by Jake Logan
“How dare you?” he heard Abigail cry from inside the tent. Her outraged question was followed quickly by a loud slap.
Slocum didn’t know who had hit Abigail, and it didn’t much matter to him. They would all pay.
“She didn’t come here alone. Where’s Slocum?” demanded Adam Westfall.
“Slocum? Slocum’s after us?” This came from Rafe Ferguson. “Son of a bitch, why didn’t you say something about that? I thought he was dead. You said you’d take care of him, Westfall.”
“Your man missed,” the mayor said. “I was damned surprised when I saw he was still alive and kicking.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There wasn’t time. We—”
“Shut up,” snapped Beal. “We got the woman. And Slocum’s around somewhere. Let’s get him!”
“Why bother?” asked Quenton. The way he spoke sent a shiver down Slocum’s spine. The others were hot under the collar and likely to make mistakes, but Quenton thought things out. Slocum knew what the man was going to say, and it didn’t set well with him. Not at all.
Slocum jumped into the ravine and raced back to where he and Abigail had left their horses. He couldn’t shoot it out with Ferguson and the others without the woman being killed. Surrendering was out of the question, and this was exactly what Quenton would demand: surrender or they would shoot Abigail.
If Slocum gave himself up, they would kill both of them and bury their bodies out on the prairie.
Out of breath but determined, Slocum swung into the saddle and bent low to grab the reins to Abigail’s horse. He jerked hard to get the mare away from a tasty clump of blue grama, then put his heels to his roan’s flanks and got it walking back up the ravine toward the tents.
As he rode, he fumbled in his pocket for the tin of lucifers he carried. It had been a spell since he’d bought any tobacco for a smoke, and he had given what he had to the Sioux, but the smoke he intended now was going to be a damned sight bigger than a cigarette. Working feverishly, he finally got the match lit. He held it, worrying that he was doing something foolish. The he worried it wouldn’t be enough.
“Slocum!” called Ferguson. “We got your lady here. Now, we don’t want to hurt her. You know that. But Westfall and Carleton have a letch for her. That’d be mighty unpleasant for the lady.”
The mayor and banker protested, but Slocum didn’t have to see what was going on to know Beal and Quenton had silenced them while their boss dictated his demands.
“You give yourself up and we let the little lady go. Unharmed. Unmolested by these two fine, upstanding citizens. And from the way they’re looking at her, they’re really upstanding right about now. What do you say, Slocum? Give up!”
Slocum watched the lucifer sputter and sizzle. He tossed it to the ground, where it immediately found a clump of dried grass. Almost as if he’d had another wish granted, a sudden puff of wind fanned the flame into a raging fire that spread directly for the camp.
“Fire!” shouted Carleton. The banker and mayor knew the danger of a prairie fire and bolted for their horses. The momentary confusion afforded Slocum all the opening he needed.
Head down, he spurred his horse through the sheet of flame already licking at the rear of the tent.
“Abigail!” he shouted.
Ferguson was taken by surprise and let Abigail jerk free. But he recovered fast and went for his six-gun. Slocum didn’t give him time. A heavy boot lashed out and caught Ferguson under the chin, sending him reeling backward into Beal and Quenton. The trio went down in a heap.
“John, let’s go.” Abigail was flushed and breathless from her brief captivity. She quickly mounted one of the horses. “I want to get to Seneca and herd that worthless sheriff out here to arrest those crooks!”
Slocum saw they had doubled their trouble in only a few seconds. The heat from behind was too intense to permit escape the way he had come. Ferguson and Quenton were dragging out their guns, Ferguson a six-gun and Quenton a small pepperbox. Adding to the confusion, the wind tore the tent loose from its stakes and blew it across the area right in front of the men.
“That way,” Slocum said, pointing in the direction already taken by Westfall and Carleton.
“I want them. Oh, how I want to tear them apart with my bare hands! I’ll claw out their lying eyes! I’ll—”
Slocum didn’t care what motivated Abigail as long as she rode hard and fast. He followed her through the confusion. Whether it was a slug from one of the men’s guns or a piece of wood exploding in the heat from the fire, Slocum neither knew nor cared as it blasted past his head. Keeping low, he fought his way into the wall of flame.
