by John Shirley
“That’s right. This man, when Seth faced him down over those cards, why, I saw killing in this Fisher’s eyes. And now they say he’s in Southern Kansas, right where Seth is.”
“Kansas is a big place.”
“It surely is that—anyhow, maybe Seth’s tired of Prairie Fire, and he’s on his way to Texas.”
But no . . . Seth said he was staying at least two weeks. When Seth Coe said he was going to do something, he did it. He’d still be there.
“Did you say Prairie Fire?” Carla asked. “That the town?”
“Sure it is. He’s sweet on a girl there.”
“But it’s so funny about Prairie Fire! Oh, not funny but . . .”
“What’s that?”
“After you went off to sleep, I went over Loopy Lou’s last night, and Dusty said that town was most on fire! And it was ’cause of a fire off the prairie! Everything burning all round that Kansas town! And what is its name? Prairie Fire!”
Franklin looked at her in shock. “Knowing Seth, he’d be right in the middle of it. . . .” It was too much. First this business with Fisher, then this tale about the fire. “Now I’m the damn fool because I’m going to have to go back!”
“No! Don’t go, Franklin!”
“I’ll think about it some tonight, Carla. But I need to know Seth didn’t get himself burned up in that fire. Even if he didn’t, Seth might need me to side him with Hannibal Fisher close by. Tomorrow, like as not, I’ll head north. . . .”
* * *
* * *
They were lucky the weather had shifted. It was overcast, somewhat muggy out, but it was thought there’d be rain—much-overdue rain—and a cool breeze eased the work of clearing the burned debris.
It was getting close to noon as Seth walked beside Goliath, one hand on his harness, guiding the big draft horse to pull the last of the wreckage out of the way. The barn had caught fire from still glowing cinders blown from the north, and it had gone up before Hawking could do anything about it. Much of the barn had been burned past dragging away, and they’d had to carry out chunks of charred wood by hand. Some of the local men were wielding shovels, helping Bone Hawking carry clear the last big pile of ashes.
“We might get the frame put in today,” said Sol, walking up as Seth unchained the timbers.
“Bone told me he’s got plans for a bigger barn this time,” said Seth, straightening up and stretching.
Sol chuckled. “What he had before wasn’t much more’n a cowshed! Room for two cows, two horses, a pig he’s already slaughtered, and a mule. The sly old dickens saw his chance to get his neighbors to build him a real barn!”
Seth grinned. “I don’t mind. Nothing much else doing.”
Nonetheless, he did want to look in on Sheriff Dawson and Marshal Coggins later on. Seth was not easy in his mind about Hannibal Fisher. Coggins might have news about the outlaw.
Many times, during the morning, Seth’s gaze had strayed to the improvised table—a barn door laid over sawhorses—where the ladies had set out some food. Josette was there now talking to Daisy and Mrs. Hawking as she set out the dishes. As if she sensed him watching, Josette glanced up and quickly looked back at her chore, but with a demure little smile.
Was that smile for me? Seth wondered. She’d arrived about an hour earlier, and he’d wondered if Dubois had tried to stop her from coming.
“Ain’t that Heywood Kelmer?” Sol asked, nodding to the east.
Heywood was riding in on his palomino, flanked by Vince and Blackie mounted on sorrel and gray stock horses. He was wearing the same outfit he’d worn when there’d been the trouble in the general store. He had his usual look of smug self-satisfaction as he trotted his mount up to the vittles table.
Instinctively, Seth let go of the tow chains and walked straight over to Josette. He warned himself not to get into any kind of tussle with Heywood, not even the kind that was just talk, but a strong impulse to protect Josette had hold of him.
“You know I didn’t mean anything by it, Josette,” Heywood was saying. “My father raised a gentleman. But when he—”
Seeing Seth, Heywood broke off, his smug smile tightening into a hard line.
“We—” Josette licked her lips. She smiled at Seth. “We’ll have some lunch ready in a pinch, Seth,” she said.
