by Sam Clancy
‘And don’t think about tryin’ to run off. I’d shoot you before you got five steps.’
Gibson hobbled the horses then stood and watched as she went about her work as ordered.
Allison looked around and caught him in an obvious leer and she stood up. ‘When are we going to arrive at a town?’
Gibson snorted. ‘We ain’t goin’ to no town. Just ’cause I got you away from them Indians don’t mean I’m goin’ to let you go. I ain’t stupid, you know. Besides, I got plans for you.’
Her blood ran cold at the lustful look he gave her and she shivered at the thought of what this evil man dressed in putrid buckskins might do to her.
Allison went back to her firewood collection and before long, brought a small pile to the circle of rocks Gibson had set up.
She eyed him cautiously as he lit the fire, and simultaneously assessed her chances of escape into the surrounding forest. They were slim at best as he was too vigilant and never took his eyes from her for more than a few seconds.
As Allison looked around, the cold realization of how alone and defenceless she was struck her like a physical blow and she gasped. Her father was gone and there was no one to rescue her. Way out here, nobody would hear her screams.
Ford could see the orange glow of a campfire in the distance. The night was cool and dark and the flickering light stood out like a beacon as he approached. He guessed that it had to be his quarry.
The blue roan had been pressed hard throughout the day without let up; the thought of what Gibson might do to the girl had spurred Ford on. The horse had endured the long ride well and reminded him why, despite all of its ornery behaviours, he would never willingly part with the animal. ‘Looks like we found ’em, boy,’ Ford said softly. He slowed the horse to a walk. When he judged them to be close enough, he eased the animal off the trail and into the trees. He brought the horse to a stop when he figured they were a safe distance away. He dismounted and looped the reins over the saddle horn. The roan would stay put, but in case the horse had to take flight suddenly, it could be dangerous to have them dangling, which increased the risk of snag and injury. ‘I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.’ Ford drew his Peacemaker and started forward. He headed for the glow that was visible in the distance, which guided him through the trees towards the camp. As he got closer, he could hear two voices, one male, and the other female. There was movement beyond the flickering firelight, then a woman’s scream pierced the night.
Gibson came at her in a rush. Allison circled the fire in a vain attempt to evade his advances. He’d made his intentions clear to her in the preceding few moments and had chosen this instant to act on them. She cried streams of tears in fear as she considered running out into the dark night.
Without warning, Gibson leapt across the flames and grabbed her in a bear hug before she could escape. He forced his face close to hers and she screamed just before his lips crushed hers in a brutal kiss. Allison gagged with disgust as his body odour and foul breath assailed her nostrils. She clawed at his face and her nails opened up furrows in his left cheek, in addition to the scabbed over ones he already sported. He laughed loudly, a maniacal sound that sent shivers down her spine. Gibson shoved Allison roughly to the ground and stood over her.
‘Hold it, Gibson.’ Ford’s voice cracked like a whip from beyond the firelight. The outlaw dropped his hand to his gun and whirled about in time to see Ford emerge from the darkness, a cocked six-gun in his fist. ‘Pull it and I’ll kill you,’ Ford warned him.
‘What the hell are you still doin’ alive?’ Gibson asked, shocked. ‘I was sure them Indians had done for you.’
‘Not hardly,’ Ford answered and then dropped his eyes to Allison. ‘Get up, ma’am, and move away from him.’
Stunned by the sudden appearance of the familiar face, Allison scrambled to her feet and backed away from the imminent confrontation. She sniffed and wiped her tears as she went. Ford’s gaze went back to Gibson. ‘I see you left a body on your back trail. Death seems to follow you around, don’t it?’
‘So what now?’ enquired Gibson. ‘Are you goin’ to slap some irons on me and take me in?’
Ford slipped his Peacemaker back into its holster, his grim smile visible in the orange glow. ‘Nope.’
Gibson returned Ford’s smile with a cold one of his own. ‘I been itchin’ to do this for a good while now.’
‘Then have at it.’
