Ride the Savage Land

by William W. Johnstone

  “No, you couldn’t,” Ace said. “We’re not looking for trouble, Mr. Fairweather, but we don’t want anything to do with you and your boys.”

  “There was no need for that ruckus back in Weatherford. If you two hadn’t horned in—”

  “Your sons were molesting these ladies, and it’s our job to look out for them,” Chance said. “Anyway, we’re not in the habit of standing by and doing nothing while a bunch of unwashed mountaineers paw respectable women.”

  “Respectable women don’t go traipsin’ across Texas with two fellers who ain’t related to ’em,” Fairweather barked back.

  Lorena stood up and looked past Ace and Chance. “We’re all engaged to be married, you evil-minded old coot.”

  Blanchard came up behind Fairweather. “Say, now, if there’s gonna be any trouble, I sure wish you fellas would take it outside—”

  “No trouble,” Fairweather said. “I just saw these folks and wanted to say howdy to ’em. And let ’em know I’ll be seein’ ’em again, once my boys get here. I’m ridin’ scout ahead of the rest, you see.”

  “Two of your sons have wives and children with them, don’t they?” Ace said.

  Fairweather looked surprised by the question and frowned. “What if they do?”

  “For the sake of those families, you shouldn’t be looking for trouble. Just move on wherever it is you’re going and leave us alone. Everybody go their separate ways.”

  Fairweather’s deep-set eyes narrowed. “Five of my boys don’t have wives, and they’s five unmarried women right here.”

  “You practically accused us of being whores.” Lorena flung the words angrily at him.

  Isabel added. “You came right out and called us by that name back in Weatherford. And yet now you say you want us to marry your sons?”

  “A man needs a wife,” Fairweather said. “God gave Eve to Adam, back there in them Bible days, and that’s the way it’s been ever since. We’re goin’ west to prove up on some land and start farms. There’ll be plenty of hard work from before dawn to after dark. You won’t have time for your whorish ways.”

  “In other words, you don’t need wives for your sons so much as you need farm hands,” Lorena said. “I’m starting to understand now.”

  “You don’t understand nothin’, woman,” Fairweather said. “You best keep a respectful tongue in your mouth, or I’ll—”

  “You won’t do a damned thing,” Chance interrupted him. “Go on and get out of here.”

  The whole trading post was quiet and tense as everyone watched the confrontation.

  Blanchard broke that hush by saying, “Hold on, hold on. Sonny, you ain’t got the right to chase away my customers. Ever’body is welcome at this here tradin’ post—Injuns, black folks, Messicans . . . Hell, I wouldn’t even turn away a Chinaman, even though I don’t reckon I’ve ever seen one come in here.”

  “Stay out of this, Mr. Blanchard,” Ace said quietly. “This is between us and Mr. Fairweather.”

  “I seem to be outnumbered. And outgunned.” Fairweather reached up with his left hand to stroke the long white beard. “Reckon that won’t always be the case. I’ll see you boys when it ain’t.” He turned and walked out of the trading post without looking back.

  A few seconds of silence lingered after Fairweather was gone, then a low hubbub of conversation began as the other people in the building began talking about what had just happened. Ace and Chance turned back to the table.

  Lorena sat down and sighed. “I thought for a moment there that he was going to start shooting.”

  Chance shook his head. “No, that sort likes to have all the odds on his side. If he’d had his sons backing his play . . .” His voice trailed off as he shrugged.

  “There’s no telling what might have happened,” Ace concluded. “I sure wish there was some way to get across that river.”

  Agnes spoke up. “I’m willing to risk it. The wagon will float, and if the horses are strong enough swimmers, I believe we could make it.”

  “The river’s too high and the current is too fast,” Ace said with a note of finality in his voice. “And we don’t know how the team would handle it. We can’t risk it.”

  “Then we’ll stay here and be sitting ducks,” Isabel said. “You heard the old man. He was scouting ahead of the others. But they’re probably not very far behind him.”

  “They won’t try anything too bad,” Ace said, “not with so many witnesses here.” He nodded toward the other people crowded into the trading post.

