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Howard shrugged. “You said you wanted horses, right?” Willem tried to ignore him, too depressed to answer. “Well, he’s got more than 1,000 horses according to Stephens. He grew up in the area.”
Chuckling, Willem finally let his dark eyes dart back to Howard. “A thousand horses? Maybe. If they haven’t eaten them all by now, I suppose.” Strolling toward the center of his troops, he called back. “Get saddles for three of our best horses. I want to get to Tooele within two hours and get this all worked out.” Sneaking a peek at the crowd, Willem lowered his voice. “Think we can still leave today?”
Howard’s face instantly fell. “Boss, it’s going to take two hours down, an hour to negotiate, and then two hours back. That’s five hours, and we’ll still need to get Habelmann whatever he wants in trade.” Willem shuddered hearing his words. “Something wrong?”
His head drooped to the right before turning to answer Howard. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that old coot is going to want in trade. He liked my father well enough, but he always seemed strange to me. Cold, if you will.”
Howard grinned. “That’s right. Down in your old stomping grounds. I forgot about that.”
Shooting Howard a disgusted glare, Willem focused on finding a horse. “Hardly my old stomping grounds. Provo is much more civilized than Tooele.” Turning away from his second, a frown spread across his features. “At least it was before Uncle Talbot cleared the Tarlischs out. I’m sure it’s not the same anymore.”
Tarlisch continued forward. Staying put, Howard watched as he disappeared into the crowd, uncertain whether Provo was better off with or without Willem Tarlisch around.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The old man did a circle around three of his older children and eyed Tarlisch on his third lap. Willem glanced at Howard, who seemed as baffled as his boss at the behavior. On the next lap, Leroy Habelmann stopped and spit at Willem’s feet.
“That’s what I think of you, boy,” Leroy said. “Your dad was a decent man. I liked him. You,” Leroy eyed both Willem and Howard skeptically, “you’re as worthless as I always thought you were. I wouldn’t even let my dog piss on your leg. You ain’t worth nothing.”
Thoughtfully, Willem smiled. “And as always, Leroy, it’s nice to be in your presence again. But can we do business, please? I need horses.”
Leroy spit again. “A hundred fifty horses...”
“And saddles,” Willem added.
“What you got for me, boy?” Leroy asked. Narrowing his eyes, he locked on Willem. “Aside from an army of murderers. You don’t scare me. I got plenty of men to protect me.”
“Leroy,” Willem pleaded. “No one’s here to invade you. We simply want to trade.”
A quick snort escaped his lips as Leroy spit, away from Willem this time. “Is that what you told Erickson and Brushbrow, you just wanted to talk? You’re nothing more than a murdering bastard.”
“Look, Leroy,” Willem began. “We’d prefer to do business with you. But,” he shrugged, “if you’re going to be surly about everything, we’ll just take our trade elsewhere.”
The horse overlord snorted and then began to laugh. “Oh you’re a clever one, Willem Tarlisch! Go ahead; take your business to the next man with horses. Bowerman, down in Spanish Fork.”
Rolling his eyes, Howard leaned toward Willem. “That’s another 40 plus miles, Will. Almost four times the difference as here.”
Shaking his head, the self-proclaimed mayor of Salt Lake squinted at Howard. “I’m well aware of how far away Spanish Fork is.” Looking back at his trading partner, his lips quashed as he considered his options. “I have guns, Leroy,” he called out.
“I already got guns, boy. Don’t need any more of those.”
“What do you need then?”
Leroy nodded to one of his sons standing nearby. “Ammo and beef.”
Now we are getting somewhere, Willem thought. “I’ve got some ammo I can spare. But I don’t have any beef. Just wild game.”
Willem watched as Leroy’s dirty-toothed grin grew. “Oh, you got beef, boy. You just don’t know where it is yet.” Leroy and all three children shared a good laugh at Willem’s expense.
Early the next morning found Willem pouring through files, searching desperately for the missing beef. “Finally, something positive is happening around here!” Willem shouted in Howard’s direction. “Finally!”
