Ride for Vengeance

by William W. Johnstone

Seymour was confused. The three men his uncle had brought to Sweet Apple to develop the sales territory here in West Texas for the Standish Dry Goods Company never seemed to do any actual work. They weren’t calling on merchants in Sweet Apple, they weren’t visiting any other settlements in the area . . . in short, they didn’t seem to be interested in selling dry goods at all.

  At first Seymour told himself that was none of his business. But of course it was, because he still owned a half-interest in the company. He knew his father never would have allowed such laggard behavior from employees. Seymour was surprised that his uncle tolerated it. Cornelius had always been the more impatient and demanding of the brothers.

  So, he owed it to his father’s memory, Seymour decided, to talk with his uncle and see if he could find out what was going on.

  He reached that decision on the morning when the hearing on the dispute between Shad Colton and Esau Paxton was scheduled to take place. Seymour knew he would have to be there for the hearing, to keep the peace in case any trouble broke out between the two factions, but he thought he would have time to talk to Cornelius before that.

  He was at the marshal’s office when he reached that decision. Matt and Sam had left a few minutes earlier to go down to the café and get breakfast for all three of them. They would bring the food back to the office on trays. As far as they knew, Seymour was going to stay right there in the office until they got back.

  Seymour knew he ought to do exactly that, but he found impatience gnawing at him. Once he’d made up his mind to do something, he didn’t like to put it off.

  The hotel wasn’t very far away, he told himself. He would have time to walk over there, have a talk with Cornelius, and get back to the office, maybe even before Matt and Sam returned. He didn’t think there would be any danger in walking along Main Street in broad daylight either. The morning had dawned bright and hot and clear, and the town was buzzing about the hearing that would soon take place. Shad Colton and Esau Paxton both had friends in Sweet Apple, and naturally folks took sides in any dispute. Everybody was going to be very interested to see how Judge Simon Clark was going to rule—if he even reached a decision today.

  Judge Clark had reached Sweet Apple the previous evening, driving a buggy with an Appaloosa saddle horse tied on behind it. The judge was a burly man of medium height, with a salt-and-pepper beard and deep-set, intelligent eyes with bags under them that gave him a deceptively sleepy look. He had introduced himself to Seymour, Matt, and Sam, and Seymour had liked the no-nonsense jurist immediately. He had a feeling that Clark would keep the hearing moving along briskly, and probably wouldn’t waste any time reaching a decision either.

  Seymour put his hat on and left the office, checking up and down the street first just to make sure that no one was lurking out there, waiting to take a shot at him. Matt and Sam seemed convinced there would be another attempt on his life, but Seymour wasn’t sure about that. The would-be killers, whoever they were, could have decided that getting rid of him was too much trouble and moved on instead.

  As he walked toward the hotel, Seymour spotted a familiar figure coming from the opposite direction and felt pleasure and surprise go through him. He met Maggie O’Ryan on the porch in front of the hotel and asked, “Why aren’t you down at the school today?”

  “School is out, Seymour,” she replied with a smile. “Didn’t you know? I would have thought that the way the children were whooping so happily yesterday afternoon when I dismissed them for the last time would have told you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t notice. I knew that you’d been very busy the past few days—”

  “Getting everything finished up for the year,” she explained.

  Seymour smiled. “Perhaps now we can spend more time together.”

  “I’d like that,” Maggie said with a shy smile of her own as she touched him lightly on the arm. “Until school starts again in the fall anyway.”

  Another feeling of anticipation went through Seymour as he thought about an entire summer spent getting to know Maggie better. And then in the fall—the thought popped unbidden into his mind—then in the fall, perhaps they would know each other well enough so that he could ask her a very important question . . .

  Right now, though, he still had that business with his uncle to take care of, he reminded himself as he caught his breath. But he wasn’t ready to desert Maggie just yet.

  “I was wondering,” he began, “I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to take a buggy ride with me sometime.”

