by Jake Logan
Slocum caught her excitement again and saw how it affected the townspeople gathering around to see what luxuries Abigail might have brought from North Platte.
“Victor Petrosian is the undertaker,” she said to Slocum, as if she needed to talk it out. “I’m so sorry about your friend. When the terminal is built, perhaps we can put a brass plaque up honoring him.”
“I reckon it’d have to be put under yours,” Slocum said, looking around No Consequence. Whoever had named the town wasn’t being funny as much as truthful.
“You’re so kind, John. Under that rough exterior, you have a heart of gold.”
“Don’t tell anyone. With so many road agents out here, they might decide to cut it out.”
Abigail started to say something, then bit back the words. She nodded once, as if she had come to a conclusion, then hurried off to speak with a small knot of men, all decked out in Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes.
Slocum supervised the unloading and saw that a good portion of the shipment was fancy cloth for women’s clothing and several men’s suits. Along with paint, nails and building supplies, they helped Slocum imagine what had been running through Abigail’s mind as she had ordered this freight.
She wanted every woman to be gorgeously dressed, every man in a suit, and all the buildings repaired and painted to greet the railroad company directors as they came to town to make their decision.
“That’s the lot,” the lead teamster said, dusting off his hands. He looked expectantly at Slocum. When Slocum didn’t reply, the man cleared his throat. “We need to get paid. I want to hie on back to North Platte for another job since there’s not likely any freight going back from here.”
“Nothing on the return,” mused Slocum. He considered sending Big Ben London back to be buried in North Platte, then figured the man didn’t much care what manner of sod dropped on him. Dead was dead. Big Ben had never mentioned family, so getting him put into the ground would end Slocum’s responsibility to him.
“Well?” demanded the freighter.
“You’ll have to see Miss Stanley. Or the town fathers,” Slocum said, looking at the three men who still spoke in guarded tones with her.
“Hate dealin’ with a woman, ‘specially her,” the freighter said. “It’s danged hard tellin’ ’em you’re gonna skin ’em alive if they don’t pay up.”
Slocum had to laugh. He found it hard to say no to Abigail, also, but for different reasons. Looking around No Consequence convinced him there wasn’t anything to keep him here. There were two saloons in the town but neither looked like a hotbed of gambling. Without that the Rockies drew him more powerfully.
He mopped at the sweat on his forehead and went to sit in the shade until Abigail finished her business. Then he could tell her goodbye and head out.
The freighter spoke to her immediately after she turned from the trio. They talked for a moment, then the man heaved a visible sigh of relief when Abigail took him to a gent inside the store, who might have been the town banker from the brief glimpse Slocum got of the man’s clothes. The two men vanished into the store, Slocum never getting a good look at the banker. Abigail came to sit beside Slocum in the shade cast by the wall of her store.
“Get the bill settled?” Slocum asked.
“Oh, that. Yes, Mr. Carleton is taking care of it.”
“He the town banker?”
“Not much gets by you, does it, John?” She smiled and looked at him. He knew by the woman’s expression something more was coming, something he might not find too palatable.
“I know you intend to ride on, but I need a favor. The railroad directors are coming to town in a few days, and there’s a small problem that needs to be resolved.”
“You need another carpenter or painter to gussy up the buildings?” Slocum had worked as a carpenter in his day, but the Nebraska heat and the likelihood his merely adequate handiwork wouldn’t sway any director to bring the railroad spur to town kept him from volunteering.
“I’m sure we could use one or two, but it’s more complicated than that. The road agents are likely gone by now. You put the fear into them,” she said.
“There’s something else?”
“It might not be anything. Then again, we have to be sure.”
“For the railroad directors’ sake,” Slocum said dryly.
“Yes, yes, exactly, John. I’m so glad you understand why we need to find out if it’s true that Sioux have been sighted outside town.”
“How many Sioux?”
“We have to find out. And we need to know if they are peaceable.” She laid her hand on his and moved a little closer so she could kiss him. “We need to know soon.”
