by Rusty Davis
“When the lamps were extinguished, I gave up,” he said. “He has rooms upstairs, and he usually stays there after the place closes. Sorry, it is that I am, Friend Badge.”
“Last thing I expected. Somebody always seems a step ahead. At least we know whatever he was, he wasn’t their boss.” Kane did not share the fact that, with Noonan gone, he now had no idea who the Riders’ contact was. “Gone a day. Then Rachel’s. Likely back here after. You get wind of something, meet me there.”
“Where is it you plan to go, Friend Badge, with no badge?”
“Fort Laramie,” he said. “Want the army to know I’m leaving.”
That was not the full story, but Kane was concerned about saying too much to anyone.
“What does it matter now, Friend Badge? They fired you. The Wilkins lady is a rare prize, and I can see you make her daughter smile. Take what life gives you, Friend Badge, or you will lose everything.”
“No woman wants a quitter, Halloran. Army might want to know what I think, too. Won’t hurt to talk,” he said, thinking that he might try to see if Sherman could be of any use—a question he had been debating with himself, coming to no conclusion.
“You should let all of it go, Friend Badge,” said Halloran. “Take what you can get, go find a better life, and do not grab for what you cannot.”
Kane merely smiled. After he left, he thought over and over about Halloran’s comment. Was the man helping Kane or himself? Kane knew he was probably seeing ghosts, but he was convinced that one of the people whom he spoke to regularly was relaying information to the Riders or whoever controlled them. Halloran was an unlikely spy, but, then again, so was he. He thought of Libby. She and Rachel liked Halloran, so he should as well. He did not want to think that the gang controlling Rakeheart had somehow or other gotten to Halloran, but very little of what he wanted had happened since the day he set foot in Wyoming, and there was not much chance of it happening now.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lt. August Greene had been frowning and making dubious faces throughout the tale.
“Keep hearing how all these towns keep toughs that need to be held in check by the Riders. Army’s good at ignoring problems it can’t solve, when it wants to, but the army also knows how to hear things it doesn’t know about. About these towns fighting with Rakeheart. Everybody tells me about it, and I guess there were men riding through shooting out windows before I got here, but I ain’t seen any evidence of that, and I want the low-down,” Kane said.
Greene shook his head emphatically. “Someone making something very strong to drink down Rakeheart way,” he said. “Seems a lot of folks are drinking it.”
“This don’t happen?”
“Kid stuff,” Greene said, waving his hands in a deprecating manner. “Somebody sent a wagon to take people getting off the train at Rakeheart down to their town. Drunks shoot out windows now and then in every town I’ve ever known. Ranchers would claim they had ranches out by one town and go into all the saloons and talk about the water bein’ awful so folks would move to another one. For a while they were knocking down the signs they had at the edge of town. This is a whole different kind of violence that you are talking about. No, no. If Rakeheart wanted to out-tough every town along the railroad it would need about five hard men. Maybe six. That’s all it would take.”
“But you knew about the Company Riders!”
“Of course. Men up to no good. Men who know guns. You know ranchers, Kane. Can’t hit the sky if they aim all day. They hire men to do rough work. What’s the word? Mercenaries. That’s them. A few toughs. Not some private army.”
“You sure? I got some evidence they’re a bit more than that. Maybe thirty men. Organized.”
“Not sayin’ they don’t exist, Kane. Way you look is proof they do. They don’t have running fights with other towns like some kind of range war. That is not so. Can’t say I’d mind if three or four of those towns dried up and blew away. Make the world quieter, because they all want the army to protect them from something that usually doesn’t exist, mostly Indians. Except for Rakeheart. The only one that never asked. They want the army to let them alone. Arrogant; told you that once. Think they got the answers.”
And that, Kane wondered, might be the key to unlocking the mystery of Rakeheart.
It was not home, but the Wilkins ranch triggered a smile on his face as soon as it came into view. He could smell dinner while he was a long ways off. Rachel would have food. Better yet, she would also have answers. Best yet, she would simply be there, and he could let go the breath he always kept in when he was out there alone.
Dinner had been the best moment Kane could recall in days. He didn’t feel that he hurt. Much.
But now the food was gone, and he and Rachel had to talk about how two people could face up to everything the town and the Riders could throw against them.
Libby had been asked to leave the table but issued a one-word response that was also good enough for Jeremiah. Kane was uncertain about talking about real life in front of children. No one needed to know how ugly adults could really be until they had to be one. Rachel told him that the children would either sit and listen or listen in hiding.
He asked her about the extent she had seen damage to Rakeheart from other towns’ gangs of toughs.
“Never.”
“You sure?”
“I did not go often, but everything I ever heard that the other towns did came second-hand. I think it was an article of faith to Jared and the others. Why?”
“I’m starting to think it was all a fraud, Rachel. A game. A swindle, I guess, but I can’t figure out the why of it.”
He related what Greene told him.
“No real rivalry, no need for a private army, means they are up to something—the lot of them—that they need a private army for. Bet they go off and vandalize from time to time if they need to intimidate someone, but the rest of the time it is all for some other reason.”
