“Grab her feet,” Jake ordered.
They lifted Abbie onto the blanket and threw it over her. “Is that buckboard up to the back gate?”
“Hell, yes!” Tad snapped. “Damn you’re a nervous nellie, ain’t you?”
“I just want to get her the hell outta here and out to the whiskey camp before anybody shows up,” Jake said. “This could cause a nasty ruckus, and we’d end up hanging from one of these trees if a mob got wind o’ what we was doing.”
After a careful look outside, the two hurried out the house with their human burden. They quickly slid her into the back of the vehicle where another of Culhane Riley’s men sat with the reins in his hand.
“Git!” Jake ordered him. “But be slow and easy about it. We don’t want no attention. And remember the boss’s orders! Tell ever’body out there, including the new boys, that the girl ain’t to be hurt or played with.” The buckboard rolled away while Jake and Tad got their horses and swung up into the saddles.
The whole thing had taken less than five minutes.
Twenty-Six
Doctor Lewis Cranston hurried down the boardwalk toward the Sentinel’s office. Earl Tobey, sweeping in front of his barber shop, looked up alarmed as the physician rushed past him. “What in the blue-eyed world is the matter, Doc?” he inquired with some consternation.
“I can’t stop to talk now, Earl,” Cranston said. Several more people were startled by the expression of deep worry and concern on the doctor’s face. He continued on his way until he reached the newspaper’s door. The doctor banged hard on it. “Open up! Open up, I say!”
Tom Deacon, his Colt drawn and ready, peered out the window at the impatient caller, then glanced up and down the street.
“Let me in now!” Cranston loudly insisted.
Deacon complied. “Jesus, Doc! What the hell’s the matter with you? You look like you seen the devil hisself at your front gate.
Pale and drawn, there was something definitely troubling Cranston. “The whole thing is terrible,” he said in near hysteria. “I never imagined it could come to this.”
Tom didn’t bother to reholster the Colt. “Let’s get a grip on things here. There ain’t nothing can be solved when ever’body’s excited.” He took another wary look out into the street. “There ain’t any unfriendly types following you, is there?”
“Don’t worry about any of Riley’s gunmen,” Cranston said, gasping. “There is no danger from that quarter at this moment.” He gestured at the sandbags. “In fact, that bit of earthen fortification is no longer necessary in the light of recent developments.”
“You don’t mean to say that Riley’s pulled stakes and left, do you?” Tom inquired. “It appears that things is still the same across the street there in the Silk Garter.”
“Hardly. It’s much worse than that,” Lewis said. He went around the counter and sat down at Martin’s desk. He gestured to the young publisher. “Fetch J. T., please!” w
Martin, about to turn the crank on the press, displayed a puzzled expression. “Lewis, you are frightening us to death! Will you please explain the cause of your distress?”
“Can you two understand plain English?” Cranston shouted. “I said to summon J. T. Buchanan! Do it now!”
“I’ll see to it,” Tom said. He left the office. “There’s whiskey in the side drawer,” Martin said, walking over. “You look like you could use a drink.”
“Indeed,” Cranston agreed. He got the bottle and took a quick, deep, unceremonious swallow. “Sweet God in Heaven! I never knew how despicable that man really was!”
Tom returned with J. T. Now all three men stared in quizzical concern at the doctor. Cranston shook his head. “The worst has happened. Riley has kidnapped Abbie.”
The reaction was one of angry denial that such an outrageous act would occur.
“For the love of God! Even Riley could not gain from such an outrage!” Martin exclaimed.
“Why, he’d have to be plumb loco!” J. T. said. “I’m going home to see for myself!”
“Don’t bother. I’ve already been there to verify this. Abbie is gone, and that’s a straight fact,” Cranston insisted. “I tended to that directly after Riley sent a messenger to me with the news. She’s truly gone, and this was in the kitchen.” He tossed a cloth at the young woman’s father. “The odor is faint now, but it was once soaked in chloroform.” J. T.’s face reddened with frustrated anger. “What the hell does the son of a bitch hope to accomplish by taking my little girl?”
