Gunpoint / Name on the Dodger, page 17
“Damn O’Shea. He should’ve told ’em long since, but he left it to me. Said I was being paid to be unpopular.”
Slattery wiped gravy off his chin. “Are they really running out of land in the valley?”
“Been a big demand, but the other sections are just as good ... Well, maybe not quite as good as the bottom land, but plenty good enough for runnin’ cows.”
“I don’t mind going out a ways.”
Rance glanced towards him. “Pretty remote out here, Wade, but I did hear Slocum was trying to get a sheriff. It’ll likely be some local feller who hasn’t made a go of ranchin’. I wouldn’t think they’d know anythin’ about you.”
Slattery frowned. “No, not likely, I guess. But I’ll play it close to my chest. If you look around and find I ain’t there, don’t worry about it. I’ll just be keeping out of sight for a spell.”
They ate in silence for a time, then Rance murmured, “There’s rumors floatin’ around that Coleman thinks you’ve taken a shine to his wife.”
Slattery stiffened. “I think she’s too damn good for him. I haven’t made any passes—and won’t—no matter what he thinks.”
Rance nodded. “Good enough for me. Just thought I’d mention it... Look, I’ve got a proposition for you. Like I said earlier, there’s gonna be a lot more land granted out this way. Ridin’s giving me hell with this leg. Of course, it might improve as time goes by, but I was thinkin’ mebbe I could drum up the business back east, get the wagon trains together, then you could take over as wagon boss ... There’ll be no need for you to go near any towns. You could rendezvous with the wagons along the river and then lead ’em out here ... You’d make a tidy sum.”
Slattery ate thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve kind of got my heart set on my own place, Jim ...”
“You’d have time to work it. Bringin’ in the pilgrims’d give you more money to build up your place.”
“Let me think on it, Jim. Appreciate the offer, I really do.”
“Okay. There’s no hurry. Let me know what you decide.” Some of the men had broken out some booze to wash down the roast beef and began to turn the meal into a party. The accordions, harmonicas and fiddles came out and once the music had begun it wasn’t long before dancers were up and wheeling around.
Slattery had a couple of belts of whiskey behind a wagon, saw Laura sitting alone, tapping her foot in time to the music and went across and asked if she’d like to dance.
She immediately looked around, then smiled. “Lonnie seems to be enjoying the company of a bottle, so why not?” They wheeled, jigged and laughed with other couples and when the dance was over and they returned, breathless and sweating, to the Coleman wagon, Lonnie was waiting. Flushed and a little drunk, he reached out, grabbed Laura’s arm and pulled her roughly against him.
“If I want my wife to dance, mister, I’ll take her out on the floor myself.”
Sobering swiftly, Laura clutched at Lonnie’s hand and grimaced as he tightened his grip on her arm. She began to prise at his fingers but he held her firmly, glaring at Slattery.
“I’d have asked your permission if you’d been around, Lonnie,” he said equably. “Same as I asked permission to dance with Mrs. Kolmar and Mrs. O’Shea.”
Lonnie sneered. “They’re both in their fifties ... Nothin’ for you there, mister. But Laura’s a different matter, eh? Young and sweet and mine, damnit, mine!”
“Lonnie you’re being foolish and people are looking! Let me go, will you?” Anger was beginning to flash in Laura’s dark eyes and she bent back one of his fingers until he howled and finally released her arm.
Slattery saw the red marks on her flesh and knew there would be bruises there tomorrow. Controlling himself, he said, “I’ll ask your permission next time without fail, Lonnie ... ’Night, Laura.”
“Good night, Wade. I’m sorry about this.”
He flicked his gaze to Lonnie’s smug, slack face. “Must get monotonous apologizing for him all the time,” he said quietly and turned away.
He had taken only two steps when he heard Laura gasp, then a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder and spun him around. He stumbled, looking into Lonnie’s booze-sweaty, angry face.
“You keep away from my wife!” Lonnie yelled, his voice bringing all heads around and stopping the musicians just as they were about to strike up another tune. “Damned lecher!” He swung ineffectually. Slattery dodged, then said, face grim, “That’s going just a mite too far, Lonnie!”