“What reason?”
“I wish I knew. Conroy admitted to me that they used to smuggle things—stuff stolen from the army; things stolen that were supposed to go to the Indians, smuggled into the reservations—but that hardly seems enough to need the Riders.”
“Stop.”
He did.
“You can close your mouth, Kane. If I wish you to catch flies, I shall tell you.”
Libby giggled.
He obeyed. Her fingers danced as she molded the words she needed.
“Plain works fine, Rachel. Figger this: I suspected you of killing your husband; let you go; you stuck me back together after that and fed me still, in spite of myself. Don’t know that all that polite manners stuff matters no more, if it ever did. None of us here are much good at it except Jeremiah, and he’s turning out like his sister.”
Rachel looked at him for a moment as though there was not a thing wrong in the world, as though sitting in her house talking about armed gangs and dead people was what life was all about. For them, it was.
“They have fooled you, Kane. They told you a story. They made you believe it. Forget everything they said. They fooled everyone. I never really listened, because whatever they did in their world was not important to me. If you take away what they told you, maybe you can figure out what is really happening. Think about what you know, and only what you know. Not how they explained things away, only what you are sure has actually happened. Let me ask you this: they say gangs rode into the town. Who can prove these were not the Riders who did the damage to make the town think the Riders needed to be hired? Most of the people who live there, or come to town, are more interested in their lives than anything else. If Brewer and the rest say so, it is good enough for them. Forget them and their lies. What do you know?”
“The Riders do something that requires guns. It makes the leading citizens of Rakeheart rich, because there has to be a connection, and people only make connections like that when there is money to be had. It can’t be legal, or they would not hide so much of what
they do and make up stories to scare little children.”
“And Texans.”
He let that go.
“That story about Tompkins had truth in it. The best lies all do.”
“How do you mean that, Kane?”
“Conroy talked about smuggling Indians liquor or stolen army property. Didn’t think when he said it. Reservations are too far for your ranch to be the shortest route, or to be the first place the army would come looking. Nobody ever said the army kills itself out here, so they probably look in a few places and give up quick. If you steal from the fort, coming this way makes no sense. It’s too far, unless this is a route they’ve been using for years to transport things around Laramie without anyone being the wiser. And you told me about that level spot on your land. Travel over your land might save a lot of time through a lot of hill country.”
“So what are they doing, Kane?”
“I don’t know. It pays good. Too good, I think. Town has a lot of stores, men seem to have a lot of money for a place this small. Rakeheart is big as Wyoming towns go, but not that many people ride in. Wondered a time or two when I was sheriff what they were worried about when they talked about fights.”
“They were worried about the Riders.”
“About that. That’s what they said. They ever really act worried? Jared ever hint they were not partners? Town and Riders are partners. Forget this ‘other towns’ pack of nonsense. They had a falling out. Riders and the town council. Over what? Why do thieves usually fall out? Somebody wants more; the other somebody doesn’t want to give it. They were partners a while. Maybe they started small, and then something big came their way. That’s usually why thieves have a falling out. Town sends a message to the Riders—me—and the Riders send one back. They get rid of me. Could mean they resolved whatever it was. They got rid of Noonan. Somebody did. Does that play in? This Kruger. Pinkerton, sure. Hunting a baby? Not likely. Out here, everybody is so busy surviving nobody’s gonna look years later for . . . what he was looking for.”
Jeremiah did not seem to notice, but Kane was still glad he heeded the warning in Rachel’s eyes.
“And, if they do, no one is gonna find him. He might have seen the family, heard about it, decided that was a way to get what he wanted without coming out in the open. Everybody’s always glad to talk about someone else.”
“You mean we acted guilty because we were?”
“Somethin’ like that. Probably an open secret in the town.” He paused. Neither child asked anything. He wondered if that was good or bad, then kept talking.
“What is there in Wyoming worth stealing? Folks rustle stock; they push each other to seize prime land; they rob each other. That’s too small for something that seems this organized,” he said. “There ain’t no gold to dig here in Hall County!”
It was quiet.
“Paha Sapa,” she breathed, a look of wonder falling over her face. For a second, he wondered what had happened. The look on her face was one he had never seen, as though she was given a revelation that came from somewhere outside the room.
“Jeremiah, cut me a good stick,” she said. He darted outside. Libby followed.
Kane missed his reply, which was followed by an interjection from Libby.
“No, Jeremiah, it is not for your sister!” Rachel said, laughter filling her usually serious tones.
She was smiling; Kane could tell she had arrived at a conclusion he had been blindly stumbling for, and now he must wait until she was ready. Smirking should be outlawed, he thought.
When Jeremiah brought the stick, they went outside, Rachel leading Kane by the hand.
Stick in hand, she set out north and the other directions in the dirt, then drew a small circle for Rakeheart and a tiny X for her ranch. She drew a square for Fort Laramie and a line for the railroad, narrating this all to Kane as though he were a small child.
She then drew a large irregular circle to the right of the fort and above it.
“There! Clear now?”
It was not.
