In an about-face, Howard Benson stood up and offered supplies of powder and shot, together with a small quantity of rifles from his stock. The wily Benson could see which way the wind was blowing.
Then it was proposed to form a town guard of all able-bodied men and Abbie suggested that it be put under the command of Jack Harding since he had military experience. This suggestion was heartily endorsed and by the time that the meeting was adjourned, measures were well underway to defend the city.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leaving Jack to start his recruiting drive, Abbie returned to the wagon camp and informed the folks of how the situation had evolved. She explained how in effect she had volunteered them to aid in the defence of Colorado City and suggested that they move all the wagons into town immediately.
Such was the trust that the individual people had in Abbie’s leadership that not one questioned her, and all set to work hitching up their teams and preparing to move. For one last time Abbie looked back at a line of wagons, and mentally checking that all was ready called out, ‘Wagons roll!’ and the wagons moved the short distance along the trail to the main street where each was allocated space between the buildings on either side to act as an additional barrier to any would-be attackers.
Meanwhile Jack had been busy mustering his town guard and assigning them to defence positions along the street. While wanting to create a crossfire, Jack also wanted to ensure that the defenders positioned on both sides did not end up having a pitched battle between themselves.
Abbie signalled for Miguel to join her and walked over to Jack. ‘Look! You have everything well in hand here. Miguel and I are going to ride out a couple of miles or so and scout around. I think that Fenton will try to strike quickly before he thinks we’re ready for him. While we’re gone, watch out for Marty Rudd. I don’t trust him one little bit!’
Meanwhile, as all these defensive preparations were being made, Roger Fenton was gathering his forces together in an attempt to reassert his power and authority over Colorado City. When, as suspected by the observers, Marshal Henry Firman had fled the city, he had gone straight to inform Fenton of the change of power. Roger Fenton was furious. He went into a blind rage at the thought of his carefully constructed financial empire crashing down about him and was determined to win back all that he had unlawfully owned.
The ill-fated ‘Indian’ attack on the wagon camp had cost him quite a few of his best gun-hands and there was a need for more firepower. He therefore sent a message summoning the miners of the Lucky Strike mine to come armed immediately to the ranch for an emergency meeting. When they had assembled he addressed them, ‘Men! You all know that I’ve always treated you square! Well, a sad situation has arisen. There’s a woman in Colorado City who’s goin’ around telling the folks that she owns the mine an’ that she’s goin’ ter close it down. That means you all will be out of work! Are we gonna let that happen?’
There was a resounding roar of ‘No!’ from the assembled workers, and forming into an armed column they, with the remaining gun-hands and Roger Fenton at their head, set out to march to Colorado City to seek vengeance upon any who were considering taking away their livelihood.
Abbie and Miguel spotted the column of men flowing over the brow of a hill about three miles from the city. ‘Miguel! You continue to keep watch over them while I ride back and warn the folks that Fenton is coming on fast. So they had better be prepared. Be careful! Keep a good distance from them.’
‘Sí Señorita! I will do this. An’ I will ride quick when I think he is very close!’
Abbie turned the bay and rode swiftly back to Colorado City. Entering the main street and noting all the preparations for defence, she was surprised to see a stage coach drawn up outside Mrs O’Brien’s Rooming House and a group of well-dressed people, presumably Easterners, standing on the boardwalk. She was even more surprised and excited to see a short, grey-bearded figure in buckskins, standing in the midst of the group, yet looking sadly out of place amid all the eastern finery.
With a loud cry of ‘Billy!’ Abbie threw herself from the saddle, and rushing over she grabbed her old mentor and seized him in a tight bear hug.
‘Where on earth did you come from? What are you doing here? I must say you have chosen a great time to visit!’ The words just spilled out of her, so pleased was she to see the old trapper with whom she had spent so many winter months.
She released her grip and stepped back, to look him up and down, hardly believing that he was really there. As she did so, a well-remembered, acid-toned voice broke in upon her enjoyment, ‘Abigail Martin! What do you mean going around and engaging in displays of affection with uncouth creatures like this man. Furthermore, look at the way you’re dressed! It’s positively disgusting! Go and take off that awful-looking garb at once! Do you hear me?’
And Abbie turned to confront the shrewish features of Aunt Sarah looking horrified at her appearance, while behind her stood George Martin, her uncle, shaking his head at his wife’s tirade and looking more than a little bemused.
Before Abbie had a chance to respond to either Billy’s greeting or Aunt Sarah’s admonitions, there was yet another interruption as Joey plucked at her arm and exclaimed excitedly, ‘ ’Scuse me, ma’am. Marty Rudd’s a-comin’ down the street an’ he’s loaded for bear. He said ter tell you it’s either him or you.’
