by Jake Logan
“Marshal Vannover and I were on Major Magee’s trail,” he said, watching the reaction. If there had been any question who these two were, it disappeared completely.
“Clayton shot him up? The marshal?” Louisa looked more distraught now, while Sarah Beth composed herself. Slocum wondered if their level of anxiety was always the same, only shifting in intensity from one to the other.
“Can’t say it was the major who did it because it started with Vannover twisting his ankle. He got some sort of infection over in Cimarron Junction after the major struck that town.”
“Oh,” Louisa said in a tiny voice.
“How did you escape? Was . . . was Captain Langmuir there?”
He looked sharply at Sarah Beth.
“His soldiers saved the town from complete destruction. Truth is, though, your pa was the better soldier and managed to escape. The marshal and me, we saw the fight.”
“Was the captain hurt?”
“Nope.” Slocum watched relief flood over the young woman’s face. He had to ask. “How do you know the captain?”
“We tried to warn him of the danger Clayton posed,” Louisa said. “He wasn’t convinced. At least, I didn’t think so.”
Slocum realized they had no idea that it had been Catherine Duggan’s note that sent the captain and his troopers to Cimarron Junction. He started to tell the women about their friend when he was interrupted by Mrs. Post.
“Get yourselves on in here. Right now.”
Slocum followed the Magee women inside. Vannover’s eyes were open, but the fever made them bright and intense.
“I gotta get back to Charity, Slocum. Please. I’m dyin’. I know it. I want to die at home.”
“With your boots off?”
“Somethin’ like that. Please, Slocum. It means ever’thin’ to me.” The marshal’s words trailed off. He snapped back when a new compress was placed on his forehead. “I can make it. I promise not to die till we get back.”
“That’s not something you’d have a whole lot of control over, Les,” Slocum said.
The marshal looked at him without a hint of fever-induced madness.
“I know, but I can make it. Never broke a promise, ’less I had to or wanted to.” Vannover smiled weakly.
“Is there a wagon I can put him in? It’s only a day or two to Charity, isn’t it?”
“Traveling slow enough for him, it might be three or four days—unless you had someone along to care for him. Then you could make it in two.” Louisa looked at Slocum and her offer was obvious.
“You want to leave Foreman so soon?” he asked.
“Might be best if we keep moving,” Louisa said, looking to her daughter. Sarah Beth rubbed her hands nervously on her skirt, then nodded once.
“You two just got to town. You can’t up and leave this quick,” Mrs. Post said indignantly. Slocum saw that the old woman had found herself decent boarders and was not willing to let them go traipsing off.
“We might be back,” Sarah Beth said. “I’ve got so much cleaning to do. And dusting. I promised to do the dusting, and you have so many knickknacks, Mrs. Post.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” the older woman said. She looked fiercely at Marshal Vannover and shook her finger in his direction. “And I’m holding you to your promise not to die. You might get home and find you want to stick around awhile longer.”
“I’d like that,” the marshal said. This brief discussion had tired him out and he sank back, whiter than bleached muslin.
“Get what you need. Take it from my pantry,” Mrs. Post told Sarah Beth. “You can use the old wagon out back. I even got a horse to pull it, but you have to see that I get it back.”
Before Slocum could say a word, Louisa piped up. “I’ll get it back to you. You’ve been so kind to my daughter and me. And now a complete stranger.”
“He’s a lawman. His life’s hard enough without having to die on an old lady’s divan. Now git, you all git!”
Slocum went around back and found the tired draft horse and the wagon. As unwilling as the horse was, the wagon rolled easily on well-greased axles. One wheel wobbled a little, but it was nothing that would keep them from making good time to Charity. All Slocum needed was a direction to drive and he was all set.
It took the better part of an hour to load what supplies they had been given. Getting Lester Vannover into the wagon and stretched out on a couple of blankets took the longest. It was sometime in early afternoon when Slocum rolled away from Mrs. Post’s house, Sarah Beth beside him and Louisa in the back keeping wet compresses on the marshal’s face and wrists.