“The messenger told me more than simply the occurrence of the crime. He also imparted explicit instructions I was to pass on to you gentlemen,” Cranston said swinging his gaze to Martin. “There are three conditions that will affect Abbie’s safe release. The first is that you are to desist immediately from publishing any more issues of the Sentinel. Secondly, you are to leave Lighthorse Creek and never return.”
Martin, visibly shaken and distraught, swallowed hard. “What is the third, Lewis?”
“You are to agree not to petition the federal court to intervene in this town’s affairs,” Cranston answered.
“How did he know we was going to do that?” Tom Deacon asked. Of the trio of men in the office, he was the one who demonstrated the most emotional control.
Cranston shrugged. “How should I know? Perhaps somebody made a remark across the street in a bar, or Martin was overheard, or—” He stopped talking. Suddenly he leaned forward and grasped his face in his hands. “Oh, God! Oh, God! I can’t go on with this any longer!”
“Lewis, what’s the matter?” Martin asked. “I am becoming more and more confused. Your rambling speech is clouding the issue. Please tell us what is behind all this.”
The doctor sobbed for several moments. Then he regained his composure and displayed a determined calmness. “Very well, Martin. I also want to bring everything out into the open. Will all of you please come down to my office within a half hour,” he said.
“Will you have news?” Martin asked. “Has Riley instructed you to tell us this? Will his messenger return to you by then?”
“Please! Simply do as I ask,” Cranston said, standing up. “In exactly thirty minutes, I want you three to present yourselves to me in my treatment room.” He suddenly made an abrupt turn and walked to the door. He looked back at them and said, “Don’t be any later than that.” His exit was abrupt and without further words.
“I wonder what he’s got in mind?” Tom mused.
Martin removed his apron and retrieved his coat from the clothes tree in the corner of the office. “I don’t know. Lewis Cranston is a logical and precise man. If he clearly states that we must be there at a particular time, I think there must be a good reason for it.”
“Particularly if it will help Abbie,” J. T. said.
“I’m certain it will,” Martin said.
“I think you’ve turned over the rock with the snake under it, Martin. There sure as hell is something mighty strange here,” Tom said. “I don’t think I ever seen nothing like this in all my years of star packing. And that’s considerable.”
Martin pulled his pocket watch and checked it. “Twenty-eight minutes to go.”
Tom relaxed against the counter while Martin paced back and forth like a caged cougar. J. T. Buchanan, visibly distraught, sat in the chair at the desk. He fidgeted nervously, drumming his fingers and wiping at his perspiring face. He looked up at Martin. “Is it time yet?”
Martin again consulted his watch. “Fourteen minutes to go.”
The agitated waiting went on some more. Tom Deacon lit a cigar and smoked slowly and thoughtfully for some time. “Doc Cranston must be acting on instructions from Riley to make us wait,” he mused. “That son of a bitch prob’ly is gonna deliver some written instructions to him at a certain time.”
“Possibly,” Martin remarked. “Why else would he want to see us at an exact time?”
“How many more minutes to go?” J. T. demanded to know.
“Three.”
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Those remaining one hundred and eighty seconds passed agonizingly slow. Each seemed as if it were a separate, lengthy toll of a silent bell. But finally Martin gestured with a nod of his head.
“Let’s go!”
The three hastened down the street. Once again Earl Tobey was witness to people who appeared to be in a worrisome race of some kind. “Hey, fellers. Is ever’body in this dang town going crazy? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Tom said.
“Plenty,” Martin countered him.
“Hurry up, you two!” J. T. urged his companions.
“Come back and tell me about it when you get a chance,” Earl hollered after their retreating figures.
When they arrived in Cranston’s treatment room, they found the physician amazingly tranquil. He invited them to sit down in three chairs he’d positioned in a semicircle. He had pushed his examination table to a point in front of the impromptu seating arrangement.
