Jefferson's Saddle, page 7
‘Here’s Sammy,’ Dave said, and Charlie stopped to watch the approaching girl.
The eager, jaunty manner of her walk and the smile on her face dismissed any need for enquiries as to her well-being; it was clear that Samantha Sutton had fully recovered from both the physical and mental aspects of the earlier incident, and because of the brightness of her appearance, Charlie was glad that he’d washed away the dust of recent days. He removed his hat while he talked to her, expressing his gratitude for her intervention and speaking of her bravery. Remembering the expression on her father’s face when he’d taken her to the hotel, Charlie figured there was no need to dwell on the foolishness of her behaviour, or to stress the danger into which she had put herself, Henry Sutton would have had much to say on those topics. So, unwillingly, he disappointed her when she announced her hope that he would go to the riverside events with her and Dave Champion.
Charlie’s excuse was his hunger and the fact that he couldn’t afford to eat anywhere better than the Rose of Texas or one of the other saloons, which were unsuitable venues for the daughter of Henry Sutton. Indeed, Charlie suggested that her father would disapprove of any association between his daughter and himself because he was little more than a stranger to the territory. Bearing in mind the earlier event, they would be supplying the town gossips with plenty of ammunition if they were seen walking together in familiar fashion.
Of course, for himself, Charlie cared little for the tittle-tattle of the townswomen or for the disapproval of Henry Sutton, but Samantha’s reputation mattered because she had to live in the town after he moved on. In truth, he recognized the fact that his liking for the girl was greater than it ought to be for a man returning home to marry his pre-war sweetheart. Samantha was pretty, her face and figure pleased him, but more important to him was her desire to help people. That was how they’d met: her going to the assistance of a shot man and taking control of the situation when Charlie had joined her. She was young yet resourceful and there could be no better demonstration of that than her intervention earlier in the day when he’d been at the mercy of a gunman.
So it wasn’t easy to snub her invitation, or to see the hurt that the rejection etched upon her face, but he couldn’t encourage the girl’s interest in him, nor could he keep her at his side when the message he’d received from the cowboy with the moustache could be an invitation to an ambush. He couldn’t place her or young Dave Champion in danger. Instead, he replaced his hat, wished them a fun-filled afternoon and took another step across the street towards the Double Diamond. But once again he was stopped in his tracks after only one stride.
Three men were bustling down the street towards him. In the lead was a man in store-bought clothes with a brown derby on his head. He wasn’t tall and had the girth of a man who was a stranger to manual work. At his side strode a taller man who, although slicked-up in smart clothes, had the stride of a man who had spent a long time in the saddle. He had a sharp expression in his eyes which brightened the weather-hammered wrinkled face. Behind those two was a lumbering figure whom Charlie recognized: Horry Blackmore. They stopped in front of Charlie.
‘Sammy,’ said the first man as he doffed his derby hat in greeting, ‘you’re looking as pretty as a picture on this lovely day. Mr Jefferson,’ he continued, his words coming quickly to prevent interruption, ‘my name is Dustin Baker and I’m the mayor of Mortimer.’ He thrust out his hand for Charlie to shake. ‘This is Curt Templeton,’ he added as he inclined his head to the man on his left, ‘and I believe you’ve already met Deputy Blackmore.’
Charlie acknowledged the other two men.
‘Abe Agnew had been sheriff here in Mortimer for many years,’ stated the mayor. ‘He grew with the town, not just a good lawman but a dedicated citizen who will be sorely missed.’
‘Amen to that,’ said Curt Templeton as though he’d been waiting for an opportunity to speak.
‘His unexpected death,’ continued Dustin Baker, ‘leaves the town vulnerable. We believe that you can help us.’
‘I’m at a loss to know how,’ Charlie told him.
A conspiratorial smile touched the mayor’s face. ‘It is our understanding that you have some experience of law enforcement and that a telegraph message intended for Abe endorsed your capabilities.’