“You’re a prince among men, Mr. Slocum,” Sarah Beth said.
“Been called a lot of things but never that. Why do you say so?” He drove the wagon along the rough road, avoiding the worst of the rocks and potholes to give Vannover the smoothest ride possible. Even so, the wagon jolted along and hit enough rocks to jar Slocum’s teeth together. He didn’t want to think how such impacts affected Vannover.
“Why, look at how you have taken care of the marshal. And you only a deputy. You must be great friends.”
“Never met him before a week back,” Slocum said. “And I don’t cotton much to the notion of being a deputy either.” He looked at Sarah Beth. She sat primly, hands folded in her lap and looking straight ahead. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
Slocum felt her folding up like a flower at sundown. Whatever he might have learned about her pa was closed to him now. Still, he had to try to figure out what drove the man other than insane rage.
“Why’s he want you and your ma so bad?”
“He’s stark raving mad,” Sarah Beth said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“How about your friends?”
This got the woman to look at him curiously. She pushed a strand of blond hair back and fixed her bright eyes on him.
“What of my friends? I have very few since . . . because . . . due to the way he acted. Anyone coming over would be treated like the enemy. I had no real friends.”
“You’ve got one,” Slocum said.
Sarah Beth graced him with a smile and reached out, her fingers closing warmly on his arm.
“Why, thank you, John.”
“I didn’t mean—” Before he could mention Catherine Duggan, he heard a cry of pain from the wagon bed. He craned around and saw Louisa Magee trying to hold Vannover down. Louisa looked up imploringly at him.
“We’d better stop,” Slocum told Sarah Beth. “If we press on much longer, he’s not likely to make it.” Louder, Slocum called, “How’s his fever?”
“It broke, I think,” said Louisa. “He is a strong man, but the fever took a lot of the stuffings out of him. I’m not sure why he cried out like that.”
“Might be I jostled his ankle. The doc splinted up the leg, but it’s his ankle that’s hurt.” Slocum looked around and saw a grove of elm trees that looked mighty inviting. There was still an hour or more of light, but it was better to pitch camp now than risk Vannover’s life.
He pulled up in the shade of a tree with low limbs and jumped down. He started to help Sarah Beth down, but the woman had already dropped to the ground and was pacing about. She pointed to a spot away from the tree limbs.
“That’s a good place for a campfire. The sparks won’t set fire to the tree above.”
“Go fetch some water,” Slocum said. “Your ma and I’ll see to getting the marshal out of the wagon.”
Sarah Beth went off humming to herself, a bucket swinging in her grasp. When they had begun the trip, the bucket had been full, but the constant bouncing around had emptied it quickly, leaving only Slocum and Vannover’s canteens. Somehow in the confusion, Slocum had forgotten to fill those. It had gotten mighty thirsty during the day because he had not wanted to stop to search for water.
He heard the gurgling of a stream not too far off.
“Grab him around the waist,” Louisa said, sliding Vannover al
ong on the blanket until Slocum could get a grip on him. “His leg should not be allowed to flop about.”
“Climb down and take care of that,” Slocum said, struggling with the marshal’s deadweight. If it had not been for his ragged breathing, he might be dead already. When Louisa got into position, Slocum slid the man the rest of the way out of the wagon.
As he swung about, he hesitated.
“What is it?” Louisa asked. She cradled the marshal’s injured ankle and guided it around.
“Saw a glint of sunlight off something shiny.”
“It’s probably just Sarah Beth. She’s like a crow, always picking up shiny things and working them into her hair. I can’t imagine why she started doing that. Her pa always discouraged such frivolity.”
“Might be she saw a friend doing it.”
“She doesn’t have any friends. Her pa chased them all off.” Louisa sighed. “When she got of an age that boys were important to her, her pa almost horsewhipped a boy to death for just speaking to her. Nobody would come around after that, much less speak to her.”
“Might be she had a friend her pa didn’t know about.”
