As Dunn started for the Alhambra in a swift stride, Billy Ray had to quicken his step to keep pace.
“I figure if you just go in there ‘n talk to ‘em,” Billy Ray said. “I mean, just tell ‘em that you’re the law now, ‘n they can’t come into a place just raisin’ hell, no more.”
Dunn didn’t answer. They heard another shot coming from the saloon, not the flat, loud shot of a pistol, but the roaring thunder of a buffalo gun.
Dunn reached the saloon first and he pushed right on in through the batwing doors. Stubby had just fired, and was pulling the empty shell casing from his Sharps .50. Hog Jaw was raising his rifle to his shoulder.
The patrons of the saloon, who had moved to the extreme sides of the room so as not to be in the path of the two drunken shooters had their fingers stuck into their ears, waiting for the next shot.
But instead of one shot, there were two shots, and they came from Dunn’s pistol. Stubby was shot in the chest, and Hog Jaw in the back. Both men went down.
“What the hell?” the bartender shouted. “You just shot both of ‘em!”
“Yeah,” Dunn said, turning to leave the saloon. “I reckon they won’t be givin’ you no more trouble now, will they?”
Within days, the town became, noticeably, more peaceful.
“I didn’t know how this was goin’ to be, but it’s working out real good. Why, I haven’t even had a fight in my saloon since them boys come, let alone a shootin’,” Mo Waters said.
“Still,” Herman Fringer said, shaking his head. “There’s something about this whole vigilante thing that’s making me mighty uneasy.”
“You were against it from the beginning,” Frederic Zimmerman said. “The vigilantes could start holding come to Jesus meetings, and you still wouldn’t like it.”
“Still, I don’t care; I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Fringer repeated.
Shortly before the vigilante committee was formed a new saloon, The Railroad Saloon, was built. It was in a prime location on South Front Street, which ran parallel to the railroad but south of the tracks, whereas most of the established businesses were north of the tracks. The saloon had no connection to the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, but one couldn’t tell that from just looking at it. Mr. Dunham and Mr. Dawson had gone to great pains to make it look like a depot. It was the newest saloon in town and the buffalo hunters, soldiers, and railroad workers were flocking to it in ever increasing numbers.
One reason for the saloon’s success was that the women the owners had brought in charged less to go upstairs with their customers than either the Devil’s Den or Fat Tom Sherman’s Dance Hall.
For a while, the Slaters were willing to let the saloon be in peace, but the Railroad Saloon was getting bigger and more successful, and more significantly, it’s increase in business was coming at the expense of business at the Devil’s Den.
It was for this reason that Mack, Luke, and Weasel were having a serious discussion with Edge Dunn.
“You’ve been doin’ a real good job,” Luke said. “The town’s just got real peaceful.”
“Ain’t that what you wanted?” Dunn asked. “Or did you want somethin’ else?”
“What do you mean?”
“I figured that maybe, you puttin’ me in charge ‘n all, that you might of have somethin’ else in mind.”
Mack smiled, than looked at his two brothers. “I told you Edge would be perfect for the job.”
“And now, you got that somethin’ else, ain’t that right?” Dunn picked up his beer and took a drink.
“Yes, I think we’ve got a problem,” Mack said. “Did you know that Dunham’s got whores down at the Railroad Saloon? Whores, mind you, in a town that’s supposed to be cleaned up.”
“Wait a minute, you ain’t sayin’ we were supposed to run all the whores out.” Dunn was confused by the direction of the conversation.
“No, no Mr. Dunn. I want only Mr. Dunham’s whores run out.”
“It ain’t goin’ to work,” Dunn said. “That is unless we do it permanent.”
“Then maybe you should think of a way to make it permanent.”
Dunn nodded, then drained the rest of his beer.
“I’ll take Digger and Rocky with me,”
When Dunn stepped into the saloon, the two vigilantes with him were each carrying a wad of cloth. If someone had been close enough to the two men, they might have gotten a whiff of kerosene, though the other smells in the saloon, tobacco smoke, unwashed bodies, stale whiskey, and a strong aroma of the perfume being worn by the girls, made it somewhat less likely.
