Ralph Compton Straight to the Noose

by Marcus Galloway

  Considering how things had been for him lately, that wasn’t really saying much.

  Chapter 32

  Before he’d been collected by the overman from his cabin, Mason changed the dressing on his wounded left hand. The shredded skin between his thumb and forefinger looked a lot worse than it felt. It hadn’t been much of a trial for him to use it to modify the holdout apparatus. The only reason it sprang to mind now was that it hurt like hell every time he leaned back to drag the oars through muddy river waters. Mason winced the first several times he’d rowed, but that had quickly become a grimace as he repeatedly aggravated the wounded hand.

  The dock was between a quarter of a mile and half a mile north of where the Jack had dropped anchor. While that wasn’t very far to go, Mason started looking toward the shore for alternative routes. He wasn’t about to leave the rowboat so far away from his destination, but the clear stretch of riverbank brought a relieved smile to his face. He steered toward shore, climbed out, and trudged through the muck until he reached dry land.

  “Damn it all,” he grumbled. “I just had these boots polished.”

  The current was weak enough that Mason was able to kick the rowboat out a bit and drag it along using the mooring rope. Every so often, he would have to stop and kick it again or drag it over a sandbar, but the exercise did him plenty of good. Once he got over the initial shock of getting his feet dirty and his suit wet, the rest was much easier to stomach. He wrote that clothing off as a loss and kept moving along the river.

  Once he got a good pace going, Mason was fairly sure he made better time than if he’d kept struggling to row that damn boat. After a while, he could see the dock protruding into the water farther upstream. Soon after that, he could make out the shape of a large house beyond some trees. Mason hefted the rope over one shoulder, pulled the boat ashore, and made certain it wasn’t going anywhere. On the chance that someone was watching him from the Delta Jack, he waited until he’d made it into the trees before going through his final preparations.

  He put his back to a particularly thick trunk, dropped to one knee, and pulled up his right pants leg. Two pairs of socks made that leg much heavier than normal, and when he rolled them down, he could finally get to the holdout device strapped around that calf. The arm of the holdout ran along the inner part of his leg with the canvas strap buckled around his ankle. The other end of the arm was tied just below his knee by a thin piece of twine. Thanks to the double layer of wool he’d worn on that leg, the overman hadn’t noticed the device when he quickly patted Mason down outside his cabin. It wouldn’t have held up to a more thorough search, but the overman was sufficiently convinced that Mason was too cowed to try anything worth worrying about. Such was the benefit of laying groundwork before making a big play.

  Leaning back against the tree, Mason pulled off his shoe and reached inside for the two halves of the clamshell secreted there. The easiest thing for him to smuggle was the rubber band, which lay at the bottom of his pocket. After his modifications and a liberal amount of practice while waiting to be summoned from his cabin, Mason was able to assemble the holdout in no time at all and then strap it onto his arm where it belonged. He was grateful for the removal of the metal arm scraping against his leg, but found he missed the added arch support he’d gotten by walking on the metal clamshell pieces. The last item he’d smuggled was the derringer. That was wedged against his side beneath a thick wrapping of cotton bandages. Even though he’d been allowed to bring his pistols on the job, he didn’t want to take a chance on losing the smaller gun. He tucked it away and got his clothing situated again.

  Mason had to make up some ground in a hurry. He broke into a run through the trees, nearly tripping several times over rotten logs and stones that were becoming increasingly hard to see in the fading light of dusk. Almost completely out of breath after so much exertion, he broke through the tree line to find not one house, but two. The larger of them was the only one with any light behind its windows as well as a woman in a rocker on the porch. The smaller house was well maintained and completely dark.

  Since he had to figure the woman on the porch wasn’t blind, Mason put on a friendly smile and walked straight to the house. There was only about twenty yards of open ground to cover before reaching the porch, but with that woman staring at him, it was a very long twenty yards.

  Before he reached the house, the woman stood up and opened the front door so she could say something to someone inside. She remained on the porch, however, and put on a nervous smile to greet him. “Hello?” she said.

  Mason held his hands in front of him and said, “I am so lost! I don’t suppose this is Atlanta?”

  The woman was somewhere in her early thirties and had a simple elegance to her features. Her clothing was plain and she held on to the shawl wrapped around her shoulders as if it were a suit of armor. Thanks to the warmer smile she had after Mason’s awkward joke, that armor wasn’t as tightly buckled as it had been a moment ago. “Atlanta?” she chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  Mason approached the porch but stopped short of mounting the first step. His proximity clearly rattled her, since the small bit of friendliness he’d managed to spark in her was immediately wiped away. “I’m not some wild man from the woods, I assure you,” he said. “I wonder if I can have a moment of your time, though?”

  Remaining in her spot in front of the rocker, she nodded uneasily. Her hair was tied back into a bun and held in place by a lace bonnet, giving her a somewhat matronly appearance. Even so, her blue eyes and soft lips made her naturally striking. Now that he was a bit closer, Mason could see the hunting rifle propped behind the rocker. She remained within reach of the rifle as she said, “All right. What do you need?”