Charlie looked towards Horry Blackmore and the deputy hastily looked at the ground to avoid the accusatory glance. At the same moment, Charlie sensed that the statement had caught the attention of Samantha and Dave, both of whom stepped closer to listen to the conversation.
Mayor Baker was still speaking. ‘We want you to be our sheriff. Much as the members of the town committee appreciate the efforts of the remaining deputies, none of them has the necessary experience to be sheriff.’
‘Neither do I,’ Charlie told him. ‘It’s true that for a while I was a government agent, but I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my role. I was working with the army, not policing a town.’
The mayor wasn’t to be put off. ‘It doesn’t have to be a permanent appointment,’ he bargained. ‘Just a few weeks until we can organize a replacement. We’re a town with ambitions, Mr Jefferson, and those ambitions could suffer a serious set-back if we lose a grip on the order imposed by Abe Agnew. When respect for the law slips a town can quickly descend into chaos. We can’t afford to let that happen.’
‘I’m sorry gentlemen. I’ll be heading north as soon as I can get together enough money to buy back my horse.’
‘We’ll give you a horse. A good horse, the best in town, the horse of your choice and we’ll pay you a fee on top of that.’
Charlie didn’t doubt his ability to do the job and he was tempted by the prospect of coins in his pocket and a horse under him. In addition, despite her efforts to hide her true feelings, Samantha Sutton’s wide-eyed expression betrayed her eagerness for him to accept a job that would keep him longer in Mortimer and it was an expression he couldn’t ignore.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ he told the town committee men, ‘but it’s not for me.’ He touched his hat and this time he completed his walk to the doors of the Double Diamond.
From the boardwalk, and before pushing through the batwing doors, Charlie scanned the interior of the saloon, seeking out the moustachioed cowboy in the red shirt, but without success. Either he had slipped out while Charlie had been engaged in conversation or he occupied one of the upstairs rooms. Charlie took a table which gave him a view of the staircase and the street door, ordered a meal and settled down to wait for the cowboy’s return or until it was time to keep his appointment at the livery stable.
CHAPTER NINE
In his room in the Hotel of the Republic Thomas Cartwright sloshed whiskey into a tumbler from a near-empty bottle, then wandered over to the window to look down on the quiet street.
‘This would be a good time for you to leave,’ he told Sol Barclay. ‘Everyone’s quit town, gone down to the celebrations along the riverbank.’ He took a sip from the glass, then chuckled. ‘Sort of completes a circle, doesn’t it? On the anniversary of the founding of the town they’ve bankrupted it.’ He glanced at his companion and it was clear that Barclay saw no humour in the situation. Cartwright wondered if the man in the black clothes was ever amused by anything.
‘Now,’ he added, ‘you know what to do.’
Barclay said he did but it was clear that Cartwright wanted him to repeat the plan so, with ill-grace, he did so. ‘I’ll wait somewhere close to the relay station where the horses can have a good rest.’
‘You’re sure that there is an overnight stop?’
‘Certain. Normally they go through to the next relay station, but as the departure has been delayed because of the celebration it would be dark before they got halfway there.’
‘OK.’
‘When all the lights are out I’ll come down to collect you.’
‘We’ll be clear of this territory before the sun rises and no one will know in which direction we’ve fled.’ He laughed at the simplicity of the scheme, could barely believe that people were so gullible, especially those who gained positions of authority. Blinded by their own importance they were willing to grasp at any scheme that seemed to fulfil their ambition. ‘You just have to find the right fool,’ he muttered to himself.
Sol Barclay moved towards the door but Cartwright stopped him, grabbed a soft bag from the corner of the room and gave it to his accomplice.
‘A change of clothes,’ he told him, ‘I can’t go riding through rough country in these garments.’
‘What about the money?’ asked Barclay. ‘When do we share it out?’
‘You’ll get what you’re due tomorrow when we’re well clear of the relay station. Then we’ll split trails, too. You and I won’t meet again.’