Dunn recognized several of the men who had previously patronized the Devil’s Den. Seeing Dunn, many of these men looked away to keep from staring at him.
“Edge Dunn,” a big man said from behind the bar. This was Ira Dunham, one of the owners of the Railroad Saloon, and he was speaking around a half-chewed cigar that was stuck in the corner of his mouth. “I thought you was a Devil’s Den man. What brings you to the Railroad Saloon?”
“You might ‘a heard, I got me a new job,” Dunn said.
“I did see that in the paper. You’re chief of the vigilantes, I believe.”
“Yes.”
“That’s mighty big of you to take that on, seein’ as how you don’t make no money.”
“The Slaters still pays me. He says he’s doin’ it for the town.”
Dunham nodded his head. “Uh huh, ‘n now that brings me back to the same question I asked when you first come in. What ya doin’ in here? We ain’t had no trouble.”
“Your whores.”
Dunham smiled. “Yeah, they’re some dandies all right. I went all the way to Philadelphia to bring ‘em out here, and they’re a hell of a lot better lookin’ than them rundown whores that’s at Devil’s Den. You come here to try ‘em out, did you?”
“No, I came here to tell you you’re goin’ to have to get rid of ‘em.,” Dunn said.
“What do you mean?”
“Whores is against the law in Dodge City.”
“Since when did that happen?” Dunham asked “And for that matter, when have we had laws in this town, anyway?”
“I’m the law,” Dunn said in a quiet, but menacing voice. “And I’m tellin’ you, your whores is illegal.”
“Well tell me, Mr. Lawman, will you be runnin’ the whores out of Devil’s Den and Fat Tom’s Dance Hall as well?”
“That ain’t none of your worry,” Dunn said.
“Why don’t we have a drink ‘n talk about this a little more?” Dunham reached under the bar but instead of bringing up a whiskey bottle, he brought up a shotgun.
“Now get outta my saloon you son of a . . .”
That was as far as he got before a pistol appeared in Dunn’s hand. He fired as soon as he brought the gun up and Dunham was driven back against the mirror behind the bar. With the shotgun pointing straight up, he pulled the trigger in a reflexive action, then slid down to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the mirror.
The roar of the two gunshots brought an immediate quiet to what had earlier been a very animated gathering of drinkers.
“What the hell, Dunn, you just kilt Dunham! What’d you do that for?” one of the patrons asked in a stunned voice, putting to words what everyone else was thinking.
“This here saloon is closed,” Dunn said.
“Closed for how long?” one of the patrons asked.
“Forever.”
“Closed?” one of the soiled doves said. “What do you mean closed? What do we do now?”
“I don’t care what you do now,” Dunn replied. “But maybe you might want to catch the next train back to Philadelphia.” As he was talking, the two men who had come in with him began hanging the cloth, which turned out to be kerosene soaked quilts.
Then they took a couple of the kerosene lanterns, opened the fuel tanks, and began sprinkling the kerosene on the bar.
“What the hell are you men a’ doin’ there?” someone asked.
; Digger and Rocky began striking matches, and touching them to the quilts they had nailed to the walls.
“Son of a bitch, they’ve set fire to the place,” someone shouted. “Get out! Ever’ one get out! This place ‘ll burn fast.”
As if validating the warning, the flames leaped back and forth between the bar to the wall behind, and within seconds so much of the saloon was invested in flames that everyone knew it would be impossible to put it out. Smoke rolled up the stairway, and from the top floor there were screams.
“Hey, they’s a couple of women up there!” someone said, and braving the smoke-filled stairway, he ran up to the second floor.
When Edge Dunn and the two vigilantes left the saloon they were the last to do so, and they pushed their way through the crowd that had been drawn by the fire. They were barely noticed by the men and women whose attention was now focused on the building that was totally engulfed in flames.