  “First of all, could you tell me if this is the Borden home?”

  The front door swung open and a slender man with sunken facial features stepped outside. What little remained of his hair was thinning and bright white. A pair of wire spectacles sat perched on the bridge of his nose and he carried a shotgun in his hands. “Who are you?” he asked in a dry, snarling voice.

  “My name’s Abner Mason. Might you be Seth Borden?”

  “That’s right. Do I know you?”

  “Not as such. Is there any chance we might continue this inside?”

  “No,” Seth replied as he tightened his grip on the shotgun. “You’ll state your business where you are. In fact, why don’t you back up a few steps?”

  “I understand your nervousness, but—”

  “Papa,” the woman said quickly. “He’s wearing a gun under his jacket.”

  “Two of them, if I’m to be completely frank with you,” Mason said.

  Seth brought the shotgun to his shoulder and lined up his sights. “Get off my property!”

  “Let me at least have a word with you. Please.”

  Reaching out to place one hand gingerly on the side of the shotgun, the woman moved it aside.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Allison?” the old man asked.

  “Can we just hear him out?” she said.

  Although he’d been trying to maintain his composure, Mason was quickly becoming more anxious than both of them combined. “I’d really appreciate it if we could get inside.”

  “Why are you so insistent on getting into my home?” Seth asked. Although he tried to move the shotgun back around to point it at Mason, he was either unwilling to shove the younger woman aside or too frail to do so. Considering the fact that he looked to have less muscle on him than a scarecrow, either explanation was just as likely.

  The woman was obviously willing to listen to him, so Mason looked at her when he said, “You can take my guns if you like. I really need to have a word with you and it’s got to be right away.”

  “Please,” she said. “Just tell us what this is about and then we’ll see about going into the house.”

  Mason shifted
his eyes to Seth. “Mr. Borden, you and your family are in danger.”

  “What kind of danger?” he asked.

  “Do you know a man named Cam Greeley?”

  “Yes.”

  “He sent me here to kidnap your wife and child. I’m not going to do that, but there are most likely men following behind me who won’t be so charitable.” Seeing that he’d sufficiently shaken the two people on the porch, Mason added, “Can we take this inside now?”

  Chapter 33

  Seth didn’t only take Mason’s guns, but he did a better job of searching Mason than the last overman who’d been given the task. All of Mason’s weapons as well as the holdout apparatus lay on the polished surface of a dining room table within the house. Mason’s sleeve had been torn in the process of removing the device, and now that they’d come this far, the three of them all sat around that table staring at one another.

  “Allison,” Seth said, “put those guns somewhere safe.”

  She gathered them up as if she were afraid one of the Remingtons might bite her hand. After she had taken them, the derringer, and the knife into the kitchen, Seth relaxed a bit. The shotgun was still in the old man’s hands, however, and ready to be used.

  “All right,” Seth said. “You’re inside. Start talking.”

  “How do you know Cam Greeley?” Mason asked.

  “He stole my boat.”

  “Your boat?”

  Seth nodded. “I own a riverboat named the Allie Girl.”

  “Alley girl?” Mason asked. “As in . . . a girl who works the alleys?”

  “No!” Seth barked. “As in Allie. Short for Allison. My little girl!”

  Allison stepped out of the kitchen carrying a pitcher of water. “I told you that name sounded bad, Papa.”

  Seth angrily waved off what was an argument they’d apparently been having for a while. “No matter what the damn boat was called, that bastard Cam Greeley stole it from me!”

  Setting the pitcher down, Allison nodded her agreement and asked, “Does everyone want something to drink?”

  “That would be good,” Mason replied.

  Seth grunted a quick “Yes” before easing back into his chair.

  “I’ll get some glasses,” Allison said as she went back into the kitchen.

  “How did Greeley steal your boat?” Mason asked.

  “No, no,” Seth said. “You’re the one sitting in my house on my property. You’ll answer my questions first. What’s all this about Greeley wanting to kidnap my family?”

  “He sent me here to do just that, but I assure you that’s not my intention.”

  “You’re one of his men?”

  “I’ve incurred quite a debt,” Mason replied. “My back got put against a wall and I was to be either killed in a most unpleasant way or forced to work off what I owed doing some unpleasant things.”

  “Oh,” Seth grunted distastefully. “A gambler, huh?”

  This not being the first time he was on the receiving end of that particular look, Mason said, “That’s right, but I’m no kidnapper. In fact, my hope is to turn the tables on Mr. Greeley very soon.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “By making him think he won, waiting for the right moment, and then snatching that victory away. He’s nearby and he’s got a good number of hired guns with him. If he wanted to take your family by force, I’m betting he could do just that. Our best chance of putting an end to this is by delivering one or two good sucker punches when he’s least expecting them and before he can swing back.”

  As he listened, Seth ground his teeth together hard enough to make the muscles in his jaw stand out. He responded to the enthusiasm on Mason’s face by saying, “That’s just a whole lot of double talk that barely goes anywhere. You’re no gunman, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I can tell that by the belly gun you had with you. That’s the weapon of someone who ain’t looking to win a straight fight. That’s a gun meant to be fired under a table or so close to the man in front of him that he barely saw it coming.”