Slocum cursed himself as a fool, but he agreed to scout the Indians’ camp and report back. So the railroad directors wouldn’t be spooked.
5
Slocum couldn’t remember when he had been given more supplies for what might be a day or two on the trail. Abigail insisted on outfitting him completely from her store. As he wandered around the large store looking at the goods displayed, he wondered how she intended to sell everything. She carried a huge inventory for a town the size of No Consequence, so much that she had filled a storage shed behind her store as well as stocking the shelves fully. The best Slocum could tell, the only reason No Consequence existed was farming. Wheat and corn fields stretched to the north and east of town. If the railroad came through from the east, a powerful lot of farmers would find themselves with tracks running through their cornfields.
To the south, in the direction of North Platte, Slocum knew there was less than nothing, but if the spur came up from the larger city, No Consequence still held the short straw. Only the crumbs from commerce would land on the plates of the citizens, the best of the money staying in North Platte.
“Anything else, John?” asked Abigail from behind the counter. She brushed a vagrant strand of blond hair from her eyes. Dust caked her forehead and made her look wild and free, in stark contrast with her usual focused expression. Slocum wasn’t sure which he preferred, since both were so enticing.
“Got what I need,” he said.
“Will that be enough ammunition? Two boxes for your rifle and plenty of powder, primers and slugs for your six-gun?”
“If I find more than one or two Sioux warriors, I’m not going to fight them,” he told her. “Count on me hightailing it back. Nobody tangles with the Sioux if they are on the warpath.”
“I suppose not. Caution certainly will gain us more information than shooting it out with the Indians.”
Slocum looked at her and wondered if he ought to ask for a bit more—of something not found on the store’s well-stocked shelves. Then he knew this wasn’t the time or place. Abigail’s nerves were frazzled, and he had to concentrate on not having his scalp lifted by the Sioux.
“I won’t be more than a few days,” he said.
Abigail opened her mouth, started to say something and then thought better of it.
“I’ll be waiting, John. With luck, the railroad directors will be here and you can report that there aren’t hordes of Indians ready to scalp any crew laying track across the prairie.”
Slocum nodded, hefted his saddlebags laden with food and ammo, and went out into the cool evening. He had considered waiting until the next morning to set out but had seen how anxious Abigail was to learn what threat the Sioux posed. The banker had fluttered about like a bird with a wounded wing but had never said anything, giving Slocum the feeling that others besides Abigail were concerned.
He slung his saddlebags over the roan’s rump, climbed into the saddle and headed west. As he rode, leaving No Consequence far behind, he considered how easy it would be to keep on riding. He had plenty of provisions, thanks to Abigail, with money riding in his pocket after selling the herd in North Platte.
But he owed Abigail the scouting report.
The Big Dipper spun on its handle as he rode, making him wonder how wise it was to blunder around on the prairie in the dark. Th
e sky was moonless, but the Milky Way shone brightly enough to keep his horse from stepping in a prairie dog hole. Slocum drifted as he rode, mulling over everything that had happened. Only when his roan shied did he snap back to alertness.
At first he didn’t see or hear anything that might have startled his horse. Then faint cracking sounds reached him. He sniffed deeply and caught the acrid scent of burning buffalo chips. Sound and smell let him find the campsite and the four Sioux sitting huddled around it, blankets pulled up around their shoulders.
Slocum dismounted and made a quick circuit of the Sioux camp, finding no one on guard duty. Four Sioux. From the look of their equipment, this wasn’t a war party but a hunting party. A rack of drying meat to one side of the camp completed the picture of peaceful Indians intent on nothing more than feeding their families.
A loud cry caused Slocum to swing around, hand going to the butt of his six-gun. One Sioux threw back his blanket and grabbed a lance.
“Whoa, wait,” Slocum cried, moving his hand away from his six-shooter and holding both hands in front of him. “I’m not here to steal your horses.”