Gibson’s shoulder dipped and his hand locked onto the walnut grips of his Colt. He began to draw the gun from its holster then froze as he stared down the barrel of Ford’s Peacemaker. Gibson grimaced at the realization that he was about to die. He had been outclassed and could do nothing to stop it. He let out a snarl and continued to pull his weapon. It had just cleared leather when Ford’s Colt roared. The .45 calibre slug punched into Gibson’s chest and he staggered with the impact. Reflexively, he squeezed the trigger but the slug ploughed harmlessly into the earth. In a desperate effort, the outlaw tried to raise his six-gun higher and bring it into line. The weight of the gun was immense as his strength quickly ebbed out of him and he fell face forward to the ground. As the echoes of the shots died away, Ford remained poised for action if Gibson moved. When he didn’t, Ford stepped closer to the dead man and nudged him with the toe of his boot. ‘Is . . . is he dead?’ Allison asked.
‘As dead as he’s ever goin’ to be,’ Ford confirmed.
‘Oh thank God,’ said Allison, relief evident in her voice. ‘I thought he was going to . . . was going . . . was. . . .’
She couldn’t formulate the words and clapped her hands to her face in an effort to block out the image of what had almost been. Ford watched her shoulders begin to tremble uncontrollably as the relief at her narrow escape hit her. He walked over to her and asked, ‘Are you OK , ma’am?’Allison looked at him through tear filled eyes then burst into loud sobs as she fell into his arms.
On their return to the valley late the following day, they found most of the Nez Perce warriors had gone. A small handful remained behind, Yellow Bull included.
Finn came up to Ford and said, ‘I see you got the girl back.’
‘Yeah,’ Ford said as he watched as she was led away.
‘What about Gibson?’ Finn asked.
‘He won’t be botherin’ anyone no more,’ Ford explained. ‘How are they all holdin’ up?’
‘They’re all mighty eager to be shuck of this place,’ Finn told him.
Ford nodded. ‘Yeah. Can’t blame ’em for that. They’ll just have to wait a little longer.’
‘But why?’ the old timer said, confused.
‘I’m goin’ to head out to Fort Williamson after my horse has rested up overnight,’ Ford informed him. ‘I’ll get ’em to send out a detail with a doctor and such to check everybody over.’ He cast a glance at Yellow Bull. ‘Is that OK with you?’
The big Nez Perce chief nodded. ‘It is fine.’
‘So you’ll be comin’ back with ’em, right?’ Finn said.
Ford shook his head. ‘No, I’m goin’ after Hayes and Ferguson.’
‘But they’ll be miles away by now,’ Finn protested.
‘I have a feelin’ about where they’re headin’,’ Ford said.
‘Seattle?’
‘That’s where I’m headed,’ he confirmed.
’Good luck with that then,’ Finn said sceptically.
As the early sunlight left fingers of a red-orange hue across the valley the next day, Ford rode out of the valley through the tree-choked pass. Beside him rode Yellow Bull and his few remaining warriors.
When they reached the main trail, Ford turned his roan to face the Nez Perce chief. ‘Thank you for all of your help, Chuslum Moxmox,’ he said, using the chief’s Nez Perce name out of respect. Yellow Bull smiled. It was the first time that Ford could remember him doing so.
‘I hope you count Nez Perce as friend, Josh Ford, because we count you as one,’ he said as he moved his own mount forward and extended his hand. Ford took it and returned the s
mile. ‘I am honoured to count the Nez Perce, my friend.’
‘That is good.’
‘Could you do somethin’ else for me?’ Ford asked hesitantly.
‘Ask and will see.’
‘The man that was left behind, Brady, could you. . . ?’
‘He was friend?’ Yellow Bull said.
‘Yes.’
‘I take care of it myself,’ Yellow Bull confirmed.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Ford said.
‘Here, may need this,’ the Nez Perce chief said and held out the knife that he’d originally given Ford.
Ford took it and nodded.
‘Be careful, Josh Ford,’ Yellow Bull warned. ‘A snake in grass is not easily seen.’
Chapter 18
Fort Williamson was situated at the junction of two clear-water streams in the Elk Horn valley. It was surrounded by high tree-lined hills and beyond them were high, craggy peaks.