Mack and Luke Slater were standing in front of the Devil’s Den, looking down the street toward the Railroad Saloon when Edge and the other two men came up to them.
“We need a drink,” Dunn said.
“It’s on the house,” Mack replied, not taking his eyes off the burning building.
“It’s not fair,” Lola Fontaine said, later that same day.
“What’s not fair?” Mack asked.
“It’s not fair that my girls don’t make any money when they’re with the vigilantes.”
“It’s what they’re paying for protection. Hell, look at it from our point of view. We get half of what the girls get, ‘n when they’re layin’ with one of the vigilantes, we don’t get nothin’ for it neither. Besides,” he added with a broad smile, “business is bound to pick up for ‘em now, seein’ as how there ain’t no more competition from down at The Railroad Saloon.”
“Folks are sayin’ you ordered Dunn to burn the saloon down,” Lola said. “Is that true?”
“It ain’t, but I have to say, it was a good idea.”
“Mack, you, ‘n your brothers have a real good thing goin’ here. Me too, for that matter. But if you get the whole town down on you, I’m afraid they’re going get their fill of it and run you out of town.”
“Ah, don’t worry your pretty head none about it,” Mack said. “I know what I’m doin’. Pretty soon now I’ll have this town eatin’ out of the palm of my hand. They won’t nobody do nothin’, without first I tell ‘em they can do it.”
The editor of the Dodge City Messenger, looked at the plate reading the story he had just set. The words were reversed, but Pat Marsh had been in the newspaper business long enough to be able to read backward type as easily as he could read the finished product. He knew that this story may not be taken well in some areas of town, but it was a story that he felt needed to be told.
The Railroad Saloon Fire
Citizens of the town became aware last week of the fire that consumed The Railroad Hotel. It is worth noting that although no effort was made to extinguish the flames, such an effort would have been futile, so quickly did the fire take hold.
It is obvious that the rapid expansion of the fire was the result of an accelerant, and that suggests that the fire might well be the result of arson. This newspaper has interviewed several who were in the saloon at the time of the fire, but not one will testify that they witnessed the fire being set.
It can be inferred, however, from bits and pieces of conversation gleaned from first one witness, then another, that the chief of our “law enforcement committee” and two of his “vigilantes” (for indeed, that is what they are) might well be the perpetrators of this arson. Though no one has made that direct accusation, it is known that they arrived shortly before the fire began, the fire erupted while they were there, and grew to a conflagration by the time they left.
Five people died in the fire, the victims being two unidentified buffalo hunters, and Bessie and Jill, two of the ‘soiled doves’ who worked there. The four were upstairs engaged in that activity that so frequently draws men to women of such ilk. The fifth victim was Ira Dunham himself, the owner of the saloon who ascended the stairs in an attempt to give warning.
Is this what our city’s board of directors and businessmen voted for, to empower these vigilantes to hold sway over us? It is the fear of this newspaper, dear readers, that we have unleashed the tiger. No good can come to Dodge City as long as the vigilantes are allowed to roam our streets, under the guise of authority, wielding their brand of justice.
Two days after that article was printed, the Washington Hand Press, by which Marsh printed his papers, wound up on its side, the type spread all around. Marsh got the message.
26
Cade was in the lot looking over the mules, when Jeter came out of the office, holding a piece of paper. By the way he was striding so purposefully toward him, Cade knew that it had to be something important. And by the way Jeter was smiling, though, he knew that it wasn’t bad news.
“Jeter, what is it?”
“What would you say if I told you we had a twenty-five hundred dollar contract?”
“Are you kidding? That would be great! What will we be carrying?”
“All the telegram says is military supplies,” Jeter said, brandishing the piece of paper. “But Colonel Dodge wants us to come out to the post today, and meet with him.”