He drove his fist against Lonnie’s jaw with a crack that was heard several wagons away. Lonnie flailed backwards, one of his arms striking Laura and knocking her to her knees. Lonnie crashed against the rickety Conestoga and his eyes rolled as he slid down the wheel, head bouncing off the spokes.
Men began running up, O’Shea grabbing Slattery’s arm, while Jim Rance put his cane in front of his chest, frowning and shaking his head, indicating that the matter was to go no further.
But Lonnie wasn’t in any hurry to get up. A little blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his head hung slackly. He moaned as Laura went to him.
“I’m sorry,” Slattery said. “But he didn’t need to say that.”
Laura rounded on him swiftly, face angry. “And you didn’t need to hit him so hard! You didn’t need to hit him at all.”
Slattery was surprised but, afterwards, Rance told him it was the best possible reaction from Laura. Now folks wouldn’t pay any attention to Lonnie’s wild claims about her and Slattery. She had demonstrated how she felt about her husband.
Slattery nodded, sighing heavily. “Be damned glad to reach this Slocum town, I reckon.”
Chapter Seven – River Town
AS IT TURNED out, Wade Slattery would have been much happier if he had never even heard of Slocum, let alone came to the place ...
It was an embryo town, the buildings scattered, but with a well-formed main street lined by several businesses.
Just a glimpse of the price tags on goods in the windows soon showed the pilgrims that they had not yet found The Promised Land, or if they had, the entrance fees were a hell of a lot steeper than they’d figured. Leastways, that was how O’Shea put it and as it turned out, the analogy was a lot more accurate than he knew.
A new timber bridge had been built across the river, which saved the wagons crossing at the original ford. There was a painted sign on the bridge that read, ‘Yaeger Bridge’. A sign outside the false fronted saloon said ‘Yaeger’s Palace’. There was also Yaegar’s General Store and Yaegar’s Livery. The smaller business houses carried other names.
“You look uneasy, Wade,” Rance said as they rode down Main at the head of the lumbering wagons.
“Someone named Yaeger seems to have this town by the throat.”
Rance looked at him sharply. “Wasn’t like this last time I was here, although Sam Yaeger was expandin’ then ... What’s wrong?”
Slattery’s face was tight, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Sam Yaeger, you say?”
“Know him?”
“Rode with a Sam Yaeger once, down in Texas. Haven’t heard of him in years—thank God.”
Rance’s gaze sharpened. “Old enemy?”
“We never did get along too well. What’s he look like?”
Rance nodded ahead to where several men had stepped down from in front of the saloon. The first thing Slattery noticed was the sun glinting off a sheriff’s star pinned to the shirt worn by a gangling man with a scrawny neck, a hatchet face and mean eyes. His thumbs were hooked in crossed gunbelts and one cheek bulged with chewing tobacco.
“Ricketts!” Slattery breathed. “Deuce Ricketts. If he’s sheriff, this is gonna turn out to be one helluva town.”
The man slightly ahead of Ricketts was a little short of six feet but blocky and solid-looking. He wore a broadcloth suit with his gun holstered on his left hip in a cross-draw position. All the leather was polished to a high sheen, as were his boots. His face was round, bald head gleaming in the hot sun. Thick lips peeling back from large teeth, he lifted a thick-fingered hand.
“Welcome to Slocum Town, pilgrims! What you see is what you get. We’ve got our own sheriff now, Mr. Deuce Ricketts, and we aim to make this a town and valley fit for families to live in. Of course, that kinda thing don’t come cheap, but I’m sure everyone’s willing to pay a little something to make sure they settle in a peaceful place, eh?” He waved a hand around. “And just look at the lushness of this valley with the big river and the hills ... You folk have made a mighty fine choice. Welcome again. I’m Sam Yaeger and if you have any problems, why I’m the man to come and see.”
He smiled expansively and the wagons which had rumbled to a halt, prepared to start forward again but found the street blocked by several men carrying what looked like note-books and small canvas money bags.
Jim Rance looked questioningly at Yaeger. “They your men?”
“Why, yes, Jim. They’re my collectors.”