The fort was not fortified by stockade walls as many were. Instead, it was merely a handful of scattered buildings around a central parade ground.
Ford sat on a hard wooden chair in the commander’s office and had just finishing relating his story to the man.
‘That sure is some story, Marshal Ford,’ Colonel Brad Weston said to Ford.
‘They’re goin’ to need your help, Colonel,’ Ford urged. ‘They’ve all been in a bad way for a long time.’
Yes, quite,’ Weston agreed on reflection. ‘I’ll dispatch a troop and the post surgeon as soon as possible.’
‘You won’t have trouble with the Nez Perce,’ Ford said. ‘If it hadn’t been for them, none of this would have been possible.’
Weston stood up from his chair and walked across to a dust-streaked window and looked out at the activity on the parade ground, hands behind his back.
‘It makes me wonder, Ford, how things like this can happen,’ Weston said, still trying to get his head around it. ‘And this man is an English Lord, you say?’
‘He’s no more a Lord than I am,’ snorted Ford derisively. ‘He’s English, sure, but from what I can figure, he’s a sailor. My guess is he’s a navy man who deserted his ship when it hit port up in Canada and never looked back. As for the part about bringing the dog with him, well, he could have picked it up as a pup from anywhere. Maybe even some immigrants.’
‘But how do you know he’s from a ship?’ Weston asked.
‘He called the whip he was usin’ the Captain’s Daughter,’ Ford explained. ‘Only a sailor would use that term.’
‘So what will you do now?’ Weston enquired. ‘Where do you begin to search for them?’
‘He was shippin’ his ore by mule to Seattle,’ Ford answered. ‘I’m thinkin’ he’ll head there. Try and get himself and the gold on a ship. Apparently there is someone else workin’ that end.’
‘It would have to be somebody he trusts a lot,’ Weston pointed out.
‘I guess I’ll find out when I get there. Providin’ that’s where they are.’
Weston nodded. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘Where’s the nearest telegraph hereabouts?’
‘A little town about forty miles north of here called Parkin,’ Weston informed him.
‘No good, it’s in the wrong direction.’
‘How about you write down what you want to say and I’ll send a rider there and he’ll send it for you?’ Weston suggested. ‘If that will help you any?’
Ford thought about the offer. It would save him time.
‘OK.’
‘I’ll just get you a pencil and paper,’ Weston told him. ‘If I send the rider now, he should arrive there some time tonight.’
‘Thanks, Colonel, I sure appreciate it.’
Bass Reeves tried to concentrate on his work but no word from or about Josh was starting to play on his mind. So much so that he contemplated the addition of five of his best men to the case. He could send them into the Bitterroots to find out what had happened.
Bismarck began to stir soon after dawn broke and its residents went about their business along the streets. The noise level rose gradually as the morning progressed.
The city, originally called Edwinton, was founded when the Northern Pacific Railroad reached the banks of the Missouri in 1872. A year later, the name was changed to Bismarck and the city became the county seat for Burleigh County. Bismarck was growing steadily. Its population of permanent residents had just hit 1,700 citizens, not including drifters and outlaws. One of those citizens walked through the door to the marshal’s office and interrupted Reeves’ non-productive start to the morning. Reeves looked up from behind his dark timber desk. ‘What can I do for you at this time of the mornin’, Bart?’
Bart, the local telegraphist, was a thinly built man who wore glasses and a perpetual frown upon his face. He waved a piece of paper in the air and said, ‘This came in last night. It’s for you. It came from Parkin, Montana.’
It was Reeves’s turn to frown and he held out his hand to take the paper. Bart passed it over and as he turned to leave, Reeves’ voice stopped him.
‘Just hold up a minute in case I need to reply.’
Bart shrugged and walked over to a wooden chair in the corner and sat down.
Reeves finished the message, frowned and read it again.
He looked up at Bart. ‘I’ll write you two messages and I want them sent as soon as possible. One is for the Governor of Montana and the other is for Deputy United States Marshal Archie Wyatt in Seattle.’
Ford stopped the roan on a rise and looked out across the city of Seattle to the harbour.