“Keep riding. Not that way, to your right, do it, Abigail, now!” he shouted at the woman. She was too intent on trailing the mayor and banker to notice she would be cut off by the fire.
“I want them, John. I won’t let them go!”
This time Slocum was sure it was hot lead that sang past him. He touched his arm, and his fingers came away damp with his own blood. Ferguson wasn’t a good shot, but with the amount of lead he was flinging in Slocum’s direction, he didn’t have to be. A shriller, more insistent shot rang out, quickly followed by Quenton’s curses. The pepperbox had discharged all four rounds as it blew up in his hand.
Slocum’s horse took a low ravine with ease and then they were in fresher air. He chanced a look over his shoulder to see the flames devour the tent. The thick, oily grass smoke cloaked the camp, but Slocum thought he saw two riders making their way to safety.
“How dare they say such lies about me?” raged Abigail. “And they’re cooking up some scheme to steal the bond money!”
“Whoa,” Slocum said, reining back. His roan was tiring fast from too much galloping. The prairie fire still raged, but it began to turn, following the wash. If Slocum remembered the lay of the land, it would reach a rocky stretch and burn itself out. He was glad he hadn’t set a fire that would burn hundreds of thousands of acres.
More than this, he was glad he and Abigail were still alive and in one piece.
“Are you convinced they’re out to dupe the people of No Consequence?” he asked.
“You were right, John. I should have trusted your instincts, but I wanted it so badly. I saw all the communiques. I don’t know how I could have been fooled like that. It all looked so real!” .
“Ferguson is expert at swindling,” Slocum said. He wiped his face and came away with equal amounts of sweat, soot and blood. A flying hunk of wood had scratched his forehead and he had never noticed until now.
“I’ll get them. Oh!” Abigail was beside herself with anger.
Slocum turned his horse in a full circle. The fire had died to a smelly, smoky charring of dead grass; he worried more about the two directors and Rafe Ferguson. They could take care of the mayor and Carleton later, but the three men posed the real danger, if they caught up with Slocum out on the prairie. With or without a pepperbox, the trio could still outgun him.
“Are you mad at them for what they said about you or do you want to stop their scheme?”
“I—What’s the difference?” Abigail’s jaw firmed and from the flinty look in her blue eyes, Slocum knew Westfall and Carleton were in for a whale of a hard time. Being sent to prison would be the least of their punishment.
“None, I reckon. We’ll have to swing wide to get back to town,” Slocum said, “but it’s better if we go straight for Seneca.”
“Why?” Abigail was already heading back toward No Consequence.
“The county sheriff. You need to get a lawman.”
“There’ll be time for that. If I have to get together a vigilante committee, I’ll do it. But I won’t give them time to hightail it out of town. That fool of a sheriff could never track them down—he wouldn’t even try.”
“Maybe not, but he’ll stand a better chance of catching them red-handed if we get him now.” Slocum heaved a sigh and turned from the road toward Seneca when it became apparent Abigail was going ba
ck to No Consequence, come hell or high water.
He trotted alongside, letting the woman seethe in silence. Slocum considered what was likely to happen when they reached town and knew there would probably be bloodshed. He touched the butt of his six-shooter and hoped the mayor and banker had kept running.
“Look at that, John. I don’t believe it!”
Slocum frowned when he saw the mayor on a podium in front of city hall haranguing a small crowd of townspeople. The words sparked some interest in the gathering, but Slocum couldn’t hear what was being said. He didn’t think he would like it.
“Stay here,” he told Abigail. “I’ll see to Westfall.”
“No.” The woman was adamant about facing down the mayor and reached the back of the crowd before he did.
“Adam Westfall, you’re a scoundrel!” Abigail cried. “You’re out to steal all these good people’s money, you and Carleton! And those phony railroad directors! And Rafe Ferguson! You’re all in cahoots!”
“Miss Stanley, you are distraught. A touch of heat stroke?” Westfall suggested, looking unflustered by her accusations. Slocum knew sentiment wasn’t on his and Abigail’s side from the looks on the faces of the men and women in the crowd.
