by Jake Logan
“I will have some extra security so we can get it into the vault.”
Slocum went back and explained the details to Murty. “You will sign and be a partner with me. But if anything happens to me, this money is all yours. Spend it wisely.”
She looked solemn. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Neither do I, but you may be in charge.”
He rounded up Escatar and four other men who were sober and tough. They were set to guard the wagon on the way to the bank and during the unloading the next morning.
Slocum and Murty sacked the coins that night and had it all ready. In the morning she drove the team, and he rode the gray horse with the Winchester across his leg. The men rode inside her wagon with their arms ready.
She halted the wagon at the bank and set the brake at the front door. The guards jumped down, and the treasure was soon shuffled inside. Slocum’s men went outside to wait for him. The coins were being counted, and Slocum asked for ten of them in a money sack.
The bank teller took care of that and handed him the sack. He handed it to Murty. “We’ll give those to Stowe.”
In quick agreement she smiled and nodded. “He deserves them.”
The final count came to three thousand and twenty coins.
Tate said, “I am not on top of this market. But I would say about sixty thousand dollars.”
She whistled and then she giggled. “Nice job, big man.”
He hugged her shoulders. “Let’s go eat some breakfast. I’m starved.”
5
Emerging through the front door of the bank, Slocum blinked in disbelief at the three men in suits and badges seated on their horses. The man with the drooping mustache asked, “Are you John Slocum?”
“Yes.”
“I have a warrant for your arrest for treason and the murder of an agent of the United States, Miles Hampton.”
“Don’t fight them,” Slocum said to his men, who had taken defensive positions. “There is no need for anyone to be killed here. I surrender.”
“Tell me, Marshal, what was this Hampton doing for the government when he shot down John Trent in cold blood?”
“According to my papers he was a federal agent investigating the organization trying to form the government of Washington.”
The other two deputies took Slocum’s gun and bowie knife and put him in handcuffs. He nodded to Murty that it would be all right.
“Take care of my horse,” he said to her as they marched him down the boardwalk, he guessed to house him in the fort jail. The deputies looked around a lot, making sure no one was going to break him loose. The marshal led their horses, and he too craned his neck around a lot.
They put him in a cell and acted relieved when he was uncuffed and they were outside the cell door locked by the guard. He asked the jailer if he could have some food, because he had not eaten any since the night before. The man acted stoic and said he would see. That meant nothing,
Nothing came either. Stowe showed up with two good trade blankets, and they searched the blankets and him too before letting him in see Slocum. With an armed guard watching them, they let Stowe talk to Slocum from outside the cell.
“Thanks. This place is not overheated.” Slocum used one of the blankets to get under for a coat.
“No problem. I figured it was cold in here. Your damn bond is set at twenty thousand dollars. What in hell did you do?”
“That congressman’s boy shot a man named Trent in front of the Oxbow that first night I got back to town. I shot him before he shot me—self-defense. The stuff about me helping that Washington business is bullshit. That’s that colonel who thinks he will rebel against the U.S. government up at Fort Supply.”
“A good lawyer is coming from Wichita. He will be here in three or four more days. Thanks for those Spanish coins Murty gave me. I’d never seen one of them before in my life. You and Freckles had some luck, huh?”
“We might have found it all.”
“I’d heard about that deal for twenty years. I doubted it was even out there.”
“It was there but not in one place. They didn’t aim for you to find it easy, and I still don’t understand their plan to hide it.”
“How much did you have to dig up?”
“Oh, fifty acres.” Slocum shook his head and smiled. “No, not true—we got lucky is all.”
“Well, we’ll work to get this sorted out. Freckles is handling the count tomorrow at the yard. She’s real businesslike. And she knows what is going on—she’s is damn upset they arrested you.”
“Tell Murty not to worry.”
“I will. Sorry—I tried to bail you out, but that twenty thousand is just too steep. We will get it straightened out somehow.”
“Thanks, Stowe. Look out for her for me.”
“I can do that.”
Stowe left him. They brought his food at last: stale bread, some watery cold soup with a few chopped potatoes in it, and something they called coffee. He figured the fare would get no better. Being sent to a military prison meant either that they wanted to impress upon you the importance of not getting thrown back in or that they had no use for you because of the crime you had committed.
He slept most of the night thanks to Stowe’s blankets. Lots of moaning and screaming went on—they kept the soldiers that went nuts in there too.
The next day, they emptied his slop bucket and took him in irons before a federal magistrate. Some clerk read the charges against him and they swore him in.
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty on both counts. I have a lawyer coming, Your Honor.”
“He may come here too late. You are to be transferred to the federal court at Leavenworth, Kansas, for your trial shortly.”
“Your Honor. There are several witnesses to this man’s death that are here locally who will make true statements about my shooting Miles Hampton in self-defense. How will I prove that over there?”
“I can have a clerk take their testimony. However, at present you have no legal representative here.”
“Can you hear them, sir?”
“I will consider your request.”
“That lawyer is coming as quick as possible.”
“The federal prosecuting attorney had requested your immediate transfer to Leavenworth Prison.”