Seattle was a burgeoning town; its population had grown from a mere 188 people in 1860 to a point now where it was home to just over 3,500. It was a town on the rise. Somewhere down there were the men he sought, he was certain of it. He hoped that the deputy marshal based in Seattle had been successful in his search for something that might help lead him to the men. He kneed the roan forward. ‘Come on, horse, let’s go and find out what he knows.’
Ford took in his surroundings as he rode along Front Street. The dirt street sloped away from him and on his right was a hardware store. To his left, a shop sign advertised boots and shoes and further on, another had a sign for a beer hall.
He continued on until he found the marshal’s office. Ford tethered the roan outside then climbed up onto the uneven boardwalk. Two men dressed impeccably in black frock coats and top hats watched him closely as he did so.
Ford realized that he must look a sight. He was dirty and unshaven but he couldn’t have cared less. He had one reason only for this visit: to arrest Hayes and Ferguson. If they were indeed in Seattle. Hinges squeaked their protest as he pushed the door open and entered the spartan office. A man seated behind a heavily marked desk looked up to see who it was.
Ford closed the door behind him and crossed the short distance to where the man was seated.
‘I’m Josh Ford,’ Ford announced. ‘I believe you are expectin’ me?’
The look of recognition on the man’s face suggested that he was. The man stood up and thrust out a calloused hand. ‘Yes. I’m Archie Wyatt. Bass sent word you were comin’ and asked that I help you in any way I can. Welcome to Seattle.’
United States Deputy Marshal Archie Wyatt was a thinly built man who Ford guessed to be early to mid-forties from the amount of grey in his black hair. ‘What else did Bass say?’ Ford asked sceptically.
‘Just to help you in any way possible and he told me who you were chasin’,’ Wyatt explained. ‘I had me a look around Seattle to see what I could come up with for you.’
‘And?’
‘Not one to delay, are you?’ Wyatt observed.
‘Don’t have time,’ Ford said abruptly.
Wyatt sat back down in his chair and pointed at another at the edge of his desk. ‘Take a seat.’
‘I’ll stand,’ Ford said. ‘Tell me what you found.’
‘Not what. Who.’
Ford frowned. ‘You’ve
found them?’
‘Not exactly,’ Wyatt said. ‘I asked around about the obvious because I thought an Englishman would stand out. What I found out was that a few years back, a lumber man who had an operation in the hills outside of Seattle, rented a large shed to an Englishman.’
‘Had?’
‘Yeah, he died not long after and his operation shut down.’
‘I see.’
‘But it don’t end there,’ Wyatt assured him. ‘That buildin’ is still there and it is still bein’ used by the same person.’
‘At least that’s somethin’,’ Ford said. ‘Do you think it could be Ferguson?’
‘If it is, that ain’t the name he’s usin’,’ Wyatt told him. ‘And therein lies the problem.’
Ford frowned. ‘What problem?’
‘The gent you claim might be this Ferguson feller is actually Emerson Peacock. He’s the richest businessman in Seattle.’
‘So?’
‘If you want my advice you’ll leave this one alone, Ford,’ Wyatt warned. ‘He knows more senators and governors than any man I know of. Hell, he’s even got judges in his pocket. He spends a lot of his time back east. And. . . .’
‘And I bet he’s just come from back east on some trip, hasn’t he?’
‘So the story goes,’ Wyatt confirmed.
‘Did he come here with his fortune or was it acquired after his arrival?’ Ford snapped. ‘I’ll tell you, he got rich on the blood of others.’
Wyatt shrugged. ‘Does it matter? The point is, you can’t do anythin’ about this feller, Ford. Just go back to where you came from and forget it. Tell head office that they escaped.’
Ford shook his head as he thought about the suffering caused by the man and his cohorts. ‘Nope. Can’t do it. Let’s go check out this buildin’ you were tellin’ me about. If he’s keepin’ his ore somewhere, then that’ll be it.’
‘OK. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you,’ Wyatt said resignedly.
Chapter 19
The mill sat a mile outside Seattle in a patch of densely forested hills. Large cedars reached up into the sky, their tops disappeared into a low sea mist which had blown in.
