by Paul Bedford
‘All I’m saying,’ Baxter droned on, ‘Is I don’t see how we’re going to sell great lumps of silver ore in the Indian Territories. Who the hell’s going to pay cash money for them?’
Such a depressing thought had already occurred to Teach, so his being reminded of it didn’t help any. He had chosen to steer for a while, but was now regretting that decision. The necessity to grip the steering oar prevented him from seizing Baxter by the throat.
‘Why didn’t we steal it after it had been refined,’ that man continued, seemingly oblivious to his leader’s rising anger. ‘Now that would have made sense, ’cause we could have forged coins or some such out of it. With proper cash money we could buy some real sipping whiskey, like they drink back east an’ not the moose piss that we usually have to swig!’
Two completely unconnected things happened then. Up in the ‘sharp’ end, Naylor yelled back, ‘There’s a big town up ahead on the left bank, boss. Why not pull in and get some vittles?’
At the exact same moment, Ed Teach, always on a short fuse, abruptly lost all self-control. Oblivious to the approaching settlement, he recklessly cast the steering oar aside and surged down the outer wall of the enclosed cabin. His target was the suddenly speechless Baxter, who had been idly watching the grassland pass by as he rambled on. Out of control, the keelboat veered sharply towards the riverbank and threw the almost incandescent outlaw boss into the central structure with stunning force.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ Rio exclaimed. ‘You’ll kill us all.’ So saying, he agilely raced around the other side of the cabin towards the stern. At the same time, Naylor hefted a pole in his hands, ready to make a vain attempt at fending off the rapidly approaching shore. If nothing else, his swift reaction proved that he had learned something on the voyage.
As Teach got his breath back, Baxter scurried away across the decking. He knew all too well what the huge, unkempt man was capable of and genuinely feared for his life. Realizing that he couldn’t elude those huge paws forever, he even contemplated leaping into the Arkansas.
It was the ever-resourceful knife-fighter who saved the boat from certain destruction. Grabbing the steering pole, he heaved his end sharply over to the left and so ensured that the sharp angle came off their approach. Naylor gamely pushed against the solid timber jetty, but even so the keelboat smacked into it with a resounding thump. Following their rapid getaway from Canon City, they had discovered that only enough rope had been retained to tie up at the stern. As Rio leapt ashore to do just that, Baxter did the same up at the bow – except that Baxter’s sole intention was to escape Teach’s clutches.
It was only after the craft had been relatively safely moored that anyone took the trouble to really look around. And what they saw took their breath away. The grassland surrounding the settlement appeared to be covered by cows, or more precisely, Texas Longhorns. Trail hands were surging around the herd, or herds, directing the flow towards huge cattle pens and corrals. There could be no doubt that the silver thieves had arrived smack in the heart of cattle country.
A number of idlers and gawkers, some of them fishing off the jetty, regarded the new arrivals curiously. Four men seemed a very small crew for such a long vessel.
‘Where the hell are we?’ Teach muttered, still angry that Baxter had temporarily evaded his clutches.
One of the locals sniggered and pointed to a sign that had been haphazardly hammered into the ground next to the landing stage.
Welcome To Dodge City
No Firearms Allowed
Within The City Limits
‘Hope you fellas like beef,’ he remarked. ‘It’s pretty much all you’ll get to eat around here. That and beans. We never seem run out of Goddamn beans!’
It was then that Baxter spotted a far more important feature of the frontier town. The main north-south thoroughfare was bisected by railroad tracks that came to an end just west of the settlement. ‘We’ve fetched up slap bang next to a railhead,’ he exulted, before adding far more quietly. ‘All we need do is find a buyer. What say you, fellas?’
Teach stared at him, all enmity suddenly forgotten. ‘What I say, Barf, is that it’s past time that you visited a bathhouse. And if we do things right in this here Dodge City, you’ll get that chance.’