‘This extra work I’ve done, taking care of the Ranger and Harker in jail, they deserve an extra payment.’
‘Sure, sure,’ agreed Cartwright, ‘but until I find out how much money the good townspeople believe will buy them a branch line, I don’t know how much it will be.’ He raised his glass to toast the future. ‘Until tomorrow, Mr Barclay, when we’ll both be wealthy men.’
Barclay took the bag from Cartwright and quit the room, leaving Cartwright to muse over how small an amount he would need to pay to be rid of the gunman.
Barclay, too, wondered what trivial amount Cartwright would offer and whether, when they reached the parting of the ways, he would have to kill the dandified man. With these thoughts in his mind he slipped out of the back door of the hotel and worked his way through the narrow alleyways to Gus Brewer’s stable.
Although he was unlikely to be interrupted, Sol chose not to open wide the high doors in order to flood the interior with sunlight. Instead, in the semi-gloom, he worked his way along the stalls, found the horses he wanted, then loaded each with saddle, bridle and blanket collected from the tack rail. He had just tightened the final buckle when he heard approaching footsteps. Reluctant to be seen, he crouched down in the corner of the stall and waited for the newcomer to conduct his own business and then leave. Barclay hoped the man would be quick because he wanted to be clear of the stable before people began returning to town from the events at the riverside.
But the man showed no signs of urgency. Once inside, he pushed the high doors closer together, thereby diminishing the amount of light that entered the stable. Then he moved to the back of the building, failing to see that two of the stalled horses had been harnessed for travel, or even to suspect that anyone else loitered within the building. Nothing about the shuffling and snorting of one or two of the beasts signified anything out of the ordinary to him as he made his way along the central aisle.
Sol Barclay figured that the newcomer was waiting for someone, so he too would have to wait. It became a wait of several minutes and Barclay knew that he was trapped there until the other man departed.
Meanwhile, when the barman stated that he, too, would like to join in with the celebrations that were being enjoyed by the rest of the citizens of Mortimer, Charlie Jefferson, being the last customer in the Double Diamond, took the hint and stepped outside. Apart from the patient horses that were hitched at every pole along its length, the main street was deserted. Every door was closed; all business, it seemed, had been concluded for the day. Charlie paused on the boardwalk, keeping close to the wall of the building where the shadows were deepest so that he was less of a target if the message had been sent to lure him into a trap.
From the direction of the river the sound of a cheering crowd, rising in a crescendo, announced that a race was reaching a thrilling climax. Charlie turned his head in that direction. Involuntarily his thoughts strayed to Samantha Sutton who, with young Dave Champion, would be among those spectators. With annoyance he remembered the disappointment that had shown on her face when he rejected Mayor Baker’s offer. Although he knew he had done the right thing for the right reason it still rankled that it had been necessary to inflict pain on the girl who had risked everything to save his life. Perhaps sometime in the future there would be an opportunity to repay her, but for now he had an appointment to keep and he began to move away from the noise of the crowd to the far end of the street where Gus Brewer’s livery stable was situated.
Charlie had had little opportunity to familiarize himself with the layout of the town but he recalled that there were corrals behind the big stable building which had a small door at the back to give the stableman access to the livestock. He knew that if he was walking into an ambush it was probable that that door would be no less under observation than those at the front, but at least by taking advantage of the narrow alleys behind the main street his approach would not be under constant observation.
So that was what he did, cutting down the side of the bank and taking a long detour around the Hotel of the Republic, then ducking under the bars of the corral and manoeuvring a route through the gathered horses before making a final dash to the back of the stable.
With gun in hand he opened the door slowly and was greeted by the usual smells of manure and leather. It was dark inside even though the high, far doors were partly open, permitting a narrow shaft of daylight in which straw motes hovered, raised by the handful of curious horses in the stalls. Charlie slipped inside and pressed himself into the darkness at the back of the stable. For several moments he remained motionless, giving his eyes the chance to become accustomed to the dim light and hoping that anyone already inside would betray their presence.
