by Matt Braun
“I got you this far, didn’t I?”
She couldn’t argue the point. Augustus seemed to have some sixth sense for direction, even in the dark of night. The faint moonglow afforded little light, and yet he had found the crossroads some miles to the east, and instinctively turned west. He’d brought them again to North Platte.
Their escape was no less the work of Augustus. Late that afternoon, upon arriving at Homer Ledbetter’s farm, they’d discovered that he lived in a sod house. Neither of them had ever heard of a house constructed from grassy chunks of soil cut from the earth. Nor were they prepared for what they found inside the house.
Ledbetter’s wife was a crone with a sharp tongue and a nasty disposition. She had immediately put Katherine to tending a cookstove in the windowless, one-room sod house. Katherine just as quickly became queasy from the stench of unwashed bodies in a confined space. Her mind reeled when she realized she was standing on a dirt floor.
The Ledbetter’s only child, a son, was a chunky twelve-year-old with a mean streak. He took charge of Augustus and put him to work unharnessing the team of horses. Afterward, he supervised as Augustus carried firewood from the wood pile to the house, all the while bullying him in a hectoring voice. By suppertime, Augustus was ready to crown the boy with a stick of firewood.
Homer Ledbetter proved to be a petty tyrant. He sat at the head of the table, and his wife dutifully served his plate before anyone else. The boy acted cowed in his father’s presence, as though he expected a beating if he opened his mouth. Supper was a tasteless stew, thick with grease, and a platter of fried cornmeal dodgers. Katherine and Augustus wished again for the jelly sandwiches on the Orphan Train. They picked at their food.
All during the meal Ledbetter lectured them on their new duties. Augustus would muck out the barn, split and haul firewood, and take care of general chores. Katherine would tend to the henhouse, work in the kitchen, and keep the house itself in order. Their duties were those of servants, and Ledbetter was a man who tolerated nothing less than obedience. His mouth stuffed with food, he pointed to a leather razor strop hanging on the wall. The penalty for disobedience was a proper hiding.
There was too little room in the house for Katherine and Augustus. After supper, Ledbetter showed them their sleeping quarters, a storage shed near the barn. They were given moldy quilts and told to be ready to start work at daylight. Almost as an after-thought, Ledbetter motioned to a rickety privy behind the house, and explained that dried corn shucks were a farmer’s toilet paper. He seemed amused by the expression on their faces, and left them to arrange their bedding. Katherine promised herself she would burst before she went near the privy.
The lamps were extinguished in the house shortly after a sickle moon rose in the sky. Augustus, who was wrapped in one of the quilts, watched through a crack between the boards of the shed. His voice shaky with bravado, he informed Katherine that he wouldn’t be held in slavery; he was determined to escape. She was frightened, fearful they would be caught and punished, even more fearful of the life awaiting them if they didn’t run. They waited only long enough to ensure that the homesteader and his family were asleep. Then they took off.
The track leading from the house eventually connected with a crossroads several miles to the south. Augustus, following some inner compass, confidently turned onto the road to the west. They had no idea how far they’d walked, or for that matter, where they were. They were cold, exhausted by their ordeal, but driven by the urge to escape. Some hours later, almost miraculously, they saw the light of the lamp in the North Platte depot. Their relief was momentary, for their journey was not yet over.
“I’m so cold,” Katherine said wearily. “Couldn’t we stop and get warm in the train station?”
Augustus squared his shoulders. “We have to find Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill. They’ll know what to do.”
“But how on earth will we find them? They might be anywhere.”
“We just have to look and keep on looking, that’s all.”
The town was dark, forbiddingly still. The only lights visible were those from a few buildings along the main street. Augustus took Katherine’s hand and they walked north toward the lights. There was no-where else to turn.
Faintly, off in the distance, they heard the strains of a piano.
* * *
Cody was in his glory. The crowd around the bar listened raptly as he regaled them with yet another whopper. The hour was approaching midnight, and he’d held them mesmerized throughout the evening. They kept him supplied with whiskey and he spun tales, real and imagined, from his days on the plains. He thought he could talk forever.