It was Rio who displayed the least enthusiasm. ‘I’ve never liked towns much, so I reckon I’ll stay here and mind the store. There’s only one rope holding this boat in place and in any case we can’t just up and leave it without a guard.’
Teach had no problem with any of that. All his thoughts were now focused on possible opportunities in the cow town. ‘That’s hunky-dory with me. We’ll be back before you know it with the cargo sold and our boots full of greenbacks. We might even bring you a drink!’
Rio stared at the departing trio and shook his head despairingly. Not for the first time he wondered just why he had ever joined up with them. After taking a good look around the mooring and its apparently harmless occupants, he settled down at the rear of the boat. Pretty soon the rocking motion combined with the warm sunshine to send him sound asleep.
The sun had long passed its zenith when the negligent sentry abruptly jerked awake. For a deliciously brief moment he had absolutely no idea where he was. Then a familiar bellow intruded and he was back to reality with a jolt. Rio’s three cronies were frantically running towards the river, their extreme speed motivated by the need for self-preservation. Behind them, streaming out of Dodge City’s bustling centre was an all too familiar angry mob.
‘Oh, not again,’ he sighed and clambered shakily to his feet.
‘Cut the damn rope,’ Teach hollered breathlessly. He tried to add something else, but his words were drowned out by gunfire as various citizens took wild shots at the fleeing men.
Realizing that they would never be able to tie up again, if he complied, Rio kept his Bowie sheathed and instead leapt onto the jetty. Working frenetically on the rope, he managed to prise it loose so that only a loop around the post held the boat in place; once the others got aboard he would need to move fast.
The dirt thoroughfare known as Front Street was flanked to within a few yards of the mooring by timber buildings and so the three fugitives had had a gleeful and rowdy audience all the way. But the haphazard pursuit was about to turn deadly serious. A huge barrel of a man sporting a luxurious moustache and weighing in excess of three hundred pounds soon decided that running was both exhausting and unnecessary. As city marshal, he was well within his rights to use the revolver strapped to his ample girth.
Coming to a grinding halt, the ‘man mountain’ stood patiently for a few moments to get control of his ragged breathing. Then, drawing and cocking an immaculately maintained Remington, he very deliberately took aim at the largest of the fleeing men. As the lawman’s weapon discharged with a satisfying crash, Ed Teach suddenly felt tearing agony in his left ear. It was as though a red-hot poker had been plunged into it and the shock nearly brought him to earth. With the keelboat now only feet away, he made a last ditch effort and surged towards it.
‘Huh, must be pulling to the left a little,’ grunted City Marshal Larry Deger as he again readied his weapon.
Finally, the outlaw boss reached the landing stage and threw himself bodily over the gunwale. His two cronies were close behind and the second that they were on board, Rio unfurled the rope and leapt into the stern. They weren’t a moment too soon. Even as he heaved on the steering oar, another well-aimed shot rang out and splinters flew off the boat’s transom.
As the Arkansas’ current carried the poleboat away from Dodge City, Teach angrily peered over the side. Blood poured from his mangled flesh and his savage mood wasn’t improved by the sight of one of the inhabitants cupping a hand over his left ear.
‘Don’t look like you’ll be ’earing from Larry again,’ a raucous voice yelled out, to the sound of much appreciative laughter on the riverbank. The hilarity followed the boat until they were finally out of sight.
‘What the hell happened
back there,’ Rio enquired curiously. Even for men of their ilk, his companions had managed to stir up a veritable hornet’s nest in a town where they were supposedly unknown. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that Baxter had impressive bruising around his left eye.
It was some time before anyone replied. Teach was occupied with hanging over the side, scooping cool water up onto his throbbing wound. Baxter was casting increasingly nervous glances in his direction and as usual Naylor was content to let someone else do the talking. Only after their blood-soaked leader had flopped down onto the decking did Rio get some kind of answer.
‘What the hell didn’t happen?’ came the sour response. Licking his lips, Teach favoured Baxter with a particularly malicious stare. ‘We fetched up in a saloon called The Long Branch. It seemed like a good place to start. I bought a few drinks and got to talking with some fellas about our interesting cargo.’