“Why do you sneak around in our camp?”
By this time, the other three braves had grabbed rifles and knives. Slocum faced four half-asleep, frightened Sioux.
“I came across your camp and thought I saw a wolf sniffing around your game. I chased it off,” he said. A wolf howled in the distance, as if agreeing with Slocum’s lie. He saw that he could either fight them or soothe their ruffled feathers—and he had no right to be poking around like he was.
Lie, kill or die. There wasn’t much choice since Slocum didn’t want to shoot it out with men simply hunting.
The four huddled together. Slocum saw they were young, probably out on their first hunt without older braves.
“I’ll be going, if that suits you. I don’t want any trouble.” Slocum kept his hands in plain sight and didn’t make any move to leave. He wanted them to agree.
“You no steal?”
“No steal. I am a friend. Will you smoke a pipe?” Slocum reached into his pocket and pulled out a tobacco pouch and let it swing slowly, catching light from the guttering buffalo chip fire.
This settled the matter. Slocum stuffed his tobacco into the Indians’ pipe and let them avidly smoke most of it. Then he refilled the pipe, took a puff and passed it along. He guessed the Sioux had been without their ceremonial smoke for some time.
“Are you far from your main camp?” Slocum finally asked after a reasonable time.
“Hunting bad this year. Too dry,” one brave said, eagerly taking the pipe from Slocum. “We week’s ride from camp. Been gone long.”
“You are good hunters,” Slocum complimented, “to have so much meat.”
The four agreed and began talking of their families, how brave they were in combat—although Slocum doubted any of them had ridden into battle from the lack of scalps at their belts—and of their great hunting prowess. He agreed with them, nodded and finally decided it was time to get back to No Consequence.
“My gift,” he said, when he saw the braves eyeing what remained of the tobacco in his pouch. It was little enough to keep them happy and Abigail could replace the tobacco easily. He remembered the large tins on her store shelves.
The Sioux allowed him to leave without argument. Slocum got onto his tired roan and headed back in the direction of No Consequence, getting a half dozen miles before realizing he had reached the end of his rope and had to rest. He staked out his horse, spread his bedroll and lay down on his back, staring at the stars. Soon enough, his eyelids drooped and he went to sleep dreaming of Abigail and trains and Sioux warriors.
Slocum reined back at the end of No Consequence’s main street, feeling uneasy and not knowing why. The Sioux were no threat, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the road agents who had killed Big Ben London. They might have run off to lick their wounds, because they weren’t likely to bury their dead. The town looked more prosperous to Slocum because some of the paint and supplies Abigail had brought from North Platte had been used to beautify the drab brick buildings. Out here on the plains, wood was in short supply.
If he had had to describe the town as he rode down the street, the only word perfectly fitting No Consequence would have been “idyllic.” But something still didn’t feel right to him.
Slocum dismounted in front of Abigail’s store and went inside, expecting to find a clerk rather than the owner. He was pleasantly surprised to see the blonde busily working behind the counter.
“John! You’re back so soon. What did you find?”
He related his night of smoking a pipe with the Sioux and how they were young hunters, not part of a war party. As he spoke he saw the tension melt from her lovely face. She finally came around the counter and clutched him tightly, pressing her face against his chest.
“I’m so relieved to hear this. I don’t know what I would have done if the Indians were out scalping people.”
“What’s the closest army fort?” he asked. “You could have gone there for protection.”
“Camp Robinson is the closest,” she said, “and it is miles and miles away to the northwest. They could never reach us in time, if there was Indian trouble.”
“You could go south to North Platte,” he suggested. “Fort Grattan might be closer. Or Fort McPherson.” He saw Abigail stiffen with indignation and knew the reason. There was a rivalry—real or perceived by the woman—between North Platte and No Consequence. Going to one of the forts protecting North Platte would be the same as admitting defeat. And if word of it ever got to the railroad directors, they would probably cancel their plans to bring a rail line through Abigail’s town.