“He’s trying to steal the money. I heard him scheming!” Abigail started to get tongue-tied as her rage mounted. She remembered what Westfall had claimed about her and him. Slocum wondered if there might not be a touch of truth somewhere in the mayor’s bragging to his cronies, no matter what Abigail claimed.
“Miss Stanley, please. This is no place to make unwarranted claims. I was just informing these fine citizens of a new telegram from the directors, who will be arriving this weekend.”
“They’re your friends!” Abigail shouted, turning red in the face.
“Why, yes, I count them as my friends. We are certainly engaged in a business deal, but they are fine gentlemen.” Westfall looked so smug Slocum wanted to punch him out.
“Rafe Ferguson is a swindler with a half dozen wanted posters chasing him,” Slocum said. “You’re working for him.”
“Ferguson? I don’t know anyone by that name,” Westfall said coldly. “Do you share Miss Stanley’s delusions, too, Slocum?”
“No delusion. The only mirage here is the railroad. It’s not coming to No Consequence. Westfall intends to steal the money.”
“We’ve been over this,” Westfall said, holding out his hands to quiet the crowd. “Slocum thinks there is something amiss. There’s not. Everything is set up to protect both No Consequence and the Platte and Central Plains Railroad.”
“He’s right,” piped up Carleton. The portly bank president waddled up and shoved aside the mayor at the podium. “I don’t like my honesty being challenged this way. Even if Mayor Westfall cut corners dealing with the railroad, I assure you all I will not release the money until the spur line is within ten miles of our depot. The railroad won’t risk losing the money over a mere ten miles of track. We will get our railroad, ladies and gentleman! The mayor says so, and so do I!”
A cheer went up.
Slocum hesitated. He had hoped the mayor would keep riding once he had been flushed out on the prairie, but that hadn’t happened. With the banker backing Westfall up, who in No Consequence would believe either him or Abigail? From the look of the crowd, the answer was apparent.
“Abigail,” he said softly. “We’re not getting anywhere.” She didn’t see the truth in his words.
“You’re a crook, Adam Westfall! So are you, Edward Carleton!” She turned slightly in the saddle to address the crowd. “I was duped by them into raising the money. They’re going to steal it. There aren’t any railroad directors. Rafe Ferguson is behind it all. As Mr. Slocum said, Ferguson is a swindler second to none, and he is the puppeteer pulling these ... these ... terrible men’s strings!”
“You’re hysterical, Abigail,” Westfall said. “Don’t make a public scene. I don’t know what happened but—”
“I’ll stop you, Adam! You can’t say such horrible untruths about me and steal the money and—”
Abigail lunged for the mayor, but Slocum grabbed her arm and kept her in the saddle. Their horses began pawing the ground skittishly as the crowd murmured its displeasure with them.
“Nobody’s buying it,” Slocum told her.
“I can’t let them steal everyone’s money!”
“You can’t stop them on their own turf,” Slocum pointed out.
Abigail jerked her arm free and spun around to face Westfall and Carleton. “You two will go to jail. I’ll fetch the sheriff, and he’ll arrest you!”
The crowd started turning ugly now. They no more wanted to have their hopes and dreams dashed than Abigail had before eavesdropping on the swindlers.
“Please, stay calm,” Carleton urged. “There are always those who want to stop progress. But a woman with heat prostration and a cowboy? Will you listen to them or to your elected mayor?”
“And the president of your town bank,” Westfall chimed in. “You can trust Ed Carleton. Mr. Carleton has been in No Consequence since the first building went up. We have our reputations on the line.”
“The only line you’ll ever see is a noose around your scrawny necks!” cried Abigail. “The sheriff will put an end to your thievery!”
Slocum saw that the threat carried some weight with the two men, in spite of the way they covered their discomfort with mention of the law coming to examine their railroad deal.
“Abigail, let’s get out of town. Now.”
Slocum doubted Abigail’s neighbors would lynch her, but it wouldn’t take much for Westfall to whip the crowd into a frenzy of anger against him since he was an interloper. Slocum reckoned he had a few more years of riding the trail before he cashed in. Kicking at the end of a lynch mob’s rope wasn’t the way he intended to go.