Hickok was on a streak. A mound of double eagles and assorted gold coins was piled before him on the table. All night he’d drawn unbeatable hands, edging out players who themselves held strong cards. On those occasions when he bluffed, the other players were so snake-bit that they folded, convinced he had the goods. He calculated he was ahead by at least three hundred.
The piano player suddenly trailed off in the middle of a tune. Beside him, the banjo player strummed on a moment then hit a jarring chord. The few couples left on the dance floor skittered to a halt, caught off balance as the music ended. Cody stopped talking, and Hickok paused in the midst of a bet, and the crowd at the bar abruptly drew back in surprise. Their eyes were fixed on the door.
Augustus and Katherine stepped into the saloon. For an instant, caught in the wondering stares and tomblike quiet, they stood frozen in place. Then a light of recognition flashed over the boy’s features and his mouth parted in a sappy smile. He tugged Katherine forward.
“Buffalo Bill! Wild Bill!” he shouted vigorously. “We thought we’d never find you!”
Hickok and Cody exchanged a bewildered look. After a moment, Hickok rose from the poker table and moved to the bar. He stopped beside Cody.
“Well, young feller,” he said softly. “What brings you and the little lady out on a cold night? Why’re you lookin’ for us?”
“We saw you at the train station,” Augustus said in a fit of agitation. “This morning, when that farmer took us off in his wagon. Don’t you remember, Wild Bill?”
“By golly, that’s right,” Cody chimed in, staring down at the boy. “You’re the brother and sister that got off the Orphan Train.”
“We are not orphans,” Katherine said stridently. “You have to believe us.”
Cody knelt down, on eye level with her. “What’s your name, little missy?”
“I am Katherine Stanley. And this is my brother, Augustus. We are from New York City.”
“So how’d you come to be on the Orphan Train?
I mean, if it’s like you say, that you’re not orphans.”
“We were abducted from our parents.”
“Abducted?” Hickok said, watching her closely. “You was stole from your folks?”
“We were!” Augustus yelped. “I swear we were!”
Katherine suddenly became aware of the saloon girls. Her eyes went round as she stared at their exposed bosoms and their legs revealed by the short skirts. Cody failed to notice, his gaze still fixed on the boy. He leaned closer.
“Would you swear it on a stack of Bibles, young feller?”
“Yes, sir,” Augustus said solemnly. “You know I wouldn’t lie to you, Buffalo Bill.”
“How would I know that?”
“Because you and Wild Bill are the Heroes of the Plains. Cross my heart and hope to die before I’d lie to you.”
Cody flushed with pride. He stood, glancing at Hickok. “I think they’re tellin’ the truth.”
“Yep,” Hickok grunted. “So do I.”
“What do we do now?”
“I reckon this here’s a matter for the law. We’ll let these tads tell their story to the proper authorities.”
“Try the courthouse,” the bartender suggested. “Two of Sheriff Walker’s deputies are down with the grippe. He’s tending the jail himself tonight.”
Hickok nodded.
“Sounds like he’s our man. That suit you, young Mr. Stanley?”
“Yes, sir, Wild Bill,” Augustus said quickly. “You and Buffalo Bill know what’s best.”
“How about you, little Miss Stanley? You willin’ to have a talk with the sheriff?”
Katherine tore her eyes away from the breasts of a tall brunette. Her features went crimson and she shyly looked down at the floor. “Oh, yes, thank you so much, Wild Bill.”
Hickok glanced at the bartender. “Collect my stake off that poker table. I’ll be back directly.”
“I’ll look after it, Mr. Hickok.”
“Obliged,” Hickok said, turning to Cody. “C’mon, Hero of the Plains, let’s go do our duty.”
Cody grinned. “What the boy said was ‘Heroes.’ You’re rowin’ the same boat.”
“Don’t remind me.”
They led Augustus and Katherine from the saloon.