The bugler was playing Retreat, and the flag was being struck as Cade, Jeter, and Jacob rode onto the post at four o’clock that afternoon. The three men dismounted and stood respectfully until the flag was removed from the lanyard, and the color detail began folding it into the tricorn. When they stepped into the post headquarters building, a soldier with a mop and pail moved to one side to let them pass.
“We were asked to call on Colonel Dodge,” Cade said. “Is it too late to see him?”
“No sir, the colonel’s still here. He’s expecting you,” Sergeant Major Dawes replied.
As the sergeant major stepped into the colonel’s office Cade glanced toward the soldier on detail, the mop making very lazy swaths across the floor.
“Careful you don’t run a hole through the wood there,” Cade teased.
The soldier looked up at him, the expression on his face indicating clearly that he didn’t appreciate the joke.
A moment later, Sergeant Major Dawes opened the door to the colonel’s office.
“The colonel will see you now.”
“Good, good, you got the message I see,” Dodge said, greeting the three at the door. Come in, Gentlemen, come in.”
The soldier mopping the floor of the headquarters was Private Lemon. He had been promoted to corporal after he had returned from the horse delivery detail with a bullet in his shoulder. He had told the story of how he, Sergeant Gulliver and the others had tried to fight off the horse thieves. There had been too many of them, and he was the only one to live through the attack having survived by pretending to be dead.
For a short while Lemon enjoyed the accolades of the post, but his promotion to corporal didn’t last very long. And now he was on punishment detail for being insubordinate to the new stable sergeant.
Lemon had been looking for another bit of information he could sell to Fargo, and when he saw that Colonel Dodge had not closed the door completely, he moved his mop pail close enough to be able to overhear what was being said inside.
There were chairs enough for all of them in the colonel’s office, and Cade, Jeter, and Jacob accepted Colonel Dodge’s invitation to take a seat.
“Gentlemen, what I am about to tell you is secret information. But, as it involves you, or at least, I hope it involves you, I would think that you have a valid need to know.”
“This has to do with the twenty-five hundred dollar contract?” Cade asked.
“Oh, indeed it does, Mr. McCall, indeed it does. I hope that you have the sand for it.” Colonel Dodge paused for a moment, then looked each of them in eyes before he continued.
“One week from now, we are expecting a rail shipment of the brand-
new Springfield Trapdoor Model 73 rifles. There will be two hundred fifty of them along with two hundred thousand rounds of .45 caliber bullets. I need these rifles and that ammunition to be taken to Camp Supply.”
Jacob let out a little whistle. “Wouldn’t the Indians love to get their hands on those babies?”
“It’s not just Indians. We’re finding that white road agents are becoming more and more brazen. They’d have an instant outlet for these weapons if they were able to get their hands on them,” Colonel Dodge said.
“All three of us are flattered that you have brought this contract to us, but I have to ask. Why is it, with such a sensitive shipment, you are not using one of the bigger freighting companies?” Cade asked. “Charlie Rath’s company or even Reynolds and Lee. They both put dozens of wagons on the road, and we only have four.”
“It’s for the very reason that you are small that we have chosen you. We don’t think anyone would suspect that we would ship this kind of cargo with you.”
“Well, we appreciate your trust in us,” Cade said. “We’ll do our best to see that these rifles get to Camp Supply.”
“Nobody on the post knows about this yet, and nobody will know until the day the shipment gets here. I plan for us to take the rifles from the train, load them onto your wagons, and for you to leave, on the same day. That will keep any chance of news getting out about the shipment to an absolute minimum.”
“I can also see why the army is offering to pay so much for this contract. The drivers will be taking a big risk.”
“I understand that,” Colonel Dodge said. “Now I hope you can see why there’s such a need for secrecy.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel, indeed we can,” Jacob said.
“All right, gentlemen, you now know what I’m asking of you. So the question is, are you willing to take the contract?”
Cade, Jeter, and Jacob glanced at each other, and that glance was all they needed. The three men gave a quick nod, and Jacob responded for them all.
“We are,” he said.
The Western Adventures of Cade McCall Box Set Page 58