  Her face lit up with delight and that made her even prettier, as far as Seymour was concerned. “That sounds wonderful,” she said. “I could pack a picnic lunch for us.”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course. Wonderful indeed. We’ll talk about it later and decide where and when. Right now . . . I’m sorry, but I have to tend to some business.”

  “I understand,” Maggie said. “You’ll be at the hearing later?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll see you there.” She came up on her toes and brushed her lips across his in a kiss. To do such a thing in broad daylight, on a public street, was pretty brazen—but Seymour liked it.

  His heart was pounding hard as he left Maggie and went into the hotel. More than ever, he thought that perhaps he had found the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

  He stopped short as he saw Rebecca Jimmerson standing in the lobby, her arms crossed and an icy look on her face. Seymour glanced over his shoulder and realized that if Rebecca had been standing where she was a moment earlier, she had probably been able to watch through the hotel’s front window as Maggie kissed him.

  His contacts with Rebecca had been few since the day she had revealed her romantic interest in him. Seymour thought that keeping his distance from her was best under the circumstances. But since they had known each other for years and she was standing there less than a dozen feet away, he couldn’t very well ignore her now.

  Seymour forced a smile onto his face and nodded politely to her. “Miss Jimmerson . . . Rebecca,” he said. “How are you today?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her chilly tone of voice didn’t make her sound fine at all. “I don’t suppose I need to ask how you are, Seymour. I could see that perfectly well for myself just now.”

  She had seen Maggie kiss him, he thought as he felt his face growing warm. But there was nothing wrong with two people who cared about each other sharing a kiss, he reminded himself. To think otherwise would be disrespectful to Maggie.

  To change the subject, Seymour said, “I’m looking for my uncle. Have you seen Cornelius this morning?”

  “I certainly have. He’s upstairs in his room . . . with those so-called salesmen of his.”

  “So-called? . . .” Seymour felt his pulse quicken. Did she think there was something wrong about Welch, McCracken, and Stover, too? Excitedly, he asked, “What do you mean by that, Rebecca?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that they don’t seem to be very interested in selling dry goods, do they? They hang around here at the hotel, and at that saloon called the Black Bull, and as far as I can see, they haven’t done a lick of work since they came to Sweet Apple.”

  She was saying the very same things he had thought earlier, Seymour realized. He knew now that his suspicions weren’t just the products of his own imagination, as he had worried that they might be. Rebecca shared his concerns, too.

  “This is incredible,” he said. “I was about to go talk to Uncle Cornelius about the very same thing. I didn’t know that you were worried about it, too.”

  Rebecca lost some of her chilly demeanor as she came closer to him. “You can’t talk to him right now,” she said. “Those men are in with him discussing God knows what.” She put a hand on Seymour’s arm. “Come up to my room with me. It’s right across the hall from Mr. Standish’s room. We’ll be able to hear them when they leave, and then you can go talk to him.”

>   Seymour considered her suggestion, the wheels of his brain turning over rapidly. What Rebecca said made sense, but if he went along with her, he would be gone longer from the marshal’s office than he had intended. Matt and Sam might get back there before he could return, and then they would worry that something had happened to him.

  But he was a grown man, after all, and the marshal of Sweet Apple, for goodness’ sake. He didn’t have to ask permission to go and talk to his uncle. As long as he concluded his discussion with Cornelius in time to reach the town hall before the hearing got under way, everything should be fine.

  Seymour took his watch out, flipped it open, and checked the time. Five minutes after nine. Almost an hour was left before the hearing started. There should be plenty of time, he decided, and if Welch, McCracken, and Stover stayed closeted with his uncle for too long, well, he could always leave and come back to talk to Cornelius later, Seymour decided.

  “All right,” he said to Rebecca with a nod. “That’s a good idea.”

  She smiled. All the coolness was gone from her now. She took his arm and said, “Come along then. It’ll be nice to visit while we’re waiting for those men to leave.”