Rio groaned inwardly. He could almost see the débâcle unfolding.
‘Anyhow,’ Teach continued. ‘Barf here couldn’t keep his eye on the mark. Took a fancy to a short whore name of Rowdy Kate. Afore long, she led him upstairs to tend to business. Only problem was, this knucklehead didn’t have the special price she’d offered, but that didn’t come out ’til afterwards. So what does he do? The silly bastard only goes and hits her!’
‘She pulled a blade on me,’ Baxter protested.
‘Only after you’d tried to stove her head in,’ Teach retorted. ‘And she certainly lived up to her nickname, because then all hell broke loose. Turns out her regular customer just happened to be the city marshal. A huge son of a bitch, name of Deger. And you know what? He only comes after the two of us as well.’
Immediately comprehending the reason, Rio shook his head. ‘Because you hadn’t checked in your shooting irons.’
Teach glowered at him briefly, before returning his malevolent attention to Baxter. ‘Before we knew it, that law-dog had deputized everyone in the room and we had to run for our lives. And I’ve lost half an ear, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants!’
Baxter regarded him warily. The keelboat was well away from either bank. There was no escape. ‘It weren’t my fault, boss,’ he whined. ‘I’d give anything for you not to have got hurt.’
‘It might just come to that,’ Teach remarked darkly, before abruptly looking away. ‘Naylor, get over here and put some stitches in this, before I God damn bleed to death!’
That man sighed, but did as instructed and for the first time since their close escape actually offered an observation. ‘And Barf never did make it to a bath-house. How that bitch could touch his pecker is beyond me!’
Chapter Five
‘I want those bastards caught. Every last one of them, you hear?’ Bank President A.W. Clark almost shouted the words.
It was the morning after the robbery in Wichita. He had arrived back from Kansas City at the urgent behest of his manager and to his jaundiced eyes, little seemed to have been done. The only plus point was the arrival of an employee of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Ben Exley was his name and it was he who had been on the receiving end of the strident demand. A smooth-shaven city slicker in a store bought suit, he was well used to dealing with aggrieved clients.
‘What about the city marshal?’ he enquired. ‘Did he deputize a posse?’
Clark snorted scornfully. He was a well-fed, florid individual, full of his own importance. He continued, ‘That man Turner ain’t worth moose piss. He got a little bitty splinter in his face and spent the rest of the day at the doctor’s. You see that stain on the floor there? That’s where one of my customers was killed.’ Making a supreme effort, he managed to lower his voice. ‘And what really vexes me is the loss of a Wells Fargo strongbox, full of Double Eagles. Because it was on the bank’s premises, we’re liable and I’m not in business to make a loss. So tell me, Mister Pinkerton Agent, just what are you going to do about it?’
Exley was ambitious and highly regarded by Allan Pinkerton. Regarding the bank president calmly, Exley favoured him with a soothing smile. ‘I’ve got half a dozen of the agency’s best men arriving by rail this afternoon. One of them is an expert tracker. He could smell your shit and tell you what you ate for breakfast.’
The bank president recoiled slightly. Somehow such language didn’t go with a snappy suit, but before he had time to comment, the detective continued at speed.
‘It’s a known fact that men on the dodge in this part of the country usually make for the Indian Territories, which means this gang will have to cross the Arkansas River. And since it’s both wide and deep, they’ll have to use a ferry and that means they’ll be seen. All we have to do is follow with firm resolve and apprehend them. If they choose to resist, then we’ll kill every last one of the sons of bitches. But believe me, Mister Clark, one way or another your money is as good as recovered.’
The other man’s eyes widened incredulously. ‘You’re a very confident young man, I’ll give you that.’
Exley ignored the condescending tone. ‘That’s because I’m very good at my job. And that’s why I’m in charge of this operation.’