CHAPTER 7
SHERIFF JACK Walker stared at the two men seated before his desk. His office was in the basement of the courthouse, with a holding pen for drunks and four jail cells down the hall. The clock on the wall opposite his desk moved steadily toward midnight.
The purpose of the late-night call was as yet unclear. But the man named Otto Richter was well dressed and well spoken, and obviously the one in charge. The other man, introduced simply as Mr. Johnson, was just as plainly a toughnut, the muscle rather than the brains. Which made the sheriff wonder why Richter needed a bodyguard.
“What can I do for you?” Walker asked. “We don’t get many visitors from back East. Especially this late at night.”
Richter smiled. “You’re quite observant, Sheriff. I assume my accent gave me away.”
“Yeah, I’ve known a few Easterners in my time. You don’t talk like folks out here.”
“We’ve come on a matter of business. I hoped we might speak in confidence.”
“Depends on whether or not it’s official business. What’s on your mind?”
Earlier that day Richter had watched from inside the depot as the children were unloaded from the Orphan Train. A casual conversation with one of the attendants revealed that Katherine and Augustus had been adopted by a farmer named Homer Ledbetter. Their new home was some miles northeast of town.
Richter and Turk Johnson had then engaged rooms in the Platte City Hotel. The balance of the afternoon was devoted to discreet inquiries about the county’s chief law enforcement officer, Sheriff Jack Walker. Richter discovered that the sheriff was popular with voters, but nonetheless a man of questionable character. He routinely took payoffs from the bawdy houses on the south side of town.
The call on Sheriff Walker was purposely late. Richter wanted the conversation conducted in private, and equally important, the courthouse would be deserted well before midnight. The secrecy of his mission was uppermost, and the proposition he planned to offer might be refused. In that event, the only alternative was for Johnson to kill the sheriff. The late hour ensured there would be no witnesses.
“What I have in mind,” Richter said now, “might be termed a personal business arrangement. A rather generous fee for your services.”
Walker looked interested. “What sort of services?”
“You’re familiar with the Orphan Train?”
“I know it stops here pretty regular.”
“Today, two young orphans were adopted by a farmer named Homer Ledbetter. Do you recognize the name?”
“Mr. Richter, I know everybody in Lincoln County. Ledbetter homesteaded a quarter-section about five miles outside town. What’s your interest in him and these orphans?”
“I’m an attorney,” Richter lied smoothly. “I’ve been retained to oversee the adoption of these children, a boy and a girl. My client wants periodic reports as to their well-being—and their treatment.”
“That a fact?” Walker said skeptically. “Why’s your client so keen on two particular kids?”
“I’m afraid that is privileged information. Let’s just say the fee would make it worth your while.”
“How much?”
“A thousand now and a hundred a month for the next year.”
Walker’s salary as sheriff was a hundred and fifty dollars a month. He thought there was something decidedly fishy about Otto Richter and the story about the orphans. Still, short of murder, there was little he wouldn’t do for a thousand in cash. Not to mention the extra hundred a month.
“Mr. Richter, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll keep a sharp eye on Ledbetter and those kids.”
Turk Johnson pulled out a leather pouch and spilled fifty double eagles onto the desk. Richter waved his hand with idle largess. “I know Westerners prefer gold to greenbacks. I believe you’ll find the count correct.”
“Looks right to me,” Walker said, scooping up a handful of double eagles. “I like a man who pays on the spot.”
“One other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“When I buy a man, I expect him to stay bought. As the saying goes, come hell or high water, you’re mine.”
“You care to spell that out?”
“Certainly,” Richter said. “Your absolute silence and loyalty are part of our bargain. Anything less is not acceptable.”
Walker frowned. “You threatenin’ an officer of the law?”
“A word to the wise should be sufficient.”
There was a moment of profound quiet. Then Walker opened the center drawer of his desk and raked the coins in with a sweep of his arm. He looked up with a shifty grin.
“I just suspect you’re some kind of crook, Mr. Richter. But what the hell, I’m no angel myself.”