  As they started up the stairs, Seymour felt a momentary surge of uneasiness. He was going to be alone with Rebecca in her hotel room for an undetermined amount of time. Given what had happened on the last occasion when they were together like that, this might not be such a good idea after all. Of course, he knew that nothing improper would happen, because he wouldn’t allow it to. But if Maggie heard about it . . .

  There was no reason for her to hear anything of the sort, he told himself. Anyway, there was nothing going on between him and Rebecca. This was strictly business.

  Still, he was glad the lobby and the second-floor corridor were deserted at the moment, so that there was no one to see him going into Rebecca Jimmerson’s room. No one to see the door closing behind them . . .

  “What the hell?” Matt said as he came into the marshal’s office carrying one of the breakfast trays.

  Sam was right behind him with the other two trays, one in each hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked when he heard Matt’s puzzled exclamation.

  “Seymour’s not here!”

  The marshal’s office was empty. They set the trays on the desk and took a quick look around, but there weren’t that many places to hide in the small office—and no reason for Seymour to be hiding in the first place.

  “He might’ve gone out back to the privy,” Sam suggested.

  “You take a look there, while I check up and down the street and see if I can spot him.”

  Sam nodded and went out the office’s rear door. Matt left by the front and stopped on the boardwalk to peer both directions along the street, searching for Seymour.

  He hadn’t found the marshal by the time Sam came back through the office and reported a similar lack of results. “He’s not in the privy. Where could he have gotten off to?”

  “I reckon he could’ve gone over to the hotel to see his uncle.” Matt shook his head. “Don’t know why he would have, when he knew we were expectin’ him to stay here . . . but he’s Seymour. Can’t always tell what he’s gonna do.”

  “That’s right,” Sam agreed. “Let’s go over there and see if we can find him.”

  Breakfast was forgotten as the blood brothers started down the street toward the hotel. In all likelihood, there was an innocent explanation for Seymour’s absence and he wasn’t in any real danger, but Matt and Sam couldn’t forget the two previous attempts on his life.

  The sound of hoofbeats—a lot of hoofbeats—distracted them before they reached the hotel. They stopped and swung around to see a buckboard and more than twenty riders entering the settlement. A big, redheaded man on horseback led the procession. Matt and Sam recognized Shad Colton. The rancher had arrived early for the hearing, bringing his family and what looked like most of his crew with him.

  “I figured practically the whole Double C bunch would show up,” Matt said. “Didn’t think they’d get here quite this soon, though.”

  “That’s not the problem.” Sam nodded past the Coltons and their men. “They’re not the only ones riding in early.”

  Matt saw the dust rising into the clear morning sky, just outside the settlement. A group of roughly the same size was coming into town, and it could only be Esau Paxton and his family and riders.

  “Damn it,” Matt grated. “We need to keep those two bunches apart, or there may be trouble before the hearing ever gets started.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Let’s hope Seymour’s all right, because we don’t have time to go looking for him now.”

  “He’ll show up,” Matt said, wishing that he felt as confident as he sounded.

  They strode quickly down the street. The Colton party had come to a halt in front of the town’s meeting hall. Carolyn Colton and Jessie were on the buckboard, with Carolyn handling the reins. Both women wore dresses and sunbonnets. Matt thought that Jessie looked like she would have preferred wearing boots and jeans and a Stetson and making the trip on horseback like her father, but he supposed she was trying to look like a lady since the family was going to court.

  Sam walked quickly along the street to intercept the Paxton party. Matt lifted a hand in greeting as Shad Colton swung down from the saddle. “Mornin’, Mr. Colton,” he said. “You’re here a mite early.”

  Colton’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t want Paxton tryin’ to steal a march on me. I don’t know this new judge. Paxton might try to make friends with him, or even bribe him.”

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen. We met Judge Clark yesterday evenin’, and he strikes me as the sort of hombre who’s gonna be fair, come hell or high water.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Colton turned to the buggy to help his wife down from the vehicle.