“Just looking for a drink of water,” said Seth.
“You should be hungry,” said Molly Hawking. She was a hefty woman in a pink-and-white calico dress, her button nose almost lost in her wide face. Her smile, showing gaps in her teeth, was big enough, however. “You’ve been here since not much past dawn.”
“I do believe I am getting peckish, ma’am,” Seth said, accepting a tin cup of water from Josette.
“What brings you fellas here?” Bone Hawking asked, walking up to the table to squint up at the horsemen. He clapped his hands to clear ashes from them. A bowlegged man with a straw hat, ash-soiled overalls, and a seamed face almost as florid as his beard, Bone was almost a head shorter than his wife.
“Vince and Blackie here are volunteering to help out with the barn raising,” Heywood said, getting down off his horse. “Thought I’d see what we could do.”
“You could help with those burned timbers yonder, Heywood,” said Bone. There was a certain mischievousness in his voice as he said it, knowing that it was the very last job Heywood Kelmer would undertake. “Might get some cinders on that fancy coat there, I speculate.”
Seth smiled and winked at Josette. Heywood’s scowl deepened, seeing that. He reached into a pocket, and drew out two double eagles, giving the twenty-dollar coins to Bone. “That’s to help you with the timber costs.”
“Thankee,” said Bone, almost grumbling the word as he slipped the coins into his pocket. “Lost ten acres of new corn to the fire, too,” he added, perhaps thinking that might trigger another contribution.
Heywood ignored the hint. He turned to Vince and Blackie. “You two fellas go on over and help with that burned timber there.”
Vince smiled ruefully, and Blackie rolled his eyes, but they walked over to the pile of charred wood, taking leather gloves from their back pockets as they went.
Heywood gave Josette his most condescending smile. “Now it seems that you and I have much to talk about. Maybe we could take a walk . . . ?”
Seth cleared his throat. “Heywood—”
“Seth,” Josette interrupted, “would you help me carry the preserves from the kitchen?”
“Oh, I could get the—” Molly started. But Daisy gave her a nudge with an elbow. Molly cleared her throat, realizing that Josette wanted a chance to talk to Seth alone. “Yes—would you help Josette, Seth?”
“Surely,” said Seth, setting down his cup. He walked side by side with Josette to the farmhouse.
“You know, he figured you were here,” Seth said as they went into the kitchen. “That’s the only reason he came.”
“I know.” She took four jars from a shelf and set them on a cutting table. “Seth—I don’t want you in jail again. Do not get into it with that man.”
“I didn’t say a durn word to him, Josette!”
“You were fixing to!”
“Only if he tried to bully you.”
“You just let me handle that! If you’re in jail—well—” She turned away, before she went on. “What good are you to me in jail?”
Seth’s heart lifted at that. He stepped closer, took her hand in his, and gently drew her to face him. “Just tell me straight out, Josette. If he asks you to marry him, will you?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you know?”
“Can’t tell. Last time we spoke of it, you seemed to be considering him as a . . . as . . .”
“I consider him an oaf! I almost laughed when he called himself a gentleman. I will not dance a step with him, let alone marry him!”
&n
bsp; “That being the case, will you—”
She took her hand from his and placed it over his mouth. “Hush! Don’t rush me, Seth Coe!” She picked up two jars of pickles and put them in his hands. “You take those out to Molly! I’ll take the strawberry jam!”
“Suppose I was to ask for a kiss?”
Josette compressed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You behave yourself! Till I tell you not to!”
She turned and bustled out of the room, and feeling strangely encouraged, he followed with a light step.
When they stepped outside, Heywood was there; he had mounted his horse and was blocking their way.
“You and I had an understanding, Josette,” he said.
“No, Heywood, we did not.”
“We did. Your father agreed! And here you are, acting like a soiled dove with this—”
“What did you say, mister?” Seth said, bristling, stepping toward Heywood. He had every intention of dragging Heywood Kelmer from the saddle so they could fight it out here and now.