“You don’t know the land, Kane. This”—she pointed to the irregular circle she had drawn—“is the Black Hills. The Sioux call it ‘Paha Sapa.’ It is very sacred ground to all Sioux. For the Minnesota Sioux, there was a pilgrimage to see them that many went on. It is also where gold was found.”
“And it is in Dakota. I know the Black Hills are in Dakota, Rachel. You can’t move them.”
“The gold is in western Dakota, Kane, not far away. I had to learn the territory boundaries, and I know Jared told me, years ago when it would not have made a difference, that the Black Hills spilled outside of Dakota. Now do you understand?”
He did not.
“Jared told me more than once about the thefts that took place as gold was moved from those mining towns to be shipped east. One of the main routes out of the mines runs from the Black Hills past the fort and down to Cheyenne, which is in Wyoming and is somewhere down here.” She made a mark.
Something came back to him. When he had met with him prior to coming to Wyoming, Sherman had been raving about gold and robberies and the army never doing anything. Kane had not paid the conversation much notice, because Sherman raved zestfully about anything that drew his attention.
“What if some of that gold is stolen? No. We know gold gets stolen. Risky to take it past the fort. I see that. That’s here. Everyone in Dakota and along the Wyoming border is looking for it. Out in the middle of Wyoming? No one cares,” he said.
“You have ridden to the fort,” she interrupted. “As you ride, the land to the north and east is flat, more broken to the south. If you were driving a wagon, it would be easier to manage if you went from the Black Hills west, keeping well away from the fort, and then turned back south around my east pasture, or maybe east of there, and then went to the railroad at Rakeheart. All you need is no one to ever look, because you have men patrolling the roads. If you think about it, this is the shortest easy path around the fort, and the closest that connects to the railroad, while being far enough away that no one would look for robbers.”
She paused to draw breath and add one last conclusion.
“That’s how they can be rich in a small town when no one should be making any money.”
Kane knew nothing of the Black Hills gold rush other than everyone said there was a lot of it. Rachel’s theory explained everything they knew except who was doing some of the shooting. There was one other problem. The biggest one.
“We do not have any proof to show this is really what is going on,” he said. “I can’t take this to the army and tell them to wait until spring when the gold will start moving again, now that it is August and there might not be more shipments.”
“I think we might,” she said. “Since last fall, I entered some numbers for Jared that made no sense on the back pages of the ledger. He would never tell me what it was for. I think he kept track of what was passing through Rakeheart. The only thing he ever said was that it would guarantee he got his share. I thought it was something with the town, but that was before I got suspicious.”
She brought the ledger. Dates and numbers. Could be anything. Anyhow, this was Wyoming. Not Texas, where there were juries and judges. Here, a man was judge and jury—and executioner. Unless that man could find a way to equalize things.
“Saturday night now. One more day and that banker shows up on Monday?”
“That’s right.”
“Barely time.” He roughly grabbed Rachel by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth as she protested in wide-eyed surprise, kissing him back before he released her. Both children were squealing.
“Had to be done, Rachel. Never know. He shows up before me, stall him. If we can get him alone, we might have a chance.”
“I must commend you, Mrs. Wilkins,” Brewer said. “You have kept this place operating wonderfully well.”
She wanted to tell him she had been working her hardest to drive it into the ground, but Kane had not yet returned. She needed to be polit
e. She hoped Kane knew what he was doing. The ride to the fort and back should not have taken this long. Something had happened. Or he had left. She thought of his leaving. No, Kane would not leave her. This was his fight as much as hers. More. She would play her part, hoping to stall Brewer as long as possible.
They went inside, where Brewer gushed insincerely but loudly over Jeremiah’s carving and Libby’s sewing. Libby played the longest song she knew. Twice, winking at her mother the second time around, in case Rachel didn’t get it. Rachel enjoyed seeing Libby this way. The girl and Kane were cut from the same cloth.
Then came the business part. Brewer threw what seemed to be ever-changing numbers and phrases at Rachel until she was thoroughly confused about exactly what numbers meant what. The longer he talked, becoming more complicated when she asked him to make things simple, the more he convinced her that this was not a kind man sharing information, but a wily man trying to bury her under pointless talk so he could get what he wanted.
By the third time she asked him to repeat his spiel, she was certain he was getting suspicious. For her part, she had come to the decision that she needed to tell him her mind was so full of so many numbers that she needed a day to think it over.
Hoofbeats. At last. She turned hopefully to the door and saw a nightmare.
“Wood?” said Brewer.
The lead Company Rider, holding a gun pointed at her, stepped into the Wilkins home. Rachel saw his eyes stray to the spot where Ferguson’s body had lain. They lingered there a telltale moment before turning back to her.
“The Devil is loose, Brewer.”
“Fool! We are not supposed to be seen.”
“You’re the fool, Brewer. Slick man got fooled by a dumb Texas cowboy and an Indian squaw. Time to get rid of ’em.”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard from our friend at the fort. Kane knows. He sent word that Kane got there late yesterday and was asking about the gold thefts. Kane has the dates. Wilkins must have kept track. Something was sent to the army. Kane’s been working for the army the whole time, Brewer.”