“That would be the only way,” Louisa said. Slocum saw tears welling in the corners of the woman’s eyes. He was poking and prodding at memories with scabs on them.
Slocum got Vannover safely to the ground, blankets once more under him to form a rude mattress. He backed away as Louisa tried to make Vannover more comfortable, and looked toward where he had seen the sudden flash. From behind him he heard Sarah Beth singing a hymn. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her coming, bucket swinging at her side and water sloshing out.
“I’ve got plenty. We can fill your canteens next,” Sarah Beth said.
“That’s a good idea,” Slocum said. He looked away from her to the wooded area where he had seen the flash. He set off in the direction Sarah Beth had come from.
“Wait, John,” the young woman called. “Here. I’ll show you where the stream is.” She held both canteens. He had forgotten them.
“Thanks,” he said. To Louisa, he called, “You be all right with the marshal?”
“He’s resting more easily now that he’s out of the wagon. It’s as close to a natural sleep as he’s likely to get, this side of a real mattress.”
Slocum and Sarah Beth slipped through the woods, the sound of the stream louder with every footstep.
“Isn’t this about the nicest place you can imagine?” Sarah Beth asked. She turned and put her hands flat on his chest and looked up into his green eyes. She licked her lips and suddenly appeared shy.
“Fill the canteens,” Slocum said.
“Mama couldn’t hear anything going on here, nothing at all. And she’s busy with the marshal. It’d be a while before she thought on it.”
Slocum knew what she was saying and what she was willing to do. If the situation had been the least bit different, he would have bent over and kissed her to see if she really meant what she was dancing around saying. That simple flash of light had changed everything, though.
“You are about the most beautiful girl I ever laid eyes on,” Slocum said.
Sarah Beth looked up at him with shock on her face.
“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Sarah Beth said. “I didn’t mean that we—you—oh!” She stamped her foot. “I want to talk to you without Mama overhearing.”
“We’re not alone.” He turned slightly to get a better view out across the meadow where he had seen the metallic glint.
“Mama!”
“Not here. When we pulled up, I saw somebody about a quarter mile off. It might be nothing, but with your pa roaming the countryside shooting up entire towns, we can’t take a chance.”
“It might be the captain. Captain Langmuir,” she said. A dreamy look came to her eyes. Slocum knew then what the young woman had wanted to ask him about. He had seen the captain more recently than she had and must have details to pass along. Slocum was not prone to gossip, especially with lovelorn girls.
“If it were any of the captain’s men out on patrol, they wouldn’t have hidden,” Slocum told her. “I don’t want to scare you. Whoever I saw might just be passing through and afraid of dealing with strangers.”
“Strangers,” she said weakly.
“It might be a scout your pa has sent out, too. I need to find out. It’s probably nothing more than a cowboy on his way down south.” Even as Slocum said the words, he wanted to ride in that direction and get away from Major Magee and his depredations, but he couldn’t. He had responsibilities—and had made a promise to a dying man.
Slocum rocked back on his heels when he realized he had made the same mistake with Vannover that he had with Nickson. He had promised a dying man he would accede to their wishes. Finding whoever had stolen Nickson’s ring might be impossible, but he had to try. Getting Les Vannover back to his home was a sight easier to do.
But not if one of Magee’s men spotted them and reported back to the major.
“What are we going to do, John? I have to tell Mama!”
Slocum grabbed Sarah Beth’s arm and stopped her.
“I can circle and get a better look at him. Don’t warn him by doing anything out of the ordinary.”
“But he’ll tell Papa and—”
“All the more reason not to let him know we’re on to him,” Slocum said. “Fill up the canteens. Take your time doing it. Then go back and tell your ma what’s going on. Don’t even look in that direction. Start a fire right where you said. That’s a fine place. Cook some food. Tend to the marshal.”
“And you’ll kill that man out there? The one scouting for Papa?”
“I’ll take care of him, but you can’t give me away. It means all our lives.”