“Collectors?” Rance asked blankly.
“Sure. You saw the new bridge, of course. Naturally, you crossed it to get here. Well, it’s a toll bridge: a dollar a wagon to use it. Riders pay only ten cents and that allows ’em to use it both ways, coming in and going out.”
Rance almost foamed at the mouth. “I never heard of such a thing! Dollar a wagon, to use a bridge that’s no more than ten yards at most!”
Yaeger still hadn’t lost his smile. “With seven yards of river underneath and high banks ... That cost money to construct, Jim, and the townsfolk can’t be expected to foot the bill. They’re already here and not likely to be using it much. So it has to be the pilgrims: you can see that.”
“I can see you’re trying to take us down, Yaeger!” Rance said angrily.
Yaeger nodded to Ricketts and the man stepped forward. “Mr. Yaeger’s within his rights. He financed the bridge out of his own pocket. It’s privately owned, not owned by the town. He’s within his rights to charge folk.”
“There ought to be a sign,” Slattery said quietly, reluctant to buy in, but seeing no way out.
For the first time, Yaeger and Ricketts looked closely at him and he saw the faint shock of recognition.
“Sign’s being painted right now,” Yaeger said quietly. “It’ll be up in time for the next wagon train.”
“It’ll be crossing at the ford!” Rance snapped.
Yaeger shook his head. “You’ll find you won’t be able to use it. Some of my men go fishing down that way and don’t like travelers disturbing the fish. They likely wouldn’t let you across, just direct you back to the bridge.” He flicked his gaze once more to Slattery, but said nothing. “Collect the dues, men.”
“What’re you gonna do if they don’t pay, Sam?” Slattery asked mildly. “Send ’em back? That’d be twice they’d used your bridge.”
Yaeger laughed and merely pointed. Two armed horsemen were sitting in the middle of the bridge. The men with money sacks moved slowly down the line, arguing with the protesting pilgrims, but collecting the toll.
“Be ten cents apiece, gents,” Ricketts said to Rance and Slattery. The man’s mean eyes stayed on the outlaw’s face. “Long ways from home, Wade.”
“We all are.” Slattery flipped a dime towards Yaeger and the man snatched it out of the air and slid it into his vest pocket.
“Every little helps. Thanks, Jim ... Oh, by the way, the land agent met with an accident—only a coupla days ago, wasn’t it, Deuce?”
Ricketts nodded soberly. “Yeah. Too bad. Real bad luck for him. Hoss throwed him and he landed on some rocks. Split his skull like a ripe melon ...”
“You mean there’s no agent here to handle the grant?” asked Rance.
“Don’t look so worried, Jim. It’s all been taken care of. A new agent’ll be sent. Meantime, I’m acting land agent.” Yaeger frowned and shook his head in concern. “Wasn’t expecting such a large wagon train, Jim. Not enough parcels of land left in the valley to go around ... We’ll have to have a ballot, I guess.”
“That sounds fair,” Rance said, clearly not pleased to know Yaeger had also assumed the role of land agent. “Those who miss out can go up into the hills where the other grants are.”
“Aw, they’ll have to be included in the ballot,” Yaeger said easily. “They aren’t opening up the hills as much as everyone thought ... Still, I guess we’ll see everyone here gets a parcel. My men are distributing the ballot papers now. As soon as the fees are collected, we can get it underway.”
Rance stiffened. “More fees? For the ballot?”
“Hell, yeah. My time’s valuable. I have to be paid, so do my men who’ll be helping out. The deeds have to be registered and so on. A five dollar fee’s not exorbitant, I don’t think.”
There were already roars of protest from those pilgrims who had been given the papers and were reading them or having them read out to them. Plainly, they didn’t take kindly to this kind of thing.
But three or four heavily-armed men were walking up and down the line of wagons, silencing the protesting settlers with snarled warnings.
“Got this place tied up nice and neat, haven’t you, Sam?” opined Slattery, face hard.
“Believe it, Wade, believe it. Like to see you later when you’ve got a minute. My saloon office.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you, Yaeger, except to tell you to go to hell.”
Ricketts straightened and Yaeger’s eyes narrowed, but he smiled faintly, without humor.