Howard’s face turned down. “Better hold that thought, Will. One of your wives wants to talk to you.”
Willem slumped in his chair. “Which one and what does she want to whine about now?” he asked.
“Suzanne, and she wants to talk to you about…” Howard was cut off as the wife in question hustled past the guards and placed herself directly in front of Willem’s desk.
Looking up to greet her, Tarlisch tried to smile. “Yes, my dear. How can I be of service to you today?”
With arms crossed tightly over her chest, she glared at him. “What is the point of keeping us locked up in our room all day? We’d like to get outside and walk around.”
“Why do you bother me with these minor requests?” he asked, looking past Suzanne at Howard. “If you want to go outside, just ask Howard.”
Suzanne’s eyes narrowed. “We did. And he said no.”
Willem leaned back, grinning. “Request denied. Don’t you understand English, darling? No means no.”
“We’ve done nothing to deserve to be treated like prisoners,” she fumed. “We deserve to be able to move around some. A little at least.”
Deep in thought about something else, Willem looked up at Suzanne. “I’m sorry, did you say something further? I can’t believe she’s still here, Howard.”
Howard reached for her arm, but she tore it away from his grasp. “Please, Willem,” she begged. “There must be some sort of deal we can strike. We’re dying of boredom up there.”
“Okay,” he began. “I actually anticipated something like this.” Taking Suzanne gently by her arm, he guided her over to the large window behind his desk. “I have employed three older ladies for you and the others.” He pointed at the courtyard below at a group of women sitting on a bench together. “One for each of you. Problem solved; they’ll go with you…everywhere.”
He watched as Suzanne inspected the group carefully. Each woman wore a long purple tunic covering all but her hands and head. Each wore a white habit covering their hair so that only their faces shown.
“Those are midwives,” she answered. “Cute. Big plans?” She glared at her forced husband.
“Eventually we will need them, right?” he replied. “I mean, if any of you can even become pregnant. For now, though,” he turned, motioning for Howard to remove the girl from his sight, “let’s think of them as handmaidens.”
Suzanne followed Howard to the door. Just as they exited, Tarlisch called out for her one last time. “Oh, by the way dear. If they lose track of you, for any reason, there will be severe repercussions.”
Stepping back into the office, she glared once more at him. “Meaning what exactly?”
Willem focused on his files, reading militia plans. “If they lose you, I will bring your mothers to the steps in front of this office. There they will be stripped and tied to a post. If whoever is not back within an hour, they’ll be whipped until that person does come back.” Finally he looked up, nonchalantly. “I trust we understand each other?”
Still glaring at Tarlisch, Suzanne nodded slightly.
“Good,” Willem finished. “Please be sure to share that with the others. See you all for dinner tonight.”
Suzanne disappeared without another word. Returning to his file, Willem read aloud to himself.
“In exchange for the above-mentioned services of the Salt Lake Community militia, the Community of Brigham City agrees to send 1,000 head of butchered cattle per year for the next 10 years. Each cow will exceed 800 pounds when slaughtered. The meat will be dried in accordance with Mayor Marshall Erickson’s directions and will be
shipped to the location mentioned in schedule B for further distribution. As a show of good faith, the Community of Brigham City agrees to provide the first year’s allotment before the aforementioned militia leaves the Salt Lake Community.” Pausing, he shook his head slowly. “Those bastards.”
Rolling his head to the ceiling, Willem let out a loud scream of joy. “Howard, Landry, Andy…anybody. Mount the troops. We’ve got beef to find.”
Fingering bags of dried beef, Willem motioned for Howard. “How much beef did that man want?”
“Five hundred pounds,” he answered.
Willem’s shoulders collapsed as his smile disappeared into a dark frown. “How much is here?” he asked, pointing to the shelves holding bag after bag of beef.
“We counted 400 bags, boss.” Howard cowered as Willem turned and launched the bag from his hand at the window on the far side of the room. Glass shattered like thin ice as the old window took the brunt of Tarlisch’s anger.