Abbie thanked the little man and stepped down off the boardwalk into the dusty rut-filled street, ignoring the shrill, querulous noise behind her of, ‘Abigail Martin! Come back here. I haven’t finished speaking to you!’
Coming down the street towards her, well-fortified with a few of his better quality whiskies, was the figure of the owner of the Bonanza Saloon. After he had rushed out of the city meeting, he had returned to his establishment, and had spent the day brooding over the unexpected change in his fortunes. He had always been a good gun-hand and felt confident that in a showdown he would emerge the winner.
Abbie studied him closely as he came closer. Marty packed his gun low on the right side, in a tied-down holster, the true mark of the professional gun-hand. As Billy had told her months earlier, she watched Marty’s eyes, waiting for the signal that might tell her he intended to pull his pistol.
The signal came, and they both drew, but Abbie was fractionally faster as she half-turned and dropped into the crouch which had become traditional for her. Her pinfire pistol swung up as she locked her left hand around the frame forward of the trigger guard. At the same time, her left thumb was cocking the hammer, as her right index finger squeezed the trigger. Her pistol spoke twice and Marty Rudd was suddenly aware that he had made an awful mistake as he was slammed backwards, the unfired gun dropping from his hand. He hit the ground, rolled over and lay motionless.
Abbie sheathed her revolver and stood there as if turned to stone, then turned back to the group on the boardwalk.
‘Sorry, Aunt Sarah! What were you saying?’
Aunt Sarah was silent, lying crumpled in a faint on the boards, her elegant attire all crumpled around her, showing her skinny legs in their white stockings. Uncle George came forward and took her hand.
‘That was well done, Abbie! Knowing you, I suppose there was no other choice?’
‘None whatsoever, Uncle. And sadly there is going to be far more before the day is out! But I think our first task is to revive Aunt Sarah. I believe that there should be some smelling salts in her reticule.’
She reached down and picked up the cloth bag which had fallen from her aunt’s hand. Sure enough her hand closed upon a small bottle, which she extracted and held under Aunt Sarah’s nostrils. The smelling salts did the trick and soon her aunt was sitting up and then rose groggily to her feet.
She looked at Abbie and then at the body still lying in the dust of the street.
‘Oh Abigail! How could you! You hadn’t even been introduced!’ Her sense of the civil proprieties was outraged. ‘You may have hurt the gentleman!’
‘No, Auntie! I didn’t hurt
him one little bit!’ she replied grimly. ‘I shot him dead!’
Aunt Sarah was speechless for once in her life and stared at Abbie in horror.
‘Now I think that we had better get all of you people off the street as it is very likely going to become a battleground in a very short while. When I get time I’ll give you a complete explanation, but there’s no time for that now. Mrs O’Brien, I suggest that you put all of your guests in a back room as the rooms facing the street may be subject to stray bullets if the guns start shooting.’
The Irish landlady nodded her head and shepherded the four people from the coach back into her own little comfortable parlour.
Uncle George returned to the boardwalk to where Abbie stood talking to Billy Curtis. Billy was telling her how he had a yearning to do some more travelling as it had become very lonely in the hidden valley once Abbie had left. He had decided to use the coach since he still had a few problems with his leg and rode as an outside passenger as it was more interesting up top rather than stuck inside.
Abbie introduced her uncle to Billy and explained how she and the old trapper had spent so many months together and how Billy had made a westerner out of a greenhorn.
‘Now, Abbie, what is the situation here? You would seem to be facing the threat of an armed struggle. Is there anything I can do to help?’
Abbie smiled at her well-meaning uncle and shook her head as she very briefly outlined the issue facing the defenders and the role of Fenton, the man who had been supposedly looking after her father’s interests. ‘There’s going to be a showdown today one way or another, but I intend to try to resolve the issues without too much shooting if I can.’
At that moment Miguel came into view riding fast but not frantically so as to avoid panicking any of the townspeople. He halted in front of Abbie and threw her a semi-military salute. ‘Señorita! Fenton and his men will be here in less than five minutes.’
Abbie turned to Jack, ‘Very well, Jack! It’s your show now. Make sure you have all the riflemen in position, but don’t give the order to fire until I try to settle this affair peaceably.’
Jack nodded and strode down the street, stressing to his well-hidden defenders to hold their fire until ordered to shoot. He then returned to stand by Abbie, Miguel and Billy, Uncle George having at his niece’s insistence retreated to the doorway of the rooming house.
There was a far-off roar, like surf bearing on a distant shore. The sound grew louder and amidst the roar could be heard individual male voices raised in anger. Then the column of marching men appeared at the end of the street. They weren’t as soldiers would march, in step with their arms swinging in unison, but rather they swarmed, some marching, some leaping and running, with the odd man riding astride a horse, a mule and one even on a burro. One and all, they were brandishing a weird variety of weapons ranging from sporting and military rifles, scatterguns, every type of pistol imaginable and even two or three with pitchforks. At their head rode Roger Fenton astride a handsome black mare and flanked by two of his gun-hands.
