Prairie Fire, Kansas

by John Shirley

  “Hannibal, I’m hit!”

  Seth swung his rifle around and saw Fisher sitting on his horse just ten paces off, trying to aim at Seth—but the gambler’s horse was balking, rearing, and he was having trouble steadying his gun.

  The man in the frock coat was just behind Fisher, backing his horse up, firing at Franklin. Seth fired the Winchester without having much chance to aim and saw a piece of Fisher’s coat sleeve fly apart. A pistol banged to Seth’s right—Franklin popping the pistol at Fisher and the other man. He fired three times, and Seth jacked another round into the chamber and fired again, hitting a tree close beside Fisher.

  Hannibal Fisher turned his horse and spurred off into the trees, the man in the long black frock coat following.

  Seth fired after them—but he didn’t have a clear shot and doubted he hit anything but tree bark.

  Shaking, he stood up straight and turned to Franklin, who was getting down off his horse.

  “You hit, Seth?” he asked, leading his horse over to him.

  “Not this time.” Seth’s heart was still pounding so loud, he could hear it. He felt light-headed. “Got creased some in my arm earlier. How’d you find me?”

  Franklin squinted at the brush, looking for Fisher as he spoke. “Marshal in Prairie Fire told me you headed up here—said Fisher was in the country round here, looking for you. And I heard a couple fellas in that gang talking at Ma Sublette’s place. I come up to warn you—about killed my horse doing it. I was heading for Freeman, and I heard the shots. Had a look-see, and I caught sight of that no-good Sweeney . . .”

  “Sure glad to see you, Franklin. He’d have nailed me to this log here if it weren’t for you.”

  “They’re not going to give up so easy.”

  “You got buckshot into one of them, and I nearly hit Fisher a couple times. Sweeney’s dead. The other fella ran off. And you said”—Seth managed a weary laugh—“‘Surrender in the name of the law!’”

  Franklin grinned. “It worked, didn’t it? They didn’t know if I was part of a posse! I expect that’s why they’ve done rid off. How many of them were there, you know?”

  “Well there was— Holy cow!” Seth remembered the red-haired man. And the owlhoot would be somewhere behind him.

  He spun around in time to see a round, florid-faced man with red hair, mouth open, staring at them from the brush by the marsh. Franklin saw him, too, and fired his pistol—the man instantly vanished. They heard the brush rustling as he ran off, then the sound of a horse moving away.

  “That was close—he like to have shot me in the back!” Seth said. “That’s two I owe you!”

  “And I won’t let you forget it! Seth—let’s get the hell out of here! Say—where’s your horse?”

  “Dead. They shot him.”

  They heard a snorting nearby and a whicker—and turned to see Sweeney’s horse dragging the dead man along by the stirrup just thirty paces away.

  Seth jogged over to the horse, calling soothingly, “Hey, pal, I’ve got you. It’s all right! We’ll get that load off you right quick!” He caught the horse’s bridle, and Franklin tugged Sweeney’s booted foot from the stirrup.

  “You think we should bury Sweeney?” Seth asked.

  “Nope. We need to get out of here before they flank around on us.”

  Seth mounted Sweeney’s horse, feeling a stab of pain in his injured arm. Franklin swung up into his own saddle, and they set out south quick as they could go in the brushy woods—heading away from Fisher.

  “Maybe we should circle them and shoot that murderin’ cheat!” Franklin suggested as they rode along. “With him dead, the others’ll likely run off.”

  Seth shook his head. “They gather up, why, there’ll be four of them against us. We’re lucky to have got out of that shooting gallery!”

  “Say, where’s Josette? Marshal said you two were getting hitched up!”

  “Rode off with Heywood Kelmer to Freeman. He and her pappy were partnered up with Fisher. She said she was going to keep me from getting killed even if it meant marrying Heywood.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned! You’re saying—she surrendered to him?”

  “Or maybe changed her mind about living with a cowboy planning on scratching out a living in Texas.”

  Franklin looked at him, frowning, but said nothing.

  They came to the edge of the trees and reined in, looking around. They saw no one, but the outlaws could have been hidden in the brush.