“Sure, let’s give that idiot everything, why not.” Turning, he sat on a bench at the far end of shelves, pouting away from his men and Howard.
Howard approached him carefully. “As far as we can tell, these are a pound and a half each. That means we’ll still have a little north of an extra 100 pounds. That’s something at least.”
Still pouting, Willem contemplated something else still bothering him. “How much ammo?”
Howard looked away and exhaled loudly. “Almost half of the popular gauges. But we’ll still have plenty.”
Letting his head fall forward, he grasped it in his hands. “When we came into town, not even a week ago, all of the plunder of Salt Lake was open wide for us, Howard. And now, little by little, we’re losing it. An inch at a time, these people are stealing us blind!”
Sitting next to his friend, Howard patted Willem’s knee. “This is the last of it, boss. We can ship Habelmann what he wants tomorrow and still be on our way the day after. Well, probably the day after that, but then for sure.”
Willem scowled at Howard sideways. “My god man, we’re losing weeks here. Pretty soon winter will come and we’ll still be empty-handed. When do the delays end, Howard, when?”
Rising and walking away, Howard turned for one last word. “Will, you knew this wasn’t going to be easy. You knew this was gonna take time. Just be patient. Everyone’s working as hard as they can.” Continuing on, he disappeared past the shelving units and through a door in the back of the room.
“Just be patient,” Willem mockingly repeated. “I’m the king of Salt Lake; just no one knows, it seems.” Depressed, he rose and grabbed a bag of beef to sample. After sniffing the dark brown contents, he shoved a large wad of it in his mouth. His head rolled and then fell again. “Of course it tastes good. I’m giving it away tomorrow, so it must be good.” Tossing the opened bag of ground, dried meat back on the shelf, he left in search of Howard.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It took two days for the scouts to return with their news, none of it good. Camp Eight reported a large influx of news from the Salt Lake Community. One camp family had relatives appear at their gates within three days of the initial shooting. A small group of friends came with news for another of the camp’s families. They had been just a few feet from the stage that fateful morning. A middle-aged woman, her husband and their 11-year-old daughter had witnessed the carnage firsthand. Some 100 plus hours later, they gave their full report to Camp Eight’s lead scout, George Cleveland. Though he wanted to doubt their words, wanted to retort that what they described just couldn’t have happened, the daughter’s clothing still bore some of the blood and brain matter from the shootings. More concerning was the fact that she still appeared catatonic and hadn’t uttered a single sound since that morning.
The news from Camp Ten was worse, far worse. Three groups had arrived looking for the safety and refuge of friends and families. With them, they brought the widow of Walter Brushbrow, Sylvia. A frail older woman, Sylvia’s bitterness and abomination over what had taken place right in front of her eyes fired an almost hysterical demand for revenge. The scout reported to Cara, and the others of the assembly, that he felt Sylvia Brushbrow would most likely rush off and seek the death of Willem Tarlisch at any time, if not for the lack of weapons.
Cara paced before the assembly, furious with the latest news. “When did they plan on sharing any of this news with us?” she demanded of the scouts. “We’re closer to Salt Lake than Camp Ten. How is it possible no one felt this was something that should not have been shared instantly, via courier network?”
“Don’t know, Miss Cara,” answered Phillip, the scout who had run to Camp Eight.
“And what of the Upland Guard? Where are they to be found in all of this?” Now her stare zeroed in on Charles Pickney, Phillip’s cousin and runner to Camp Ten.
“Sorry, Miss Cara; I didn’t see the Guard anywhere,” he answered, looking away.
Softening upon seeing their remorse, Cara spoke again. “Charles, Phillip, you did nothing wrong.” Giving them a small smile, she sat between the pair. “You performed your duties perfectly – again. Off you go please. See if you don’t run into Colonel Chamberlain and his unit out there. Perhaps he’ll have more news for us.”