“Your Honor, if these men’s testimony show you cause that I am innocent, then will you delay my being moved until that is taken?”
“You have forty-eight hours to get them to testify. I will begin to accept them after lunch.”
“May I send a message to my employer, Stowe?”
Someone whispered to the judge. “I understand he was denied admittance on the grounds that he would disrupt this hearing.”
“I object,” the lawyer for the prosecutor’s office demanded. “This man is a murderer and a rebel leader who needs to be held under the strictest confinement for this country’s safety.”
“Objection overruled. Bring Mr. Stowe in here. Attorney Tennison, any man is innocent until he is proven guilty.”
The deputy U.S. marshal had a quick conversation with the attorney, and the two men scowled over Stowe’s appearance in the court.
“Mr. Stowe, state your name and your business,” the judge said when Stowe appeared. “Take the oath. I want to hear your side of the case against Mr. Slocum.”
They swore him in, and he gave his name and address and described his business as that of “a buffalo hunter who hires other men to hunt them.”
“On the evening of October 28, when this murder occurred, where were you?”
“In Sally Jane’s whorehouse sir, immediately across the street from the Oxbow. At the first shot I looked out the window of room four and saw this Hampton on his horse pointing his gun at Slocum, who then shot him in self-defense. Margie, the lady
in the room with me, saw it too. I can get fifty men to say the shooting was in self-defense that night. Hampton had already shot another man, who died from his bullet wound.”
“Your Honor?” The attorney rose. “This man may well be another agent of this insurgency to overthrow the government of the United States, as Mr. Slocum is, sir.”
“Are you an agent of this conspiracy?” the judge asked Stowe.
“No, sir, and neither is Slocum. He is my foreman, of a crew of men who would also testify he never had anything to do with this treason. He has been out there killing buffalo for hides with these men.”
“I object, Your Honor. There is a widespread movement in this region to fight the U.S. government. Miles Hampton, a federal officer, was in the process of arresting a man, who resisted him, and Mr. Slocum shot him during that arrest.”
“Who did this man work for?” Stowe asked the attorney. “He had no badge that evening that anyone saw. I’d bet a hundred dollars the funeral director found no badge on him. I will have him testify, Your Honor.”
“I can prove Hampton was a federal officer on duty at the time of his death,” the attorney said.
“Mr. Tennison, my clerk will record the testimony of Mr. Stowe and others in lieu of Mr. Slocum not having an attorney here yet.”
“Your Honor, this prisoner must be removed at once. There is a threat by the Washington Revolutionary Army to break him out of jail.”
“I doubt they would attack a fort full of soldiers to get this man out.”
“Your Honor, they are conspiring to overthrow the entire government of the United States.”
“Mr. Tennison, I am sorry, but I think the testimony of Mr. Stowe and others in this case is important for Mr. Slocum to receive a fair trial. We will hold this hearing again on Friday. Until then he is to be held in the fort jail here.” He rapped the gavel and dismissed them.
Tennison approached the bench, but the judge refused to hear any more.
Stowe said to Slocum, “Don’t worry. We will have that testimony.”
The two soldiers took Slocum back to the jail. Light flecks of late snow were swirling in the air when they crossed the fort grounds. Late snows could be deep. It looked to Slocum like it had set in to really bring on a good one; that, plus he had the muscle aches in his body that occurred when a bad storm system came rolling in.
Murty had sent him cinnamon rolls, the jailhouse guard said. He was sure the jail staff had eaten half of them to be certain that there were no files hidden in them. If there were any left, it would be a good thing, because he had missed lunch being in the courtroom hearing and no one had offered to replace it.
For supper they served some navy bean soup and stale bread from the army bakery.
* * *
In the middle of the night, he was woken up and handcuffed, then taken to the desk officer of the jail. “This order you have is highly unusual. Judge Morgan’s order is to hold him until after the next hearing,” the noncom in charge said to one of the deputies escorting Slocum.
“This telegram is from a higher authority than Judge Morgan,” the deputy said, holding the telegram before the noncom. “He is an appellate federal judge, and he says we are—the marshals service is—to at once deliver this prisoner to Fort Leavenworth and incarcerate him there in the federal prison. He is a threat to the entire U.S. government and must be held in more secure confinement.”
“Hell, he was not going anywhere here, and the judge was not through with him according to my understanding.”
“This judge overruled Morgan.” The man turned to one of the other lawmen. “Get him dressed in his coat and things. We are taking him out of here at once.”
“I need the officer of the day to approve letting you do that, sir.”
“I don’t need any more shit from you. Get him dressed,” he said to his men. “By the power and authority of the federal government vested in me, I am taking this man into my custody. If you want ten years in Leavenworth yourself, then refuse to allow me this man. He is a military prisoner.”
They left the jail in a blinding snowstorm and loaded Slocum into a buckboard, wrapped in the blankets he had made them take from his cell. Three men accompanied them on horseback in the worst swirling mass of snow he’d seen in years.