‘Then I shall wait on results,’ the banker replied. In spite of the situation he was beginning to feel a little happier. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Yeah,’ Exley drawled. ‘Elect a new marshal!’
‘If we were this close to the ferry, why did we sleep outdoors last night?’ whined Jonas Bills.
He must have slept on a rock or some such, because his back was playing up something cruel. The two men had passed a quiet night, barely a mile from the river crossing. Mild weather and ample grazing for the horses meant that there had been little to complain of, unless you happened to be chained to a tree.
‘Because door knocking in the dark is a sure way of getting my head blown off . . . and I’m kind of attached to it,’ Sam Torrance responded, as he surveyed the tranquil scene before them. ‘A lot of dangerous men use this trail and I’ve seen what John Taggart puts in his twelve gauge cartridges.’
At the bottom of a gentle incline lay a narrow stretch of flat land, bordered by the riverbank. A cabin and outbuildings were visible and beyond them flowed the Arkansas River. With a strong current, the waterway was anything but benign and definitely too much of a handful for any halfway rational horse and rider. Which, of course, explained the ferry tethered to a stout post. From that craft, there came the sound of honest labour, as a man in his early thirties deftly hammered nails into a new section of deck timber. The fact that he was missing his left arm didn’t seem to affect his ability any.
As the two riders headed for the landing stage, a door banged in the cabin and a massively built individual strode purposefully into view. His sharp eyes took in the new arrivals and then he stopped and waited, hands on hips, for them to rein in next to him. His face wore a guarded smile, which suggested that he already knew one of the horsemen.
‘Morning, marshal,’ John Taggart remarked amiably. ‘Who are you chasing this time?’
Torrance returned the smile. ‘If I was to tell you that, you might just warn them.’
The ferry proprietor chuckled, but said nothing.
‘You still charging one whole US Dollar per rider?’
Taggart nodded. ‘That’s the going rate. Round these parts, anyhow.’ He glanced over at the manacled prisoner. ‘You’d save Judge Parker a lot of time and trouble if you was to just tie him to a rock and heave him in the river. You could still claim the fare and nobody would know.’
As Bills noticeably paled, it was the lawman’s turn to chuckle. ‘You’ve got a real dark turn of mind, John Taggart. Problem is, it wouldn’t work, because you and your partner over there would know and in any case, I’ve got a conscience. Maybe that’s why I carry the law.’
There followed a long silence, as the two men eyed each other speculatively. It was the lawman who finally spoke. ‘You had any customers recently?’
Taggart guffawed slightly. ‘Now we’re getting to it.
How recently?’
‘Today or maybe late on yesterday. There’d likely be six men, one of them wounded in the left shoulder.’
The big man shook his head decisively. ‘Nope. Last ferrying business we had was early yesterday morning. Two fellas with pack mules heading south. Took them for whiskey peddlers or some such, out to rob and debauch the Indians. Not that I’d ever be able to recognize them again,’ he added meaningfully. ‘The wounded man . . . it wouldn’t have been a .45-.75 cartridge, would it?’
The marshal smiled grimly. ‘Yeah. It just so happened it was. They robbed a bank in Wichita and took off in this direction. I’d have bet cash money that they’d be in the Territories by now. Seems I was wrong.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘Do me a favour, John. If they should end up here, don’t mention that I was asking about them, huh?’
Taggart nodded slowly. ‘I reckon I can do that, but that’s all I’ll do. You know me, Sam. I earn my living ferrying all sorts of people across this river, so I don’t ever inform on them. That way Jacob and I get to stay alive, savvy?’
Torrance favoured him with a lop-sided smile. ‘I guess that’s all any of us can hope for, John. Now how’s about ferrying us across? This fellow has got a pressing appointment with the hangman.’
Jonas Bills scowled, but held his peace. He was sick and tired of being the butt of everyone’s black humour. One way or another he was going to have to get clear of the federal law-dog.
‘Better finish that later, Jacob,’ Taggart called over to his partner. ‘We’ve got us a couple of customers.’
