the Greenhaven vigilance men was known to be such a sea-green incorruptible, towns for miles around shared information with him about any strange goings on in their own areas. He in turned confided in Jack Carlton and Ezra Stannard, which meant that those two men knew to the most exact measure which districts it might be wise for the comanchero bands and their wagon trains to steer clear of.

  Stannard, who had so recently departed this life, was as honest as the day is long, but Carlton was something else again. He was no fool and allowed himself no outward show of the wealth which he had been steadily accumulating since settling in Greenhaven five years earlier. To all appearances, he was no more than a moderately successful storekeeper who made a reasonable living at his trade and resided quietly in town, attending chapel and so on. It was his belief that in another year or two, he would have amassed enough to move away from Greenhaven and be able to live on the proceeds of his dealings with the slavers.

  Like Mark Seaton, although of course for very different reasons, Carlton was very anxious not to see a sheriff taking charge in the town. It would altogether queer his pitch. Before he had set off the previous night, Ezra Stannard, that simple and trusting soul, had shared with Carlton the motive for bushwhacking this Brent Cutler and turning him loose without his clothing. So it was that when Seaton came to him that morning with this cock and bull story about some confidence man who had, while Stannard and a few others had been in the process of scaring him off, killed two of them, Jack Carlton listened carefully and decided that there was no percentage in telling Seaton that his story was all a pail of hogwash. Instead, he asked, ‘You want that we should take this Cutler fellow and hang him for murder? That’s only just, after what he’s done.’

  ‘I knew you’d see it so,’ said Seaton, visibly relieved. ‘Only thing is, this man is like to spin a heap of foolish stories to save his neck.’

  ‘You don’t say so?’ replied Jack Carlton, in apparent surprise. ‘What sort of stories might he try and sell us?’

  CHAPTER 5

  When he woke the next morning, Cutler couldn’t for a moment recall where he might be. The events of the previous night were vague and distorted and for a short time, he wondered if he had perhaps dreamed some of what had happened. The fact that he found himself on waking in a gloomy cave with the only light streaming in through the open door of the shack built over the mouth of the cave served to reassure him, however. If he hadn’t dreamed about the old man living in a cave, then like as not the rest of what he thought had befallen him was also veridical.

  At first, the most vivid and alarming of his recollections was the fact that he had killed a man only a few hours since. Then he remembered what he had been told of the lawman being lynched at Grant’s Landing and he felt as though somebody had punched him in the belly. Although he’d been only a child at the time, hearing his father cry that he was a peace officer was as fresh in his memory as though it happened only that day.

  The death of his father had been a mystery for all his youth. His mother knew nothing about her husband’s affairs and neither did her parents. It seemed to be a toss-up as to whether folk believed that his pa had been a bandit or the victim of mistaken identification. He had never heard the serious proposition advanced that there was any more than that to be said. After all, he alone had heard that despairing shout: ‘I’m a peace officer!’

  The light from the doorway dimmed momentarily as it was blocked by somebody entering the cave. The man he knew as Archie said, ‘Ah, you’re back with us, are you? Thought you was going to slumber the whole day through.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘I ain’t got no pocket watch, nor clock neither. I’d say it’s about nine.’

  Cutler sat up and stretched. He said, ‘I’m much obliged to you for your offer of shelter last night. I’d best be off now. Thank you again.’

  ‘Well now, what’s your hurry, boy? There’s one or two things doing as you might wish to know of. You said last night that you’re some kind of law. That true?’

  ‘It’s true that I work for the District Attorney, yes. I don’t know that that makes me any sort of “law”, though. I’ve no powers of arrest or anything.’

  ‘That don’t signify. You got a gun, ain’t you?’

  ‘You must forgive me, Mr— Archie. I don’t know that I’m properly awake yet. Could you tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘Young people is soft today. Don’t rise till the day’s half done and even then they’re sleepy and stupid. I reckon you’ll need some vittles in you and mayhap a pot o’ coffee ’fore you’re able to function?’

  ‘A bite to eat and some coffee would be welcome enough, that’s true.’

  At about the same time that the young man from Pharaoh was breaking his fast up in the area between Fort James and Greenhaven, Jack Carlton was setting out with a buckboard loaded with a dozen rifles and a keg of powder. Another of his sidelines was buying outdated weapons dirt cheap and then selling them on to men who would in turn run them into the Indian Nations. There was enough money in this business for both Carlton and the men he traded with to make a decent profit out it. The rifles were former army stock; muzzle-loaders from the war. Antiquated as they were, the Indians were always in the market for firearms, which they could not legally acquire themselves. As he was already heading towards Fort James on this little piece of business, it would be convenient too to drop by and visit with a group of comancheros who were waiting for some women being escorted south.