  Seth was thinking about the way Sweeney had looked when he’d tugged the other man free of that stirrup. The dead outlaw had stared up at the sky, mouth open, looking startled, as if amazed he had ended this way. “It bother you any, killing Sweeney?”

  “Him? No. He was trying to kill you. And he’d have killed me if he could. Anyhow—I was in the war, Seth. I don’t like killing. But I got used to it.”

  Seth nodded. Franklin had served with the Army of the Confederacy for a year as a teenager and had killed his share of men. “I expect that’s natural enough. But—I hope I never do get used to it, Franklin.”

  “Where to now?” Franklin asked.

  “Guess I’ve just got to know for sure . . .”

  “About Josette?”

  “Yep. So I’m going to Freeman. Have to find another trail to get there. We’d be sitting ducks on the main road.” He cleared his throat. “I won’t ask you to come with me. You and that horse of yours both look about rode out.”

  “What I’ve been through with Ma Sublette—” Franklin shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. Hell, I’m going to the nearest town, and that’s Freeman. Let’s ride.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  This judge will not come,” said Dubois sourly. He flapped a hand toward the growing celebration in the main square. “He is there, drinking and dancing!”

  “The justice is an old friend of my father’s,” Heywood said, looking impatiently at the locked door of the courthouse. “And he owes us a favor. I know just where I can get a room for tonight, too. There’s a ranch a mile south does a lot of business with Black Creek Acres. They’ll loan us a nice bedroom.”

  Josette, standing between the two men on the top step of the courthouse, hoped the judge would not appear. She glanced over her shoulder and thought of running, but they would probably catch her.

  She might have run, anyway. But it could end in Seth being shot down. Heywood would give those horrible men some more money and have his revenge.

  Poor Seth. What was he feeling now?

  It was dark out, but there were a good many lights from the square down the street where the mayor’s celebration was ginning up, with lanterns hanging about the stage erected for the occasion, and all the gaslights alit, showing off the bunting. A noisy crowd was milling about, waiting for the newlyweds to show up.

  Josette sighed. It was someone’s grand wedding celebration—for a bride who was happy to be married. It made a mock of her own imminent marriage.

  The band chose that moment to play its first tune, which Josette recognized as “Vilikins and His Dinah,” a drippily sentimental song she found oppressive to hear—she was more in the mood for a dirge.

  There was the sound of the door unlocking, and it swung open, revealing the wizened little constable who’d sent her away but a short time ago.

  “You the Kelmer marriage folks?” the little man asked dourly, one hand on the door, the other tugging his goatish beard.

  “We are!” Heywood said, straightening his string tie. “Where’s Justice Hopkins?”

  “He’s inside, and he needs to get this done lickety-split. He’s done been to the wedding, and now he’s expected at the reception. Coming over here for this was mighty inconvenient.”

  “Just take us to him if you please,” said Heywood.

  The constable grudgingly stood aside, and they went into a large dra
fty hallway of heavily lacquered wood. They found the judge standing in the courtroom in front of the bench, his hands in his trouser pockets. He was a middle-aged man, his heavy jaws going jowly, bags under his impatient eyes. He wore a cream-colored suit and tails, and there was a rose in his buttonhole. “Let us get this under way, Kelmer,” he said. “The courtroom should be closed, and I am wanted elsewhere. Was it not for your father—”

  “I’m as eager as you are, Your Honor,” Heywood declared.

  Josette felt a tightening in her throat. A feeling of panic was rising within her. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

  The constable stood to the side, arms crossed, frowning, his eyes on Josette. “Ain’t you the girl who came here with another fella to marry earlier today?”

  She gave a faint nod in response.

  The constable shook his head, his frown deepening. “You sure are a fickle little thing, then. Something curious about all this.”

  “What’s that, Laird?” the judge said absently, tugging a leather binder from his bench top. He turned back to them, began flipping through paperwork in the binder.

  “Just that this young lady was here with a young fella a few hours ago, wanting to get married. And it wasn’t this man Kelmer.”

  “That’s none of your business,” Heywood snapped.