Both young men gave the group a nod and left the room to grab a quick bite from their mother and aunt, Cara supposed. Afterwards, they would head back out into the wilderness engulfing this area. This is where they both were most comfortable, where they spent most of their days and some nights. Out and about poking around, searching out any trouble before it may find any of the camps, especially Camp Nine.
Cara returned her focus to the rest of the assembly. “I just don’t understand this at all. Does anyone else feel like the Upland Guard has again failed to do its job? Where is Colonel Chamberlain, or Captain Harmes, or Major Donaldson?” More frustrated, she threw her hands to the air. “Why wasn’t this reported to us before now?”
Charlie Watson cleared his throat, and all eyes fell his way. “I think we need to focus on what preparations might be needed here, Cara, not on the past. What do we need to do now in case these murderers come seeking out Captain Bond?”
“What can we do, Charlie?” asked Emily. An anxious expression crossed her face. “There’s 50 of us. How many men does the Tarlisch fellow have? A hundred? Several hundred? Thousands?” All faces took on an anxious appearance.
Stroking his chin, Chet rose to speak. “First off, we need to close the two side entrances. Stack them full of fresh cut logs, that way they’re heavier. Cara, have Steven cut some timber near camp for that.” Cara nodded quickly in agreement. “Next, we need to double the nighttime guard. Get the harvest picked and set for drying, but no one should be outside our walls after dark. Two men on the main gates at all times. Maybe even add a third, to go after folks if trouble shows up.”
Staring at Chet, Carol shook her head slowly. “This is just what happened to Camp Four several years back. Thirty, maybe 40 people up against 100 armed men. We all know how well that ended.”
Chet paused and peered out Cara’s kitchen window. “They had that coming, Carol. They took what wasn’t theirs.” Disgusted with the same talk, he waved his hands at the assembly. “I never liked that Johnson fellow, their old leader. He wasn’t honest. He got what he deserved.”
Carol rose and attacked. “They hung him, right in front of his family. And killed four people getting at him. How can you be so callous, Chet?”
Chet met her head on. “They stole,” he replied, his voice rising to meet her challenge.
“They took lumber, Chet. Lumber laying in the woods.”
“It wasn’t theirs, Carol. They stole. They didn’t cut it, they knew it. He knew it!”
Cara stepped between the pair. “Let’s not put the past on trial. And it’s not our business.”
“As long as we learn from it,” Chet stoically added. “We have something they’ll want. Information. We give them what they want and they should leave us alone. If
we don’t give them a decent answer, and they know we’re lying…”
Cara nodded; she knew where he was headed. “But first, let’s make sure we’re ready for any unwanted visits.” Turning to the rest of the group, she eyed them carefully. Some were brave, most wanted to be left alone, like her.
“We don’t want trouble,” Cara began. “But if it comes, we need to be ready. Tighten up the fence. We have several posts that need replacing, so now would be a good time to do that. Make the front gate smaller. Maybe so only one person can pass at a time.” Heads nodded agreement. “I just wish we could count on the other camps at a time like this. A larger force would be better.”
Chet let out a small laugh from near the window. “Every camp for themselves, Cara. Always been that way. It’s the only way they can ensure their own survival. If we all get involved in everyone else’s business, everyone could get wiped out.”
Reluctantly, Cara had to agree. “I know. The way it’s always been.” Pacing back and forth in the small cabin, she pondered another potential problem. “Charlie? How do we stand on weapons?”
Charlie’s face fell. “Well, we got 16 rifles and shotguns.” Looking at the group with an apologetic expression, he sighed. “Just no ammo I’m afraid. Been a couple years now.”
Cara turned to face him directly. “No news from that fellow up by Heber City on new shells?”
Charlie shook his head before answering. “He’s said several times he’d take care of us, but he hasn’t come through just yet.”
Cara squeezed her eyes shut. “Guns and no ammunition. My Lord, how are we to defend ourselves?”
“What about bows?” Chet asked from his stationary position.
“Four,” Charlie answered. “Just, ah, well, limited arrows.”
“Meaning?” Cara asked, hoping beyond all hope for a decent reply.