  “I’d say that depends on just how loco that bunch really is,” Chance countered. “They might decide to wipe out everybody here and burn the place to the ground.”

  Ace couldn’t argue with his brother about that. It was impossible to predict just how far a madman would go to get what he wanted.

  * * *

  “This is the place?” Ripley Kirkwood stood in front of a house in Fort Worth.

  Leon nodded. “According to the man at the livery stable, this is where we’ll find Cyrus Keegan.”

  “Perhaps he’ll cooperate with us. I’ll handle the conversation starting out. Then, if Keegan proves reluctant to tell us what we need to know, we can employ your special skills, Leon.”

  The big man didn’t say anything and was as impassive as ever.

  Wearing a cream-colored suit and a planter’s hat, Kirkwood looked every bit the wealthy young man about town as he went to the porch of the small, neatly kept frame house and knocked on the door. A middle-aged black woman answered the summons, jerking the door open more abruptly than he expected.

  One of Kirkwood’s eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw that she clutched a heavy butcher knife in her right hand while she used her left to open the door. The look on her round face was none too friendly, either.

  “What you want?” she demanded in an equally hostile tone.

  Inside, Kirkwood bristled at being spoken to in that manner by a black servant. He was old enough to remember the war and even had a few memories from earlier than that, from his life as a small child. He had grown up listening to his father’s bitter comparisons of the way things had been to the way they were now.

  Kirkwood didn’t think of himself as being particularly prejudiced. He looked down on all servants, not just the black ones. A man couldn’t be more fair than that.

  He kept his emotions under tight control and put a smile on his face. He even took his hat off as a show of respect he didn’t feel. “Good morning. My friend and I are looking for Mr. Cyrus Keegan. We were told that he lives here.”

  His charm had little effect on the woman, but her scowl eased slightly. The glance she directed at Leon was still suspicious. Most people felt that way about him.

  She turned her attention back to Kirkwood. “This is Mr. Keegan’s house, all right, but he’s laid up right now. Ain’t doin’ no business.”

  “A broken leg, yes, so we were told,” Kirkwood said, nodding. “And I hate to bother him, but it really is imperative that I speak with him. It concerns . . . a matter of the heart.”

  The woman grunted in surprise. “You? You’re lookin’ for a mail-order bride? Handsome, well-to-do fella like yourself, you’d think the gals ’d be linin’ up for a chance to get hitched to you.”

  A friendly laugh came from Kirkwood. “Not everything is always as it appears to be, madam. I assure you, it’s vital that I speak with Mr. Keegan.”

  “Well . . . come on in. I reckon your . . . friend . . . can wait in the parlor. I’ll take you back to see Mr. Keegan.” She stepped back to let Kirkwood and Leon in. She had lowered the butcher knife to her side, but she still gripped the wooden handle tightly.

  “Do you always answer the door prepared for trouble?” Kirkwood asked as he stepped inside.

  “Since yesterday I do.”

  That set off an alarm bell in Kirkwood’s mind. “What happened yesterday?”

  The woman hesitated, obviously trying to decide whether she wanted to answer the question. Finally
she said, “Some other fellas showed up outta the blue wantin’ to talk to Mr. Keegan, sort of like you just done. They got rough with the both of us. Tied me up and stuck a gag in my mouth! That was bad enough, but they hurt Mr. Keegan. One o’ them varmints walloped him with a gun . . . right on his busted leg.”

  “Good Lord,” Kirkwood said. The surprised exclamation wasn’t feigned. “Why in the world would they do such a thing? Were they thieves?”

  “No, they didn’t steal nothin’. They just wanted Mr. Keegan to tell ’em where some o’ them mail-order brides o’ his went.”

  Kirkwood stiffened. It had been enough of a surprise when he and Leon had found out from the liveryman that Isabel and four other women had left Fort Worth in a wagon belonging to a man who ran a matrimonial agency. When he had stopped to think about it, though, the idea made a certain amount of sense. Isabel had fled from New Orleans and evidently wanted to get as far away from him as she could. She wasn’t rich and had few relatives who could help her. The money she had taken had gotten her to Fort Worth, but she would have needed help in continuing her flight.