  “He was forcing her to come!” Dubois interposed. “He’d kidnapped her—”

  “Lies!” Josette blurted. She was startled by her own voice—she was unable to keep quiet. She had resolved to marry Heywood, but now it all came tumbling out. “This is the abduction! I was here with Seth of my own free will! But these men sent gunslingers—murderers!”

  “What’s that?” The judge looked up at her, eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Murderers?”

  “She’s teched!” said Heywood. “All aflutter about the marriage. Let’s get on with this!”

  The judge closed the folder and peered closely at Josette. “Young lady—do you consent to this marriage here and now of your own free will, or do you not?”

  She felt a certainty then that she could not go through with it. “I do not, Your Honor!” she replied.

  By now, she decided, Seth would be as safe as he was likely to be, with Fisher still on the loose.

  “She marries who I say!” Dubois said. “It is the right of a father!”

  “I am of an age to decide for myself!” Josette said, stamping a buttoned-up shoe on the floor. “I chose Seth Coe—not Heywood Kelmer! But they threatened to kill Seth and—”

  “She’s promised me!” Heywood growled. “She’s got to do it!”

  “Your Honor,” said the constable, “I cannot be a party to this young lady being forced into marrying this man.”

  “I am of the same mind, Laird,” said Hopkins, nodding.

  “Look here. You owe my father!” Heywood said, jabbing an index finger at the judge.

  “Owing a favor doesn’t mean I’m going to break the law, Kelmer,” said Hopkins, glowering at him.

  Heywood hesitated, chewing his lower lip. Then he blurted, “I’ve been, ah, financially inconvenienced, but I can raise some money if that—”

  “Are you trying to bribe me, sir?” Hopkins demanded. “Constable—stand ready to take this man into custody, should he make any further offer of a bribe!”

  “Yes, sir!” The constable was smiling now.

  The judge turned to Josette. “What’s this about a murderer?”

  She licked her lips and decided to just say it right out. “One of those men was Hannibal Fisher—wanted for murder.”

  “Fisher!” exclaimed the constable.

  “Heywood Kelmer hired him to take me away from Seth—and they ended by robbing Heywood!”

  “Ho ho!” the constable said, amused.

  “Now, that’s a lie!” said Heywood, licking his lips. “I . . . I asked some men to help me find the lady. The man’s name was Bitterman, not Fisher!”

  “So he told you,” Josette said. “But I saw that face on a wanted poster. And he robbed you—threatened you with a gun! I saw that, too!”

  “Where are these men now, Kelmer?” Judge Hopkins asked.

  Kelmer swallowed and took a step backward, as if thinking about a quick exit. “I don’t know, Your Honor—south somewhere. Or east. I don’t think it’s that Fisher.”

  The judge slapped the folder against his thigh thoughtfully. “This marriage ceremony is hereby canceled.”

  “No!” Dubois said, almost howling.

  The judge pointed a finger at him. “You, sir, will be silent! Now, it’s my ruling that this lady will depart here on her own to go where she pleases. You gentlemen will wait here for fifteen minutes with the constable—then you will go to the Town Marshal’s office with Laird, and you will give your statements. I will look into this matter about Fisher tomorrow. . . .”

  Feeling giddy, Josette said, “Thank you, Your Honor!” and hurried out the door. Suddenly light on her feet, she began running till she was through the courthouse door and out into the night. Swinging from a thin braided leather strap in her hand was a small purse she’d made and embroidered herself, and in it were eleven dollars, all her savings in the world. Perhaps she could use a few dollars of it to persuade some family to take her in for the night. She was scared to ride the roan back all alone. Well, probably Heywood would take the horse back to Prairie Fire.

  Tomorrow she could get a stage—she had just enough to get her to Prairie Fire. She could make her way to the Hamer farm and await Seth. . . .

  She prayed he was still alive.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hannibal Fisher halted his mount at the edge of a broad, slow-moving stream on the east side of the marsh. Briggs and Diamond did the same, all of them looking about for the man who’d slipped through their fingers. Fisher saw only the dark trees beyond the stream, the sliver of moon reflected in the green-black water, the erratic flutter of bats flying over.