Abigail’s town. That was exactly the way he thought of it, and it seemed all too true. She had everything wrapped up in No Consequence.
“Since the Sioux are pretty much scattered all over the plains, you shouldn’t worry about them,” he said, trying to soothe her fears.
“Good.” Her lips thinned to a line. She looked up at him, her blue eyes beguiling. Abigail relaxed a little and then said, “Please stay, John. I know you were going to ride west. I heard you and Big Ben talking. But stay, for a while longer.”
“Until the directors get here?”
“Why not? There’s nothing you’re riding to. You have no timetable. What’re a few days longer?”
“You’d be the only thing keeping me here,” Slocum admitted. “I don’t hanker to work in corn or wheat fields. From what I saw of the Sioux, the hunting is poor this year, and there’s no job in town I’d be willing to fill.”
“I know, John. If you stay, it would be as a favor to me.”
“Let me think on it,” he said. “I’ve been on the trail too long and need to wet my whistle.”
“There are two saloons in town,” Abigail said proudly. He contrasted this with how most women acted when drinking whiskey was mentioned. Abigail considered it a mark of progress for No Consequence to have two gin mills. “Gus Gorman runs the Corinthian Palace and his brother Paul owns the Prairie Delight.”
“Whichever is closer will do me just fine,” Slocum said. He kissed Abigail lightly, tasting her sweet lips. But this wasn’t enough to decide him. He left her working on her ledger books and doing a new inventory and stepped outside into the oppressive heat. The Prairie Delight’s doors were open and beckoning to him a few yards down the street.
The saloon was larger than he had first expected. Rooms extended off the main room like a rabbit warren, holding games of chance and possibly a crib or two for soiled doves. It bothered him that Abigail would think prostitution was an acceptable part of town, but he decided she either didn’t know the Gorman brothers were pimping or he was wrong about what the tiny rooms were actually used for.
“Beer, mister?” asked the barkeep. The man was short, stocky and had huge handlebar mustaches. He twirled the end of one as he shifted from foot to foot behind the bar, as if he were a runner ready for a race and
unsure when the starting pistol would sound.
“Whiskey,” Slocum said. “Two shots, side by side.”
“Coming right up.” The barkeep expertly poured the two drinks. Slocum examined one, studying the color and sniffing at it to see how potent it might be. He sampled it, then downed it in a quick gulp. The liquor wasn’t as good as he had found in North Platte, but it suited him and his powerful thirst.
“You the fellow who came into town with Miss Abigail?” the barkeep asked.
Slocum nodded.
“Then the drinks are on the house. She’s ’bout the best thing that ever happened to this town. She’s gonna make us all rich when the railroad comes to town, and any friend of hers is a friend of mine.”
“Glad to see folks are so cordial,” Slocum said, sipping at his second drink. His tongue and gut weren’t deadened enough by the first drink to make this one go down without a bite.
“Yep, No Consequence is going to be the biggest danged town in Nebraska before Miss Abigail is finished with it. She’s a real asset to the town.”
“Tell me about her,” Slocum asked. “Was she born in these parts?”
“Naw, she came from back east. Not sure where, but she’s been here going on five years. Her pa and two brothers started the store, but the diphtheria epidemic in ’73 took all of them to the Promised Land. Miss Abigail never gave up, though. No, sir.”
“That about the time she came up with the idea of bringing the railroad through town?”
“Just about.”
Slocum had wondered what put the burr under Abigail’s saddle to turn this nothing of a town into a thriving metropolis. He had his answer. Losing her family the way she did made her feel she had to prove herself. Doing what her pa and brothers couldn’t would certainly establish her worth, to the town and in her own mind. In a way, Abigail might consider everything she did as a memorial to her family.
By the time Slocum finished his second drink, he had reached his decision. Nothing held him to No Consequence, not even Abigail Stanley. She shared him with her aspirations for the town and wouldn’t miss him long when he left. Men came and went but dreams could last forever.