  Mason nodded. “Right! A sucker punch. Just like I was saying.”

  When Seth laughed, he let out only one choppy breath that could just as easily have been a burp. “I’ve dealt with plenty of gamblers in my days,” he said. “It’s refreshing to have one be so honest about what he is.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Even if what he is ain’t exactly something to be proud of.”

  Mason’s grin waned somewhat. “Um . . . yes. I suppose so.”

  Allison came from the kitchen carrying water glasses for all of them. “You’ll have to excuse my father’s way of paying backhanded compliments. It becomes part of his charm once you get used to it.” Staring at the old man, she said, “After twenty or so years.”

  “Let me remind you, girl,” Seth grunted, “that this stranger is still the same man who told us he’d come along to kidnap you and your ma.”

  “But he hasn’t taken any steps to do so. In fact, I’d say the only thing that makes any sense is what he’s told us so far.”

  “Thank you for that, Allison,” Mason said.

  Seth reached for a glass with one hand and held it out for his daughter to fill. “Mister, why don’t you keep your eyes on me and keep talking? I’m not quite convinced of why I shouldn’t blow your head off just yet.”

  “The last man I visited,” Mason explained, “was named Randal Simons. Does that ring any bells for you?”

  After a moment to think, Seth shook his head. “Who is he?”

  “One of Greeley’s more unsavory associates. I didn’t think you’d recognize him. What about Oscar Lazenby?”

  “I know him all right.”

  Contrary to what he might have said to Greeley, Mason did recall the last name on his list. The more ignorant Greeley thought he was, the better position Mason would find himself in when the smoke cleared.

  “What’s Greeley got planned for him?” Seth asked.

  “I don’t know exactly, but I can guarantee it won’t be good. Who is he?”

  “He works for the government.”

  “Doing what?” Mason asked.

  “Inspecting river trade and transport, issuing permits for trade to be conducted, and reporting transgressions.”

  “You certainly do know a lot about this man.”

  Seth shrugged. “I used to have to deal with him quite a lot back when I was in the business of selling boats and such.”

  “You sold boats?”

  Chuckling, Seth said, “You really don’t know much, do you?”

  “Not about this sort of thing. Like I told you, I was tossed into this without a lot of warning.”

  “And for the first time since you mentioned it, I’m starting to believe you.” Seth reached for the water he’d been poured and took a drink. “I’ve sold everything that can float from this here spot for the better part of twenty years. Conducted all my business in the house right next to this one and brought all the boats to the dock I got outside. Most were small merchant craft as well as a few passenger boats. It was more of a side business, really. Made most of my money selling horses and wagons. Used to have one of the biggest stables in the—”

  “I don’t think he wants to hear all about that,” Allison said.

  “’Course he does! That’s why he asked. Right?”

  Mason didn’t want to encourage him with a nod and he didn’t want to insult him with a shake of his head. Before he could decide how to respond, the old man picked right up again on his own.

  “I sold three deluxe carriages to a man named Edward Bartholomew,” Seth continued. “That man was trying to unload a riverboat he’d come into some way or another and I managed to get it away from him.”

  “How?” Mason asked.

  “Traded hi
m my horse and carriage business. That boat of his needed work, but I got it into prime shape in no time.”

  Allison sat in one of the chairs close to her father. “It took five years,” she said. “Five years of looking outside my window at that thing.”

  “And five years of permits to allow it to stay here while I worked on it. Damn government and their permits.”

  “And Oscar Lazenby was the man who issued the permits,” Mason said.

  Seth nodded as if he was thinking about an old enemy that had given him the slip. “I think that man enjoyed coming over here every month to wring whatever he could out of an honest workingman. He was crooked too.”

  “Was he?”

  “Good Lord, yes. Did you know gambling is illegal on a riverboat?”

  Of all the things that had happened and everything he’d seen since this mess started, this one surprised Mason the most. “What? That can’t be!”

  Seth grudgingly amended his claim by saying, “It sure is frowned upon. Actually it depends on where a boat is and where it wants to pull in to port. Whatever the case is, there is a whole mess of paperwork to sift through in order to get a riverboat up and running the way I wanted it to run. She was gonna be the best! The fanciest! Lord Almighty, she was going to be stupendous.”

  “And Greeley got ahold of her?” Mason asked.

  “Greeley got ahold of Ed Bartholomew, is my suspicion.”

  Allison cleared her throat to politely insert herself into the conversation. “He must have worked with Mr. Lazenby as well, because that eyesore of a boat was taken away on a legal dispute over its ownership.”

  “Stolen!” Seth said as he pounded his fist against the table. “My Allie Girl was stolen from me, plain and simple!”

  “It wasn’t exactly a robbery,” she explained, “but the law did come around with Mr. Lazenby to issue a warrant for my father’s arrest.”

  “Damn government said I stole that boat,” Seth grumbled. “Nobody in the government would know their ass from their elbow.”

  “Be that as it may,” Allison said, “the boat was seized. Thankfully my father was not.”