“We’ll talk later—in private.”
Jim Rance tried to calm the upset settlers, knowing how ineffectual his own apologies were. The pilgrims were trapped. Without exception, they had nothing to return to. They carried their worldly possessions with them, had traveled hundreds of miles to make a new start, without much money. Now, what little they had was being stolen from them by Yaeger.
No matter how much they protested and threatened, it all boiled down to the same thing: they had no choice. They couldn’t go back. They couldn’t get their land grants unless they entered the ballot and that would cost them five dollars. Those who didn’t have the ready cash—and there were several—were advised to sell off some of their belongings. Eastern goods were always in high demand out here.
But they found that Yaeger controlled the buying, too, and some folk had to almost half-empty their wagons to raise the paltry five dollars’ entrance fee and one dollar bridge toll.
Slattery was edgy. He wanted to face down Sam Yaeger and call him out for the skunk he was, but he soon saw how well-organized Yaeger was. He owned the town and Slattery figured it wouldn’t be too long before the name was changed to ‘Yaeger Town’.
Riding in, he had told Rance he would accept his deal, acting as wagon master for the pilgrim trains, as long as it allowed him time to prove up on his land. Rance was pleased and they had shaken on the deal.
Now, Slattery wondered if Rance would bother to bring other settlers out to such a place ...
Standing smoking in the shade of the saloon porch, Slattery started a little when Deuce Ricketts’ gangling form appeared beside him.
“Sam’s ready to see you now.”
Slattery dragged on his cigarette, then flicked the stub past the sheriff’s face, only an inch from his long nose. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Too bad. When Sam says ‘come’ in this dump, you come, feller. Better get used to it.”
Slattery’s eyes were cold as he raked the lawman with a contemptuous stare. “Get the hell outa my way, Ricketts. I’ve got more important things to do.”
He shoved the lawman aside, but the man suddenly drew one of his six guns and Slattery froze when the hammer clicked back. “No you ain’t. Nothin’s more important to you right now than seein’ Sam. You want to argue, we got a brand new jailhouse I can throw you in for not carryin’ out a lawful request.”
“Got yourselves a nice, neat little corner of hell here, haven’t you?” Slattery snarled, but turned, slapped open the batwings and went through the gloomy, barroom where about a dozen men were drinking, to a door marked ‘Private’ beside a stairway leading to the upper floor.
Yaeger sat behind his desk, three glasses of whiskey lined up in front of him, looking through some papers. He glanced up and smiled at Slattery’s entrance, easing back in his swivel chair.
“Find a seat, Wade, and have a drink. You’ll find it’s bonded bourbon. Nothing but the best here ... Deuce, would you do the honors?”
Slattery sat slowly in a chair and Ricketts handed him a glass. Thumbing back his hat, he took the drink, face hard. Yaeger lifted his glass in salute. “To the future.”
Slattery drank, rolling the smooth bourbon around his mouth before swallowing it. It was the best quality right enough.
“He didn’t want to come, Sam,” Ricketts grunted.
“Expected that, Deuce. But you’ll soon learn that what I say goes in this town, Wade ... Been kind of keeping track of you on and off. Had some trouble with that Red Bunch, right?”
Slattery sipped his whiskey and said nothing.
Yaeger shook his head slowly, grinning. “Hell, you sure stirred things up by switching identities with John Curry! Too bad it didn’t do you much good.”
“I’m here, ain’t I, instead of in the State Pen.”
Yaeger leaned forward slowly. “You’re here now, Wade, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna stay. Why’d you come? Just running, or were you working for Rance, or what?”
Slattery hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. “Came to get my parcel of free land, Sam. Aimed to settle down, try the straight and narrow.”
“You?” Yaeger shook his head. “Can’t believe it. Not you, Wade! You were always too wild.”
“That was a long time ago, Sam. I’m older now. Saw what happened to the rest of the bunch and decided it was time I quit. You gonna gimme a hard time?”
Yaeger tried to look innocent. “Now why would I do that?”
“I guess you ain’t forgot what happened in Laredo.”
Yaeger’s face hardened. “No.”