Sarah Beth got a grip on her emotions when he said that. He wondered how long she had been hiding things from her father—and probably her mother. However long, she had undoubtedly gotten good at it. If the penalty was having a friend horsewhipped, Sarah Beth had had reason to get very good.
“Will it take you more than a few minutes?”
“As long as it takes.” Slocum slid the leather thong off the hammer of his six-shooter, started away, then turned back to her.
“What is it, John?”
“Captain Langmuir looked to be in fine shape last I saw him.”
Only then did he make his way through the forest like a ghost. The look on her face at his words gave him added incentive to stop anyone spying for Magee. More than one happy future depended on it.
15
“It’ll be good getting back to the post,” Captain Langmuir said. Sergeant Benedict only nodded as he rode alongside his commander. “My ass is stiff and sore from living in the saddle.”
“Been a while since feet touched ground, sir,” the sergeant agreed. “The men and horses aren’t gonna be worth much for a day or two. What do you make it we’ve ridden? Forty miles?”
“Something like that. A good unit can travel fifty miles a day. This is a damned good unit.”
“What’s left of it,” muttered Benedict. He got a sharp look from his commanding officer. “Sorry, sir, didn’t mean nuthin’ by that. It’s just that . . .”
“As you were, Sergeant,” Langmuir said. He did not want to hear about their losses fighting Clayton Magee. He had thought he could tangle with a ragtag bunch of outlaws and emerge victorious with little loss. Magee’s tactical skill and the way his men obeyed like they were a well-disciplined army had taken Langmuir by surprise. He could well imagine Magee had been a major in some army or another. It left a bitter taste on his tongue thinking it was the Union army. To have fought alongside a man with such field experience would have been worthwhile.
To fight against someone now so depraved who had once fought for a noble cause made Langmuir sick at heart.
“Sir, take a deep whiff.”
“What is it? My nose is stuffed up.” Langmuir tried to take a breath, but the trail dust and all the weeds growing alongside the road back to
Fort Supply worked to rob him of one of his senses.
“Smells like gunpowder, sir.”
“There might have been a parade. Cannons fired. That sort of thing,” Langmuir said, dismissing his sergeant’s obvious worry. The fort was a place of refuge and training.
The thin curl of smoke coming from the distance across the prairie in the direction of Fort Supply caused a cold knot to grow in his belly. Sergeant Benedict might not be wrong at all.
“Send out scouts. Three of them. Have them approach the fort from different directions.”
“Sir, we ain’t got three men capable of much more than sittin’ astride their saddles, not after this forced ride from Cimarron Junction. Men and horses are purty near dead.”
“Column, halt!” Captain Langmuir held up his hand and brought his patrol to a halt. He looked back at the survivors. They had left the most seriously wounded in the care of the Cimarron Junction doctor. Although young, the man had impressed Langmuir with his no-nonsense approach and ability to do field surgery that had saved more than one soldier’s life.
“What do you reckon’s goin’ on, Captain?” Sergeant Benedict fingered the pistol slung on his right hip.
“Are the men up to a fight?”
“Sir, they was born ready. We’re mighty low on ammunition, though. And if we have to do more than stagger along, the horses will die under us. Might be one or two of the men who’d perish, too, from exertion. But there’s not a man among ’em whose spirit’s not willin’ and whose courage won’t carry ’im forward at your command.”
“It is not my intention to lead a suicide mission. See that the men are ready for a fight.” Captain Langmuir took a deep breath. “It might be the fight of their lives.”
“Seems like that’s bein’ said a whole lot lately,” Benedict said. He added “sir” as an afterthought before trotting down the column, seeing that the men shared what ammunition they had left so every soldier carried at least a few rounds.
Langmuir watched the smoke rise into the distant sky where it quickly blew away in a brisk north wind. There wouldn’t be rain with a northerly wind. All the real storms built down south and raged northward at this time of year, but that didn’t mean he and his men wouldn’t fight the weather as well as the enemy.