“Seth, no!” Josette stepped in between them, holding her hands up to block Seth. “Don’t! Please!”
Heywood gave one of his smug smiles. “You see that, Coe? She’s ready to fight for me!”
Josette spun on her heel, planted her hands on her hips, and snapped, “Heywood Kelmer—I did that for Seth!”
“Then you’re a—”
“Get out of here, Kelmer,” Seth interrupted, the words coming between clenched teeth.
Face twitching, Heywood backed his horse up. “You fail to understand who you’re tangling with, Coe,” he growled. Then he turned the palomino and rode away.
CHAPTER NINE
It was dusk when Fisher got back to the camp. “How long we going to set around here, breathing them ashes?” Sweeney asked as Fisher tied his horse to a scrub oak. “Wind’s been blowing all them cinders off the prairie all the damn day.”
“That’s a real good question,” said Bettiger. He sat on a log, paring a thumbnail with a buck knife.
The camp was leaden with ashes, blown there in the aftermath of the fire. Black Creek was all murky with ash, living up to its name, and the restless men seated around the dead campfire looked like a parcel of Confederate soldiers, with the ashes graying them.
“We won’t stay here any longer,” Fisher said, coming to stand by the dead campfire. He took off his bowler and brushed ashes off it. “We head to Buffalo Junction soon’s we get our gear loaded. Except for Sweeney. He goes to Prairie Fire, makes some inquiries for us. In a few days, why, we hit that bank. And I finish my business there, too.”
“It’s not just your business,” said Diamond. “We get our share of Coe’s money.”
“Most assuredly,” Fisher said with all the conviction of a practiced liar.
“Buffalo Junction?” Smiley Briggs shook his shaggy red mane. “I don’t like it! That grasping cuss Feathers Martin—he’ll squeeze every last penny out of a man needin’ to hide out there.”
“That’s right,” said Gaines, tamping tobacco into a pipe. “He’ll do just that. Besides which, everyone knows half the wanted men in Kansas pass through that place. Be our luck to get there just when the US marshal brings in the Army. That’s what they’re doing some places! Cavalry instead of a posse!”
“We won’t stay too long,” said Fisher. “And what I’ve heard is Martin has men watching the roads. There’s half a dozen ways out before anyone can close in. Then he goes back to pretending it’s a country tavern!”
Gaines smacked his lips at that. “By God, he does have liquor, anyhow. Beer, too!”
“And beds!” Fisher pointed out.
“I’m ready for one,” Bettiger admitted. “Tired of sleeping rough.”
“When do I meet you there?” Sweeney asked, sitting up straight and stretching his arms.
“Soon’s you find out what I need to know,” said Fisher.
He commenced loading his few goods into his saddlebags. He knew he was only the nominal leader of these men. He had to keep them moving, doing, or they’d wander off on their own—maybe even pull a gun on him. Plain truth was, they mostly stuck with him this far only because they had no place else to go. They were all wanted, except for Sweeney—and maybe him, too, if you looked far enough afield. They had little money and few ideas. Fisher was filling the vacuum for now.
He was playing some of it by ear. Ideally, their numbers would be pruned down before the money was in hand for an easier split. He’d have to figure out how to do that. He thought Diamond was steady enough to be counted on to shoot Gaines and Briggs in the back if need be. No one much cared for Sweeney. He could find any old excuse at all to kill him.
In the end, just he and Diamond—whom he needed to watch his back—would head for Mexico flush with cash.
“Compadres, let us delay no longer,” Fisher said, tying up the saddlebags. “Let us head east to Buffalo Junction. I’m buying two rounds of drinks soon’s we get there. And who knows? Maybe it’ll be a profitable journey. That Feathers Martin—how much gold has he got stored up somewhere? Maybe it’s time the old thief was robbed himself.”
“Maybe,” said Gaines, standing up and slapping ashes from his trousers. “All right. I guess I’ll look in on ol’ Feathers. But tell me this—where you been all the long day, Hannibal, off on your own?”