The marchers advanced until they were no more than twelve to fifteen feet away from the waiting trio when Abbie cried out in a loud voice, ‘Halt!’ Without pausing she went on quickly, ‘Don’t do anything foolish. We have no desire to see bloodshed. Now is the time for some honest talking!’
Fenton looked at the three people blocking his path and called out, ‘Don’t pay any attention to these three. They’re just bluffing!’
He raised his arm as a signal for his followers to press forward and Jack put a small silver whistle to his lips and blew a long blast.
Immediately riflemen came into view on rooftops and windows, behind barricades and in the wagons blocking the side streets. There was the audible sound of hammers being cocked and the miners in the centre of the street looked at each other in dismay.
Abbie stepped forward, ‘Neighbours! If I may call you that. Please place your guns on the ground and listen to me. Nobody intends to do you any harm. However, we will defend ourselves. I do not know what Roger Fenton has told you, but what I’m going to tell you is the truth and I am quite willing to show the evidence I possess to prove my case.’
She went on to state who she was, told them about her father’s will, his properties and investments and how she and friends had discovered how the man who was leading them was a liar, cheat, thief and a murderer.
The miners listened carefully under the guns of the Colorado City defenders. Initially they received Abbie’s story with scepticism, but as her details became known a low growl of anger directed at their former employer filled the air. Frantically Fenton looked at the two men riding either side of him.
‘What do you think I’ve been paying you for! Do something!’
‘We sure will, Fenton!’
Both men raised their hands high above their heads and, looking down at Abbie, said, ‘Ma’am, we just resigned from this man’s employment. Is it OK if we leave the territory?’
Abbie nodded, and with hands still held high they rode off leaving Fenton white-faced at the way his hold on the community had just trickled away from him.
The miners moved towards him and their intention was clear when some of them started uttering cries of, ‘Get a rope!’ and ‘String ’im up!’
Fenton suddenly dropped from his saddle and turned towards Abbie, ‘You meddlin’ bitch! This is all of your doing! But you aren’t going to live to enjoy it!’
So saying, he grabbed for his holstered pistol. His movements were clumsy, indicating he had always preferred to have others do his shooting for him, but Abbie wasn’t prepared to be merciful. She waited until his Colt had cleared its holster, before drawing and shooting in one fluid movement. Her aim was true, and Roger Fenton was thrown back by her bullet, and fell beneath his horse’s hoofs where he lay motionless.
There’s not too much more to tell at this time. Abbie had Jack open the Bonanza to allow the thirsty miners to have a couple of free beers each before they headed back to their quarters with her promise to be out to negotiate a fresh working agreement with them as soon as possible.
Bobby Smith was asked if he thought that he could manage the Bonanza saloon, under the eagle eye of his mother of course. The young man was puffed up with pride at the responsibility and declared that, ‘As sure as tootin’ I’ll do a great job.’
Abbie’s next step was to lower significantly all the rents on the various properties still held in trust accounts in her father’s name, with the understanding that the people renting could purchase said properties at any time.
Jack was appointed financial manager and it was agreed that he and Dora would live at and supervise the horse ranch, which eventually Abbie intended to use as her headquarters.
Miguel Garcia and his two fellow Mexicans were now eager to return to their families, seeing that all Abbie’s problems appeared to be solved. They were sent off back to William Bent with a pack horse loaded with all sorts of supplies and each man was the happy possessor of five gold double eagles.
Abbie tried hard to persuade Billy Curtis to settle down in the area but the old trapper was adamant, ‘Abbie! I’d just be gettin’ itchy feet from time to time. I can’t see myself being tied to one place forever. I’ll be droppin’ by ter see you now and then. An’ you know you’d always be welcome in my hidden valley.’
And early one morning he was gone without a word to anyone. That was Billy’s way.
Aunt Sarah’s and Uncle George’s quest to discover the fate of the missing Penravens was accomplished. They stayed several weeks and, as Abbie’s relatives, were made welcome everywhere they went in and around Colorado City before finally heading back east and returning to England, much to Aunt Sarah’s relief. Several times she tried to pressure Abbie into going back with them, but it was of no use. Abbie’s heart was in the raw, untamed west. Finally, one day Sarah played what she thought was her trump card, ‘But, Abbie, if you stay here you may have money, but that’s all. In England you have a title.’
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‘Dear Aunt Sarah, you are so wrong! Here I do have a title, which means a lot to me. I’m the Pinfire Lady!’
The Pinfire Lady Page 12