  Before parting that morning, Mark Seaton had said, ‘This Cutler fellow might fetch up at any moment. We have to make sure that he doesn’t have a chance to start spreading his lies and confusing folk, you understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Sure,’ Carlton had said equably. ‘There might be those who’d give credence to what this trickster might be saying. That wouldn’t do.’

  Seaton had shot him a sharp, sidelong glance at that, almost as though he thought that the other man might be making game of him; as was indeed the case. To smooth things over, Carlton said, ‘I’ve got deliveries to make to one or two little places up towards Fort James. From what you say, this fellow might be heading this way from that direction. I’ll be sure to set watch for him.’

  ‘That’s the ticket. What time do you reckon to get back here?’

  ‘Oh, I should be back by mid-afternoon. Then we can take counsel with some of the others and carry out a search for this scamp.’

  So the two of them had parted amicably, with Seaton entertaining not the least suspicion of the man who he saw as a close and valued comr
ade. For his own part, Carlton was lost in admiration for the head of the safety committee. Seldom had he heard a man lie so fluently and with such confidence. It was a novel experience to learn that the starchy preacher was as capable as the next man of deceiving his neighbours.

  Disposing of the muskets took no time at all, as the price had been arranged beforehand, which meant there was no dickering. When the money and goods had changed hands, Carlton and the men who had come for the guns took time to light their pipes and shoot the breeze for a spell. Casually, Carlton said, ‘Hear anything of some plan to bring in sheriffs hereabouts?’

  Touching as it did upon their professional lives, this was a topic dear to the hearts of the gun-runners. One of them said, ‘You talkin’ o’ that bastard up in Pharaoh?’

  ‘The District Attorney? Yeah, maybe I am. Know anything about it?’

  One of the men spat in the dirt and said, ‘It’s that damned governor, him being so all-fired keen to join the Union. It’s him as is makin’ the running.’

  ‘Anything happening in that direction over at Fort James?’ asked Carlton.

  ‘That place?’ the man laughed. ‘’Nother year and it’ll be a ghost town there. No, I guess you’d have to look a bit closer to home. They say it’s towns above five hundred souls that they’re looking at just now.’

  The man’s companion, an unkempt and ill-favoured half-breed, said, ‘Same like I heard. How many people you got up at Greenhaven these days?’

  After they’d eaten, Archie said, ‘If you’re the law, then I guess you’ll be wantin’ to help me tonight. It bein’, as you might say, in the law enforcement field.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Brent Cutler curiously.

  ‘It’s like this, son,’ said the old man, ‘the citizens of Greenhaven are happy enough, long as their own town is clean and safe. Not that I blame ’em. Me, I like a drink, game of cards and suchlike. One thing I can’t abide, though, is men mistreating women.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Cutler, unsure where the conversation was tending.

  ‘Well, I said that there’s slavin’ goes on near here at odd times. Men bringing women who’ve been promised jobs, you follow me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Well, those as get this far ain’t gettin’ jobs in hurdygurdys. They’re bein’ taken into Mexico.’

  ‘It’s a filthy business.’

  ‘Thought you’d say so,’ said Archie. ‘Well, odd times, I taken it upon my own self to stop some o’ them boys in their tracks. Some I shoots; others I set their wagons and other gear afire. It all goes to putting a stop to those goings on. There’s a bunch o’ them vermin camped out, not three miles from here. Word is they’re waiting for a consignment of girls, then they’re a goin’ to make tracks for the Rio Grande.’

  ‘I work in an office. I don’t know that I could get mixed up in such a thing. It wouldn’t look good. Still and all, if nobody’s doing anything about it—’

  ‘You want in?’

  ‘Yes, you can count me in. There’s something of a problem come up with my regular work anyway. I need to think about it before I proceed further. But I tell you now, I haven’t had a heap of experience with weapons or anything. I might turn out to be more of a hindrance than a help to you.’

  ‘I should think there’s more to you than meets the eye, boy.’

  The plan, as the old man set it out, was that they should take some oil and do as much damage as they could to the wagons and other equipment where the comancheros were established. They seemingly went off for hours at a time, leaving their camp untended. If enough havoc could be wrought, then it was just possible that they would not be able to move the girls across the border.

  ‘How are they transporting these young women?’ asked Cutler. ‘They keep them hog-tied or what? Otherwise, why don’t they try and run for it?’

  ‘Poor fools don’t know what they’re heading for. They’ve had their heads stuffed with a lot of nonsense about acting and dancing. Think that they’ll be the admiration of some city in this country. They’re plumb ignorant, most of ’em. Come from as far away as Montana and Wyoming. Why, they don’t even know half the time that they’ve crossed into Mexico. I’ve heard some terrible stories about it. Some of them aren’t above fourteen, fifteen years of age.