  Jessie didn’t wait for anybody to help her, although Matt would have if she’d given him the chance. She stepped down from the buggy on her own, and as Matt went over to her, she said, “I hope you and Sam plan on going to the hearing. The boys are a mite proddy this morning.”

  Matt could see that for himself. The Double C hands were all wearing six-guns and had tense looks on their faces, as if they were spoiling for a fight. It wouldn’t take much of a spark to set off an explosive ruckus.

  “Don’t worry,” he told Jessie. “We’ll be there, and we’ll see to it that things don’t get out of hand.”

  Jessie looked around. “Where’s the marshal?”

  Matt shrugged. He wished he could answer that question.

  The Double C punchers started for the double doors that opened into the town hall. Before they got there, the doors swung open and a formidable figure barred the way. Judge Simon Clark stood there in a dusty black suit, with a shotgun tucked under his right arm.

  “Gentlemen,” Clark’s powerful voice boomed out, “for the duration of the hearing this morning, this town hall is now a federal courtroom! And as such, no guns are allowed amongst the spectators.”

  Loud, angry voices were raised in protest.

  That didn’t seem to faze Clark. He stood there calmly, letting the reaction run its course. When the uproar died down, he continued. “You’ll all be required to turn in your firearms if you want to attend the hearing.”

  Shad Colton pointed at Matt. “What about Bodine and Two Wolves?” he demanded.

  “I’m hereby appointing them deputy United States marshals,” Clark said.

  Matt’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t recall asking to become a deputy U.S. marshal, and he was pretty sure Sam hadn’t either.

  “Hold on a minute, Judge—” he began.

  “These appointments are temporary,” Clark said, “for the duration of this case or until I otherwise rescind them, but they are legal and binding. Therefore, Mr. Bodine and Mr. Two Wolves have full authority to enforce my orders, and my first such order is that they collect the guns from anybody who wants to come into my cou
rtroom.”

  Colton’s jaw was thrust out belligerently. “Does the same thing go for Paxton and his bunch?”

  “You’re damn right it does,” the judge snapped.

  A muscle jumped in Colton’s tightly clenched jaw. “Sort of a high-handed hombre, aren’t you?”

  A grin appeared on Clark’s bearded face. “I’m a federal circuit court judge.” He tapped the shotgun that he held. “And before I took up the law, I carried this very same Greener as a shotgun guard for a stagecoach line. So, yeah, I reckon you could say that I’m used to gettin’ my way.”

  That seemed to mollify Colton a little. He knew now that Judge Clark wasn’t some dude who didn’t understand how things were done in the West. Clark was a product of the frontier just like the rest of them.

  Colton jerked his head in a nod and turned to his men. “All right, boys, you heard what the judge said. Shuck those shootin’ irons as you go in.”

  Matt heaved a mental sigh of relief as Colton handed over his revolver and then took his wife’s arm to lead her into the town hall. Jessie followed them. Matt supposed that the younger Colton children had remained on the ranch with the cook and the skeleton crew that had been left behind.

  The Double C hands filed in. Matt took their guns as they went by. He wasn’t prepared for such a chore and didn’t have any place to put them, so he wound up with his arms full of revolvers. He was grateful when Abner Mitchell came up with a bushel basket from the general store.

  “I saw your dilemma, Matt,” the mayor said. “Put the guns in here. I’ll bring another basket for Sam to use when he disarms Paxton’s group.” Mitchell looked as relieved as Matt felt. “Disarming those cowboys will go a long way toward keeping the peace, won’t it?”

  “Can’t hurt,” Matt said.

  Sam had held the Paxton bunch down the street until everyone from the Double C had gone inside. Esau Paxton didn’t look happy about it when Sam finally allowed them to ride on to the town hall. His wife Julia and daughter Sandy were in a buggy, as Carolyn and Jessie Colton had been, but the twins, sixteen-year-old Royce and Dave, were on horseback like their father and the rest of the men. They were packing guns like the rest of the men, too.