  “We can’t trail him in this here marshland, Hannibal,” said Diamond, grimacing with pain. His right leg and ribs had been peppered with ten-gauge pellets. Most of the spread had missed him, and none seemed to have penetrated deeply, but he’d caught enough to feel like his right side was afire. Fisher knew that Diamond wanted to go to ground so he could dig out the pellets.

  Fisher himself was churning with rage inside, and he had no one to direct it at except Diamond and Briggs. “Curt—stop your damn whining. You are not hurt bad. We’ll trail him if I say to, or you’ll be on your way and miss your chance at the money.”

  Diamond shook his head as if about to retort, then seemed to think better of it.

  “Any gate,” said Smiley Briggs, “I don’t think that other cowboy was part of a posse. Those two was all I saw.”

  Fisher took off his hat, waving away a small cloud of mosquitoes. “That other man’s name is Franklin. He’s just another cowboy, and there’s no sign of the law. He spooked us, it’s true, but he won’t bluff me again.” He looked narrowly at Briggs. “Smiley, tell me this—if you saw those two, why didn’t you shoot that big cowboy at least?”

  “I was fixing to! But they opened up on me, and my horse started to run off—I had to chase him down—and I wasn’t sure if there was maybe a lawman off in the brush, and—”

  “And you turned yellow and run away!” growled Diamond. He clutched his side. “Hannibal. I got to get this shot out of me.”

  “You will. Now, shut up and let me—” He broke off. There was motion in the trees across the water. The dark shape of a horse was barely visible. “I see somebody—maybe. Could be Peanut’s horse, but it could be Coe over there.” He pointed and said, “Come on!”

  He started across the water, and luckily it was shallow, the mud not too deep, and they got through it and up onto the rise. They found a thin game trail through the trees, and Fisher led
the way to a small clearing lit by moonlight and stars. Bettiger was sitting on a log, bare chested, dabbing at a wound in his side with a kerchief. He looked up, startled, as they rode in. Fisher dismounted.

  “Just decide you’d have a little break over here, did you, Bettiger?” Fisher asked archly.

  “I . . .” Bettiger licked his lips. “I was— I got shot. Just ended up over here.”

  “Just ended up, you say. Looks more to me like you were fixing to head off on your own somewhere. Maybe find a doc. Maybe talk to the law.”

  “The law!” Wincing, Bettiger stood up, his right hand dropping near his holstered six-gun. “Why would I do that? I’m a wanted man!”

  “Because you’ve been squirming about my plans for some time now,” said Fisher, feeling the seething rage rising up in him. “Because you’re the son of a Texas Ranger. And blood will tell.” His voice was getting louder as he spoke. “And because you are probably figuring on turning me in—making some kind of deal with the law. Maybe even get a reward!”

  With that, Fisher pulled his gun, and Diamond drew his because Fisher was drawing. Bettiger instinctively drew his own—and Fisher shot him in the face, making his head rock back on his neck. He didn’t get off a shot as Diamond shot him twice, the blood spurting from his bare chest. Bettiger’s horse, untethered and spooked by the gunshots, galloped off into the trees.

  The young outlaw went to his knees and flopped facedown, still clutching his unfired gun.

  “Holy moly,” Briggs muttered. Then he chuckled. “Never did trust him. Good riddance!”

  Fisher slipped his gun into its hideaway holster and went to check the dead man’s pockets. He discovered only four dollars, two bits, and a silver watch. He put those slim pickings in his pocket, took Bettiger’s gun, looked it over, and stuck it in his waistband. “We’ll see if we can find his horse. . . .”

  “And when we do?” Diamond asked, clutching at his own wounded side.

  “Maybe we’ll cut the trails of those slippery cowboys,” said Fisher, speaking more calmly now. He felt a little better, having killed a man—and one who’d been worrying him. “If we don’t find ’em pretty quick, we’ll go back to the camp, and you can pry out those pellets. Then maybe head for Buffalo Junction and move ahead with that bank job. Like as not, Coe will go back to Prairie Fire. I can find him there.”