“The first thing I wish to tell you is that Abbie is not in any immediate danger,” Cranston said. “While she is, indeed, in the hands of Riley’s men, she is not being harmed. There is an element of time—albeit not limitless—that can be enjoyed to a certain extent.”
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Tom said suspiciously. “What’s the idea of getting us down here?”
“In order that you may observe a moment of truth,” Cranston said. “And such occasions should always begin with a confession. Believe me, gentlemen, I have one hell of a disclosure to declare to you.”
The three instinctively leaned forward.
The doctor continued. “It has been I who informed Culhane Riley of all your plans and intentions. I have done this all along, and that includes the concept of calling in federal marshals.
“What?” J. T. exclaimed.
“I don’t believe it!” Martin said.
Tom, his face impassive, remained silent.
Cranston fetched a tumbler and a bottle of whiskey. He filled the glass full of the liquor. “Before I get deeper into this sordid tale of physical and spiritual weakness, allow me to show you something.” He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a small envelope. It contained a white powder that he poured into the drink.
“What’s that stuff?” J. T. asked.
“It’s the cause of my moral degeneracy,” Cranston said. “Although it is a scourge of mankind, it comes from a rather beautiful flower that goes by the scientific name of Papaver somniferum. Or, as it is more commonly known, the opium poppy. This powder, produced from the flower, is a powerful narcotic that is highly addictive.
“What’s add-ic-tive?” J. T. asked.
“That means if you use this substance, which is hell on earth, your body develops an uncontrollable craving for it,” Cranston explained. “You will do anything — anything—to get your hands on the stuff. That includes robbery, murder, and, worst of all, betrayal of your friends.”
“My God, Lewis,” Martin said. “You are an opium addict?”
“Indeed,” Cranston said. “It happened during my student days in medical school. A bit of bravado and dangerous experimentation with the drug got completely out of hand. My need for opium was so great that it eventually ruined a very good practice I had built up back east. Things kept getting worse and worse, until I ended up here in a little town in the Indian Territory.”
“Why didn’t you just stop using the stuff?” Tom asked.
“Tom, you know how whiskey affects a drunkard, don’t you? Well, opium addiction is a thousand times worse than that. One doesn’t just quit. One dies! Perhaps in the future the scientific and medical professions will figure out ways to treat this horrible matter. But now there is no hope.”
“So you are a captive of that terrible substance,” Martin said. “But I don’t understand why you have been forced to serve Culhane Riley.”
“Before he came to Lighthorse Creek, I was fine,” Cranston said. “I ordered the drug through my usual channels. It is a legal narcotic like all the other medicines I use in the practice of my profession. Also, during all this time, nobody demanded much of me. A botched case was easily explained away to these people. And, gentlemen, there’s more than one patient’s demise in this town that was the fault of my drugged mind.”
“Oh, Lord save you!” J. T. said, shaking his head. “Goddamn, Doc, I’d’ve give anything not to hear this!”
“Well, my friends, you’re going to hear it. So listen!” Cranston demanded. “Riley’s tax collectors intercepted one of my shipments. Riley knew exactly what the opium was when he examined it. He also knew I was a slave to it. By controlling my access to the drug, he made me his slave too.” He shrugged. “Thus, I served him, and served him well so that my body’s cravings could be satisfied.”
“So you helped set up Abbie’s kidnapping, huh?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Cranston said. “I informed him that Abbie would be alone at home this morning. But that was only the latest in a series of betrayals. I also told Riley about your plans to go to the newspaper early that morning when you were ambushed. Afterward, I let him in on the hay-bale idea to fortify the newspaper office, and I aided him in bringing that phony preacher in to gun you down, Tom.”
“For the love of God, Lewis!” Martin cried. “You’re a Judas!”
“I don’t ask you to spare me your reproaches. I deserve them. The harsher the better.”
Tom frowned. “I ain’t one for fancy words, Doc. But I’m developing a real dislike for you.”