“Making sure no one was on my trail, is where.” They knew he was a wanted man, and that explanation would likely hold them. “Ran a trail down south like that’s where I was headed, doubled back, came most the way here riding up in this creek. All the time watching for lawmen and townsfolk. Most of these yokels are busy shoveling ash and rebuilding sheds and such. Saw no lawmen at all.”
“Always smart to check the back trail,” said Diamond, dusting ashes off his hat. He stood up and went to his horse.
The others—a certain grudging slowness in their motions—were packing up now.
“I’m ready to head east,” Gaines said. “But we’d best not lay over too long at Martin’s place. You serious about taking his money, Hannibal? You’d have to kill him for it.”
“Would that break your heart?” Fisher asked.
Gaines made a high-pitched hee-hee-hee that was a wicked mock of laughter. “Not one bit. But Feathers ain’t there alone!”
Fisher squatted to fill his canteen from the creek, a little upstream from where his horse was thirstily drinking. “We’ll see what can be done and what can’t.”
Fisher was concerned about one thing. That Seth Coe, having had a close scrape that day of the fire, would have hightailed it down to Texas already. But it was his judgment, based on Coe’s nerviness, even bravado, that the cowboy would not flee Prairie Fire, Kansas. He had driven a wagon; he’d clearly been fighting a fire. Must have business in town. Odds were, Coe was still there.
And Hannibal Fisher was more determined than ever to see Seth Coe dead.
* * *
* * *
Josette was feeding the pigs from a bucket of mash when Heywood Kelmer rode up.
The sun was thinking about setting, the long shadows across the barnyard striping Heywood as he trotted the palomino up. “Your pa here?” he asked brusquely. No smile this time.
“In the house,” she said. “Just got home.”
She turned away and used the wooden scoop to spread the mash for the grunting hogs, as if they were of more interest to her than Heywood.
“You are going to change your way of thinking, girl,” he said. She glanced over her shoulder, saw him ride the horse over to the house. He dismounted, tied the horse to the hitch, and knocked on the door. Papa let Heywood in and closed the door.
Bucket in hand, Josette walked over to the house, posting herself in the shadows near the open window. She wanted to know what Heywood’s business was but was loath to be in the same room with him.
&
nbsp; “I tell you true,” Heywood said, “that saddle bum all but attacked me! If he’d had a gun on him, I’d have called him out!”
Josette smiled to herself. Heywood was more bluster than bravery. She doubted he’d have called Seth out for a gunfight. She could not picture Heywood Kelmer fighting his own battles.
“That man,” Heywood went on, “took her into the house alone, and when she came out, she was blushing! Seth Coe is trying to seduce your daughter! And she’s playing along with him, too!”
“What!”
“I don’t know how far it’s gone, but I’m about to set her aside unless she changes her tune! I don’t like to be denied, Dubois. Now, do you want that land—or do you not?”
“Yes, yes, of course! Here—will you have a drink, Heywood? Let us talk about it—”
“No, no drink for me now. I just want you to know where I stand. I do not take well to being given the wind like some farmhand! We will see what happens—but I will not stand for it! Now, you see to your daughter—or I will!”
Josette’s eyes widened. You see to your daughter—or I will! What did Heywood mean by or I will?
Josette heard his boot steps coming to the door, and she quickly slipped around the corner of the house. She waited till he had ridden off, and then she set the bucket thoughtfully down and went in—out of long habit—to make supper for her father. Where else was she to go?
“You!” He was sitting at the kitchen table, his face in darkness, for the light from the windows was fading. A bottle of spirits sat on the table by his mug. “I told you to stay away from that cowboy!”
“It’s so dark in here,” she said, going to the oil lamp. She hoped he would just let the subject of Seth Coe drop if she didn’t argue with him. Fingers trembling, she lit the lamp, replaced its chimney, and started for the stove.
Suddenly Dubois lurched to his feet.
She stepped back, wondering how bad it would be this time.
“You!” He wagged his finger in her face. “You are acting like a woman of the streets!”