  ‘I don’t know but what,’ said Cutler slowly, ‘that I haven’t a duty to tackle crimes such as that. I’ve been sent down here to help establish the rule of law and if that means anything, it must mean protecting the innocent. If I can be any use to you, then I’ll surely take a hand in it.’

  Jack Carlton very nearly didn’t make it to the comancheros’ base. After parting from the men to whom he’d sold the rifles, he set off into the hills at a leisurely trot. The buckboard was rattling along and he was in no particular hurry. When a bullet went droning past his head like an angry hornet, it gave him the shock of his life. He halted the wagon at once, looking round to see where the man who had shot at him might be concealed. He was tempted to reach out from the back of the buckboard his own rifle – the latest model Winchester. The only thing that stopped him doing so was the apprehension that it might cause the unseen gunman to take another shot at him. Instead, he sat patiently and waited to see what would happen next. At the forefront of his mind was the fear that the next development might be another bullet; one sent straight through his heart or head.

  As it was, a young man, who had seemingly been crouching in the shrubbery covering the approach to the hills, stood up; his rifle was still at his shoulder and pointing straight at Carlton. He was about fifty yards away.

  ‘What you want?’ called the youth, in a strong Spanish accent.

  ‘I’ve come to see them as is camped up in the little valley yonder,’ called back Jack Carlton. ‘They know me well enough. Ask a chap by the name of Alfred.’

  ‘You stay. Don’t move none!’ shouted back the boy. He approached cautiously, keeping his rifle trained on Carlton as he came on. This proceeding made Carlton exceedingly uncomfortable, it needing only for the boy to stub his toe and he might end up firing accidentally. When he was only six feet away from the buckboard, the young man halted and said, ‘I get up. Ride with you, make sure no lies.’

  ‘Sure,’ replied Carlton pleasantly, ‘up you get.’ He extended his hand, as though to help haul up the man. Instinctively, the Mexican stretched out his own hand, lowering his weapon as he did so. As soon as he had the youth’s hand in his, Carlton gripped it tight to stop him from withdrawing it. Then he twisted the fellow’s wrist sharply and launched himself off the buckboard, sending the two of them rolling in the dirt. The rifle went flying out of reach and the Mexican’s hand snaked down to the pistol at his hip. ‘Oh no you don’t, you son of a bitch!’ exclaimed Carlton, grabbing the pistol and flinging it out of reach. Then he gave the younger man a ferocious and methodical beating. By the time he was finished, his own knuckles were grazed and he was a little out of breath. The man who had accosted him, however, was lying on the grass helplessly, groaning in agony. There was blood all over his face from a hefty blow which Carlton had delivered to his nose.

  Carlton stood up and said quietly, ‘Next time you see me coming, don’t you fire at me. I won’t have it. And don’t go pointing guns at me, neither. Makes me nervous.’ Then he climbed back onto the buckboard, touched up the horse and continued his journey.

  Mark Seaton was feeling increasingly confident of his ability to get the genie back into the bottle. During the course of the day, he went by several businesses and alerted the owners to the fact that he wished to put together a posse to hunt down the ruthless killer who had done for Ezra Stannard and Tom Hanning. There was widespread anger about the murders and he hadn’t anticipated any problem about raising enough men for the task. With a little good fortune, the fellow from Pharaoh would start shooting when he found that he was about to be apprehended. All things considered, this would be the neatest solution by far. Seaton didn’t really think it likely that any of the men w
ould set a great store by the ramblings of a killer, but better by far that this Cutler wasn’t even given the chance to cause doubt and sow uncertainty in anybody’s mind.

  While he was making his rounds on this duty, Seaton dropped by the Lucky Man, with the aim of having a quiet word in the owner’s ear. One of the things that most exercised the mind of the self-appointed superintendent of the town’s morals was the question of hard liquor and the ill effects it brought about. Although he was a strict temperance man himself, Seaton had no objection to other, weaker souls enjoying a draught of porter or even a shot of whiskey from time to time. However, as long as he was in charge of the matter, he made sure that the saloons closed at a Godly hour and didn’t open at all on the Sabbath. This was irksome to the owners of Greenhaven’s two bars, because they knew very well that if they closed promptly at ten in the evening, as Seaton insisted, then their patrons would ride off to one of the drinking places which existed a mile or two from town. These were really no more than barns with a few benches, which served poteen, but it was money taken from the saloon owners’ pockets when they turned away customers like that and so they often tried to extend their opening hours a little.

  At about the same time that Jack Carlton was arriving at the camp of the comancheros and Mark Seaton was berating the barkeep at the Lucky Man for serving folk after hours, Cutler was helping the old man called Archie to rig up what was essentially a fire bomb.