“I’m about to atone for all my past sins,” Cranston said. “They are holding Abbie out at a place they call the Whiskey Camp. That’s the place Riley’s liquor runs out to the Indians are organized and dispatched.”
“Where is this site?” Martin asked coldly.
“You know the place well, Martin,” Cranston answered. “It’s at the sand flats on the creek where we used to set up our duck blinds.”
“Sure, I know it,” Martin said.
“Me too,” J. T. added.
“They have constructed a cabin out there,” Cranston explained. “So it doesn’t quite look the same.”
“Then, we’ll have to work out a plan to get Abbie out of there,” Tom said. “How many men are out at this place?”
Cranston shrugged. “I have no idea. But from conversations with Riley yesterday, I would hazard a guess of at least a half dozen.”
Tom looked into Doctor Cranston’s strained face. “No matter what happens, your love affair with this here opium is gonna be in trouble, ain’t it, Doc? Riley isn’t gonna let you have no more, and we sure as hell aren’t inclined to lend you any support neither.”
Cranston shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” He picked up the liquor in which he had dissolved the powder. “Opium and alcohol mixed together are powerful depressants.” He downed the concoction in three large swallows. “In fact, they are deadly.”
“Doc!” J. T. yelled out.
“You just killed yourself,” Martin said in horror.
“It will be a rather pleasant death,” Cranston said. He stumbled a bit. “I shall simply go to sleep and not wake up. Perhaps”—he sagged against the treatment table—“it is an easier one than I — ” He collapsed to the floor.
J. T. and Martin rushed to him and lifted the shallowly breathing man to the table. “My God,” J. T. said, “he’s going right before our eyes.”
“A tragedy,” Martin said.
“There’s gonna be a worse tragedy if we don’t get Abbie back,” Tom said. “Riley and his boys will keep her alive just so long.”
“I’m going with you fellers,” J. T. said.
“Let’s hurry,” Martin said. “I’m not as optimistic about the time factor as Lewis was.”
Tom cautioned him. “Let’s take at least a few extra minutes to get ready for this. Face the facts, boys, the three of us are about to go to war.”
“Yeah,” J. T. agreed. “And against two-to-one odds.”
Twenty-Seven
Tom Deacon reached back in his saddlebags and withdrew a long cylindrical object. “An of sea captain down in Galveston gave me this,” he said, displaying the telescope. “It’s come in handy a coupla times.”
Martin Blazer and J. T. Buchanan were as heavily armed as their companion. The exception in the armament was the choice of long guns. Each of the three men carried a pistol, but both Martin and J. T. had Winchester carbines while Tom toted his faithful scattergun.
“The first thing to do is check the layout of the place,” Tom said. “Since none of y’all have seen it since Riley took over, we’ll pull a scout.”
“That’s a good idea,” J. T. agreed. “There wasn’t no cabin there like Doc Cranston told us about.”
“The layout of the land is still the same, though,” Martin said. “The best approach would be from the northeast. I remember a knoll overlooking the place.”
“How’s the chances to be unseen there?” Tom asked.
“Lots o’ brush and trees,” J. T. said. “And it looks straight down to the sand flats.
“It’s about a quarter of a mile from here,” Martin said.
“Let’s get to it, boys,” Tom said. “We should be able to settle this thing well before dark if things go right.”
The trio of attackers took a quick but careful stroll across the deep grassland to the knoll that Martin had described. Once in the trees, they slowed down and snuck up to the edge of the small copse.
“There it is!” J. T. said, pointing.
Tom swung the telescope up to his eye and spent a few minutes in silent observation. Finally he folded up the viewing device and stuck it in his belt. “It’s a log-and-chink cabin, boys. There’s a coupla fellers that have gone in and out of the place. But I seen ’em turn and say something to somebody else inside. Lord knows how many there may be.”
“Doc Cranston said about six of ’em,” J. T. reminded Tom.
“Yeah. That might be right, but again ...” He motioned to them. “Let’s step back farther into these trees. Somebody might spot us accidental.”
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