Abigail hissed like a mad cat and galloped away from the crowd, leaving behind a cloud of dust and ill feelings. Slocum followed at a slower pace but knew he wasn’t likely to be welcome in No Consequence anytime soon.
Just outside town, Slocum caught up with the furious woman and grabbed her reins to bring her to a halt so they could talk.
“You’d better do some serious thinking what it means to get the sheriff,” he told her. “You’ll need more proof than the two of us overhearing what Beal, Quenton and those two owlhoots said.” He jerked his thumb back in the direction of town.
“But we heard it, John.”
“It’s our word against theirs. A distraught woman and a drifter. A popular elected mayor and a banker who helped found the town. Who’s the sheriff going to listen to?”
“But they—they!” Abigail began sputtering as her rage grew.
“All I’m saying is that you’d better have solid proof. Nobody in Omaha has ever heard of the Platte and Central Plains Railroad. That’s a start. Beal and Quenton are frauds. That can be determined by the sheriff sending a telegram to Omaha. What else is there? You were the one who raised the most money for this bogus railroad. You ought to know.”
“Oh, John. What if they accuse me?” Abigail put her hand to her throat.
“That’s not too likely, but something to think on,” Slocum said.
“It’ll take us a day or so to reach Seneca. We can work out what we’re going to say by then. But we’d better start soon. I don’t want them hightailing it before the sheriff can get here.”
“They can’t run too far in a couple days,” Slocum said. He knew frightened men like Westfall and Carleton would leave a trail a blind man could follow. Rafe Ferguson was another matter. He was an old hand at such swindles and knew all the ways of vanishing without a trace to keep the law off him.
Slocum decided he would let the sheriff follow the mayor and banker. He would take care of Ferguson personally.
He had swung his horse around to head for the county seat at Seneca when he heard the distinctive sound of a rifle cocking.
He didn’t have to find Rafe Ferguson. Ferguson had found him
.
13
“I ought to shoot you down right here and now, Slocum. The last time our paths crossed you almost got my head stuck into a noose. How’s it feel to have the tables turned?” Rafe Ferguson kept the rifle aimed squarely at Slocum’s chest, ready to fire if Slocum so much as twitched.
“You can’t do this!” exclaimed Abigail.
“Don’t count on it,” Ferguson said, sneering. “Look behind you ’fore you get it into your pretty head to do anything dumb.”
Slocum turned his head enough to see Beal and Quenton, both with rifles trained on Abigail and him. He had ridden into the trap with his eyes open because he had underestimated Ferguson and had thought the man would be halfway to the Rockies by now. The lure of the money tucked away in the bank was too big for a crook like Ferguson to pass up.
“We got you, Slocum. We really got you,” Ferguson gloated. “Now you just turn that pony of yours and ride real slow back toward town. Keep your hands high, in case you think you can escape.”
“Just shoot us and get it over,” Slocum said. “Or should I turn my back to give you your usual target?”
“I didn’t take that shot at you, but if I had, I wouldn’t have missed,” Ferguson said, his face turning livid with anger. His finger twitched on the rifle trigger. Slocum tensed, ready for whatever opening Ferguson might afford him. If the swindler fired, both Slocum’s and Abigail’s horses would rear and make them more difficult targets.
Slocum might also end up with a slug in him, but he saw no other way out of the trap.
Ferguson laughed harshly.
“There’ll be plenty of time for you to die, Slocum. Ride ahead of us real slow-like.”
Slocum heard both Beal and Quenton hurrying to their horses, hidden down in a draw. By the time he and Abigail had covered a few yards heading back toward No Consequence, Beal and Quenton flanked them like an honor guard. Ferguson caught up and rode behind so he could keep them all in his sights.
“What are you going to do with us, Ferguson?” called Slocum, not chancing a look back over his shoulder. If Abigail hadn’t been prisoner, too, he would have tried to cut in front of either Beal or Quenton and stir things up a mite. If he got Ferguson firing at his own men, that might cause enough confusion to turn the tables. But Slocum dared not try anything like that. Abigail might be too slow to understand what was going on when six-shooters were leveled and men were ready to kill each other.