“I think we’ll work well together, Sheriff.”
“So where do you want those reports sent?”
“General delivery,” Richter said without expression. “New York City.”
Walker chuckled as he wrote it down in a laborious scrawl.
* * *
“You kids say you’re from New York City?”
“Yes, sir, Wild Bill,” Augustus replied. “We live in a house on Gramercy Park.”
“Never heard of it,” Hickok said. “Wasn’t your folks in the house when you got carried off?”
“Well, yes, sir … they were.”
“Then how come they didn’t stop it?”
“We don’t know,” Augustus said in a wistful voice. “Katherine and I talked about it lots on the train. We just don’t know.”
Cody shook his head. “I thought Injuns was the only ones that carried kids off. Never figured New York for a dangerous place.”
“Oh, it is, Buffalo Bill,” Katherine assured him earnestly. “How else could we have been abducted?”
“Guess that’s the question beggin’ an answer.”
Hickok led the way, Augustus at his side, as they crossed the intersection of Sixth and Locust. The courthouse was straight ahead, a two-story frame building that occupied half a city block. In the faint moonlight, Hickok spotted a sign for the sheriff’s department above a flight of stairs leading to the basement. He turned in that direction.
A moment later they came through the door of the sheriff’s office. Hickok saw a man seated behind the desk with a badge pinned on his shirt. There were two other men, on their feet as though preparing to leave, standing in front of the desk. Their manner of dress indicated to Hickok that they were probably city folk, and he wondered what business they had with the law at midnight. He nodded to the man with the badge.
“I reckon you’d be Sheriff Walker.”
“That’s me,” Walker said, rising from his chair. “I heard you were in town, Mr. Hickok. ’Course, everybody knows Bill Cody.”
“Evenin’, Sheriff,” Cody said. “You busy with these gentlemen?”
“No, we’re all done,” Walker announced. “Mr. Richter and Mr. Johnson were just leaving.”
Hickok noticed that the two men appeared stunned. They were staring at the children, and though they tried to hide it, their shock was evident
. A visceral sense of danger came over Hickok, and he’d learned never to ignore the feeling. He survived on instinct and quick reflexes.
Cody stepped aside as the two men edged toward the doorway. He nodded to them, then looked back at the sheriff. “Figured you ought to talk with these children. Appears they were abducted from New York City and put on the Orphan Train.”
Walker’s mouth dropped open. “I—” he faltered, struggling to regain his composure. “You say they’re orphans?”
“Not exactly,” Cody said. “Way it sounds, somebody tried to pass ’em off as orphans.”
Katherine was watching the two men with a strange expression. As they sidled toward the door, Richter’s features were caught in the shadowy light from the lamp on the sheriff’s desk. She suddenly gasped, clutching desperately at Cody’s arm. Her eyes were wide with terror.
“Oh, nooo—” Her voice quavered, barely audible. “He’s the man…”
“How’s that?” Cody glanced down at her with bemused surprise. “What man?”
“He … he’s the one.”
“The one what?”
“He’s the one who took me from my bedroom! I remember his face from the hallway light.”
“That’s absurd,” Richter protested loudly. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life.”
“Katherine’s right!” Augustus blurted, pointing an accusing finger at Johnson. “The man who got me was big, great big strong hands. That’s him!”
Hickok seemed to move not at all. The Colt Navy revolvers appeared in his hands and he earred back the hammers. He trained one on Richter and the other on Johnson. His eyes were like stone.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. “Stand real still.”
“How dare you!” Richter said in an offended tone. “Whatever’s going on here, we know nothing about these children. The sheriff will vouch for us, won’t you, Sheriff?”
Walker quickly assessed the situation. He knew Richter would expose him unless he went along. The thousand dollars in his desk drawer was a dead giveaway. He opted for the lie.
“Holster your guns,” he said harshly, glaring at Hickok. “Mr. Richter and Mr. Johnson are respectable businessmen. You’re out of line, Hickok.”