The team was fresh, but this sort of snowy mess would soon wear out even the toughest animals, and the road wasn’t easy to follow. He was rocked around in the spring-less bed in back. There was a good chance, in his mind, that he’d not survive the trip and might be murdered to settle their need to eradicate him for some damn high-ranking congressman seeking revenge over his prodigal son’s death.
They drove far into the night. With no obvious provisions or firewood, they would have to keep going till they found cover, and in the storm they might drive right by it. Only a handful of venturous souls had tried to homestead out here, in dugouts, and they’d go unseen in this bitter weather unless the team drove over one and fell into it.
They finally stopped to rest their exhausted team and stomped around in the wind and wet snow cussing Slocum.
“Why blame me, boys,” he finally said. “Your idiot bosses sent you out in this storm, and I figure we will all be wolf bait within twenty-four hours.”
“Shut up,” the lead man said. “You will be the first to die, I guarantee you that.”
“Any of you knew this Hampton?” he asked them.
He couldn’t see them in the dark, snowy night, but more than one grunted no.
“Well, boys, if he was a federal agent, I’m a preacher.”
“They say he was spying on that Washington bunch.”
“Why shoot a man who was only looking for Spanish gold if he was an agent? The man he shot was a fortune hunter who damn sure had no use for that colonel and his cause. His name was John Trent. He had a wife and family back in Iowa. He told me all that,” Slocum lied, “but never said why Hampton shot him.”
“He tell you where the gold was?”
“Yeah, that it was buried somewhere west on the Arkansas.”
“You get his map?”
“No. I don’t chase buried gold.”
“Ned, I am going to freeze to death. Why are we out here in this bitter storm? Couldn’t this have waited?”
“Hell no, the U.S. attorney general himself said, ‘No more fucking around. Get him to Leavenworth.’”
“I bet we get in trouble with Judge Morgan,” another man said.
“See how much damn trouble you are to us?” the head man said to him.
“Not me. Blame your boss.”
* * *
Before dawn they found an empty barn in a letup of the snow and everyone went inside. It was dark in there, but out of the wind at last. The marshals put Slocum’s handcuffs around a post, and all went to sleep. The door creaked and Slocum awoke. A man with a flour sack over his face came into the dim light. A half dozen others with masks and guns drawn also came into the barn. They quickly dispatched the three deputies by striking them over the head, then put their masks on them and tied their feet and legs. Slocum was rubbing his half-frozen hands and sore wrists. Escatar had released him from the cuffs with keys taken from the chief marshal’s pocket.
“Your horse is outside and so is a pack mule. Here is your money in a belt that Stowe sent to you. We will take these men’s mounts and team and leave them here tied up.”
“Thanks. Tell Stowe thanks and Murty too.”
“We will,” his man said to him.
He soon had the cold canvas belt around his girth and was buttoned up, while Escatar continued, “Then we will wreck the wagon so they can’t use it. We are taking their guns, badges, and money and leaving them here. Good luck, mi amigo.”
“Thanks all of you for saving me. If I can ever help you—”
“No, you have helped us all with our jobs. I will take
the outfit out in a few weeks for Stowe. Murty sends her love. She says she will go back to Iowa.”
“Thank you, men.” He pulled on the gloves they’d brought him and started for his horse and mule.
Someone with a post had smashed out some spokes in the buckboard wheels. In less than ten minutes the marshals’ horses were in tow and the men were ready to ride west. Perfect clockwork precision, and Stowe had a good crew to go back to work for him. Murty was going back to Iowa. Slocum would damn sure miss her sweet ass.
He rode north, busting drifts with the gray horse, the black mule tracking with him, as the daylight began to break through the clouds and the snow was over. By noon the south wind joined his back, and the white mess had begun to melt into a slushy mess. He avoided any signs of life and was well on his way to the Republican River and a place where he could rest for a day or two. He sure needed his strength back to go much farther on.
6
After two days of hard riding and fording two swollen smaller rivers, Slocum was nearing the rolling land south of the Republican. He camped in a grove of cottonwoods that night. And a whiskered man in buckskin dropped by his fire and asked to join him.
Slocum offered him a can of peaches and warned him they might still be frozen.
The old man refused his offer, saying he had plenty of jerky of his own. The visitor said his name was Oslo Johansen and he’d been trapping all winter for mink ermine and prime wolf hides.
“I got enough to get some supplies and make it another year. I had me a one-eyed squaw all winter, but she run off just before the last big snow. She tanned a few elk hides. I’d sell you one for ten dollars if you’d want one.”
“I always wanted an elk-skin jacket. Folks say they keep you warm and never smother you when the weather turns hotter.”
“They are nice if you can find a seamstress. I have one. This hide has only one bullet hole in it.”
“Go get it. I may have the money on me somewhere.”
The old man made an effort to get up, and on the second try he made it to his feet. Slocum got the money out of one of the pockets in his money belt and snapped it back shut. Damn, Stowe had really packed it full of money. No telling how much he had. He hoped Murty had the gold money, but that might take months. Stowe paid her for cooking each trip, so she should get by. She’d spent little on herself with him—he’d done most of that for her. He shook his head, satisfied that she’d be fine without him.