  He didn’t believe for a second that she really intended to marry whatever unfortunate fellow had paid for her journey farther west. She would betray him, break his heart just as she had with her fiancée in New Orleans. Isabel’s hurtful ways had to be stopped, whatever it took.

  According to what the black woman had just said, it appeared that someone else was on the trail of the women who had left Fort Worth. Kirkwood had no idea who they might have been, but from the sound of the woman’s story, they weren’t to be trifled with.

  “How many of these men were there?” he asked.

  “Three. All of ’em mean and ugly. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they was outlaws.”

  That was worrisome. Kirkwood didn’t want anything to happen to Isabel before he caught up to her. Whatever befell after that would be on her own head, but he didn’t want to be cheated out of his satisfaction.

  “And they wanted to know about a group of mail-order brides? That’s what I need to ask Mr. Keegan about as well. Unless you happen to know where they went?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about the mister’s business. Lemme go see if he’s awake.” She went down a hall, knocked softly on a door, and then opened it. A bit of quiet conversation occurred and then the woman motioned for Kirkwood to come.

  Cyrus Keegan was propped up in bed, his splinted and bandaged broken leg in front of him. He held a pistol in his lap. “What do you want?” His tone didn’t hold an ounce of friendliness.

  Kirkwood smiled again. “You won’t need that gun, sir. My name is Ripley Kirkwood, of the New Orleans Kirkwoods. I’m here on a matter of business.” He knew instinctively how to deal with the pale, middle-aged fellow.

  “I run a matrimonial agency,” Keegan snapped. “You don’t strike me as the sort who would need to send away for a wife.”

  “I done told him the same thing,” the woman said.

  “I am looking for a woman,” Kirkwood admitted.

  “Not Molly Brock, I hope.”

  Kirkwood shook his head. “That name means absolutely nothing to me, sir. The lady I referred to is Miss Isabel Sheridan.” He could tell by the look in Keegan’s eyes that the name had struck a chord.

  Keegan said, “You’re not already married to her, are you?”

  “No . . . but I am betrothed to her. Isabel is to become my wife next month.”

  “Oh, hell.” Keegan sighed. “This has never happened to me before, and now twice in the same bunch!” He lifted the pistol. “I’m not going to tell you where they went. Those bastards may have beaten it out of me yesterday, but I won’t allow that to happen again.”

  Kirkwood saw that there was a little steel under Keegan’s meek-looking exterior. He made a placating gesture. “Please, sir, don’t even think that I would do such a thing. I would never resort to violence. I am, however, prepared to make it worth your while to cooperate . . .” His hand strayed toward the inside of his coat, making it clear that he was reaching for a wallet.

  “You can’t bribe me, either,” Keegan snapped. “I have a contract to uphold.”

  “But sir, I’ve told you that one of the ladies you made an arrangement with is already engaged to be married. To me.” Kirkwood cocked his head a little to the side. “I have no wish to involve the law in this matter, but I have a feeling the courts would not look kindly on anyone who assisted in the destruction of an impending marriage. There is such a legal concept as alienation of affection, after all.”

  “Are you saying you’d file a lawsuit against me?”

  Kirkwood had sensed that this man would fear something that might cost him money more than anything else. He smiled sadly and said, “Only if I were forced to such an extreme measure.”

  “Damn it. All right.” Keegan set the gun aside. “If Miss Sheridan is really your fiancée, I suppose you have a right to know. She left here with the others bound for San Angelo.”

  Kirkwood remembered something else. “And the men who accompanied the group?”

  “I don’t know. A couple young drifters, I believe. The marshal was here yesterday after those other men assaulted me and Lantana, and he said their name is Jensen. Brothers, I think. They were in some sort of trouble with the law a few days ago, before any of this other happened. I’m not happy about them going with the ladies, but like this”—he nodded toward his broken leg—“there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Of course not. It’s out of your hands now.”

  “Are you going after them?”