He advanced two steps; then a voice, low and heavy with a Southern accent, came from Charlie’s right.
‘Put away the gun, Mr Jefferson, I’ve got you covered.’
For a moment, Charlie considered an act of resistance; if he threw himself to the ground he could perhaps in the interior gloom roll into one of the stalls and from there engage his foe. However, his mind was processing facts quickly and it was clear to him that such a course of action had little hope of success. He had no idea how long his opponent had been waiting, but his eyes had become sufficiently accustomed to the reduced light to know Charlie’s location and that he had his gun unholstered. It was also apparent from his voice that the man was very close and therefore unlikely to miss his target if Charlie made a wrong move. Most important, unlike the two men who had attacked him earlier in the day, this man hadn’t opened fire at the first opportunity, which suggested that he didn’t mean to kill him here in the stable.
Charlie slid his gun into its holster and waited. A man emerged from the nearest stall, his appearance, with the light behind him, nothing more than a silhouette, yet Charlie recognized the overall stature of the man and the roll of his shoulders when he walked: he knew it to be the cowboy with the long moustache. Charlie was surprised to find that the man wasn’t holding a gun.
‘I apologize for the unorthodox manner of our meeting,’ he said. ‘My name is Tom Chisum, I’m a Texas Ranger.’
‘You were Clem Cole’s partner!’
‘That’s right. I guess he was looking for me the day he was killed.’
‘You were at the Sutton ranch.’
‘Yes. Like Clem I was using an assumed name and I couldn’t admit knowing him. It was obvious that he’d been identified and it was possible that you were his killer.’
‘What makes you think differently now?’
‘I know you. I thought I recognized you out at the Sutton spread, but it wasn’t until I heard the deputy announce that you’d been working with the army that I was sure.’
‘We’ve met before?’ asked Charlie.
Tom Chisum’s grin contained a stiff measure of ironic humour. ‘Our paths have crossed but we haven’t been formally introduced.’
Charlie understood his meaning: they’d been adversaries during his days spent chasing those Rebel bands that had refused to admit the war was over. Charlie inspected the other’s face to determine if revenge for earlier events was in his mind, but after a moment he dismissed that thought. Not every gang had been seeking personal gain: for some it was still the belief that their state had prospered better before the war and they wanted a return to those days. So, if now that it was clear that the Union could not be overthrown Tom Chisum had chosen to serve his state as a Ranger, then Charlie had no cause for argument. Furthermore, he was no longer acting on behalf of the government, so he was happy for bygones to be bygones.
‘Your message was that you had some information for me.’
‘Yes, it was, but I was hoping that we might be able to help each other.’
Charlie didn’t see how that could be possible; the only help he needed was in finding his old saddle. The death of Harker meant that its location would never be discovered, and he had no information that would help the Texas Rangers to catch their man.
‘I’m only here because someone stole my horse. That man is now dead, so I’ll be moving on as soon as possible.’
‘What about Farraday?’ asked Chisum. ‘Aren’t you interested in finding him?’
‘No,’ Charlie said, but that was only partly true. If those men who had attacked him that morning had been obeying Farraday’s orders, then he would like to meet him face to face. ‘I’d never heard of him before yesterday.’
Chisum persisted. ‘He swindled money from the town of Johnson City and two men were killed when pursuing him. All over Texas there are Rangers on the lookout for him, anxious to stop him pulling something similar in another town. By taking jobs, Clem and I hoped to be able to learn of any unusual activities here in Mortimer without arousing suspicion.’
‘What did you discover?’
‘I hadn’t discovered anything, but I reckon Clem must have been on to something; he had no other reason to be seeking me out at the Sutton place.’
‘Whatever he learned got him killed,’ said Charlie.
‘And if it is proved that Farraday had a hand in the murder of a Ranger it will increase the reward for his capture.’