  “My honor—and my heart—demand it.”

  “Well then, watch out for those Jensen boys. They might be gunfighters or even outlaws, for all I know.”

  “I’ll take care, I assure you. I’m in your debt, Mr. Keegan.”

  The man shook his head. “Just go on before the next bunch comes along wanting to know where those ladies went. I swear, I’ve never had such popular clients before—and I hope I never do again!”

  * * *

  Outside the house, Kirkwood said to Leon, “Find out as much as you can about those two men who went with Isabel and the other women. Keegan said their name is Jensen. Evidently there was some sort of trouble involving them a few days ago, so you should be able to ask around and find someone to tell you.”

  “Why are you worried about that, sir?” It was highly unusual for Leon to question any of Kirkwood’s orders, but in this case likely his pride was hurt. “I can take care of any problems—”

  “I have the utmost confidence in you, Leon, you know that. But Keegan seemed to think that these Jensens might be gunfighters. It might be better if we recruited a few guns ourselves.”

  A low rumble came from Leon’s throat. He wouldn’t go against what Kirkwood told him to do, but he didn’t always have to like it.

  Kirkwood didn’t care whether Leon approved or not, as long as he carried out his orders. The only thing that mattered was finding Isabel and dealing with her.

  If that required hiring a few gunmen, then so be it. And if it required killing those two men named Jensen . . . well, that was just too bad for them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  At least the stew that Dingus Blanchard’s Indian wife prepared was very good. In fact, the meal was the high point of the afternoon as they sat with the ladies and waited for the river to go down.

  And waited, as well, for Linus Fairweather and his sons to show up and start another ruckus.

  The Fairweathers didn’t put in an appearance at the trading post, however, and gradually the ladies relaxed.

  Not so Ace and Chance, whose natural caution kept their gazes riveted to the door and the windows. If anybody tried to take potshots at them, they would be ready.

  Meanwhile, Ace listened with half an ear to the conversation going on at the table. The five women were more comfortable with each other than they had been starting out. Lorena and Isabel might not ever warm up to each other, but at least they
weren’t making thinly veiled hostile comments.

  Jamie talked about being raised in a family with numerous brothers and sisters back in St. Louis where her father had owned a successful furniture store. He’d been well-to-do without actually being rich. “I just had to get away from that crowd. There’s hardly ever a moment’s privacy in my family’s house—and it’s a big house!”

  “So you wound up stuck in a wagon with four other women,” Lorena said.

  “Yes, but that’s just temporary. My husband—I mean, my husband-to-be—has a ranch, according to the letter I received from him, so there should be lots and lots of wide open spaces. I’m looking forward to it, I really am.”

  Ace wasn’t sure, but he thought Jamie sounded a bit like she was trying to convince herself of that. It took a big leap of faith to set out across the country and marry a man she had never met and had barely even corresponded with. He wouldn’t blame her, or any of them, if they were having a few second thoughts about what they were doing.

  “How about you, Molly?” Isabel asked. “You haven’t said much about your family or where you’re from.”

  “Not that you have to,” Lorena said. “We won’t pry if you don’t want us to.”

  Molly smiled. “No, that’s all right. I know I’ve been a little standoffish. I’ve never really been that comfortable around people. It takes me a while to get to know folks. And really, there’s almost nothing to say about me. I have a sister and two brothers back in Missouri. My pa, he’s the local lawman. My ma passed away a few years ago.”

  “What made you decide to become a mail-order bride?” Ace asked.

  “Well, maybe it was because of my pa’s job, but it seemed like the only men I ever met around home were pretty sorry specimens. You know, criminals and the like. So I figured if I was ever going to find myself a decent man, it might be a good idea to get far away from there. Texas sounded like a good place to go.”

  Agnes said, “My pa thought I was crazy for coming to Texas. He’s seen too many drovers push too many herds across our farm and ruin our crops. He said if I ever brought a Texan husband back home with me, he’d pepper his britches with buckshot! I believe he might do it, too.” She laughed. “Of course, that just made me even more stubborn. I’ve never liked being told what to do—or not do.”