The Devil's Bonanza (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book

by Patrick E. Andrews

  Chapter Eleven

  The cabin in the Indian Territory that Lorimer Jacks and his cohorts picked for a base of operations had originally been built by buffalo hunters. Various users had contributed pieces of furniture—all battered and old, but useful—to the place, consisting of a table, chairs and even a double bunk bed. This latter item was strung with ropes on both the top and lower levels. It was actually quite comfortable when a blanket roll was laid over the thick cords.

  The structure was well-concealed within a low-lying area surrounded by heavy brush and a grove of redbud trees. The hunters eventually abandoned the site after annihilating all the buffalo in the area. This slaughter had been done only for the hides, and the meat was left to rot across the expanse of the prairie.

  Later, the shelter was discovered by an outlaw gang on the dodge and within a couple of years it became known by others on the owl hoot trail. The various lodgers kept the place up through the passing years, and it was passably comfortable to hole up in.

  ~*~

  Now Charlie Chasseur approached the cabin and reined to a halt at the edge of the surrounding trees. The tracker counted five horses inside a makeshift corral on one side of the locale. He rode up to the rickety enclosure and dismounted, tying his horse to the middle railing.

  “Hello, the cabin!” Chasseur called out, not wanting to startle the pistoleros inside.

  Lorimer Jacks appeared in the door. “Howdy, Charlie. C’mon in. We’re waiting for you.”

  Chasseur entered the cabin to see Burly Tanner, Cole Bascomb and Buck Krieger sitting at a battered table. Ernesto Chavez was napping on the bottom of the double bunk by the far wall. He opened his eyes at the entrance of the tracker.

  You got anything to drink?” Chasseur asked.

  “Sure,” Tanner said. “Whiskey. Didn’t you bring none with you?”

  “I don’t tote likker when I’m on a scout.”

  “Where’s them damn sodbusters at?” Jacks asked.

  “They’re on their way to Amarillo,” Chasseur answered. “That’s where they’re gonna cash in the gold, but it’s gonna take a coupla days. They cain’t move too fast with all that weight on their horses. So we oughta start off no later’n tomorrow morning. We can ride into town and find ’em, then follow ’em north toward Kansas when they head for home.”

  Jacks nodded. “Yeah. That sounds best.”

  “By the way,” Chasseur said, “they didn’t pan that gold outta no river. They stole it from a bunch of funny looking-fellers that must live over there in Colorado.”

  Jacks laughed. “So them dirt farmers have been breaking the law, huh? Dogged if that don’t beat all.”

  “I don’t give a damn how they got it,” Buck Krieger said. “I’m looking forward to getting my share of the money.”

  “Don’t forget we get paid by the banker too,” Chavez reminded them.

  “We damn well better,” Tanner said, eyeing Jacks closely.

  Jacks grinned. “Don’t worry about nothing when it comes to the money. Treadwell and his bosses don’t hedge.”

  “For your sake they better not,” Tanner said.

  Jacks felt a cold anger at the threat. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  Tanner shook his head. “Not right now.”

  Chasseur looked at Jacks. “Where’s that godamn whiskey?”

  Jacks went over to his saddlebags and pulled out two bottles of liquor. “This ought to do us ’til the morning.”

  Chavez got off the bunk and joined them as one of the bottles was opened. The group passed it around, treating themselves to the throat-searing taste of the cheap whiskey

  “Well, now,” Jacks said. “Let’s hash out how we’re gonna run this show.”

  “You do the thinking,” Chasseur said. “All I’m inter’sted in is tracking them farmers and robbing ’em.”

  Chavez laughed. “It’s good you want things that way, Indio. You Red people don’t have the brains for smart figgering.”

  Chasseur glared at him. “You go ahead and enjoy yourself by running off that big mouth of yours, Mezkin. I’ll just sit here and see how long I’ll take it.”

  Krieger spoke up quickly. “Hey, now, you two fellers keep a lid on it ’til after the job’s done.”

  “That’s right,” Jacks added. “We’ll be busy from tomorrow on. Them sodbusters know me by sight, so y’all will have to walk them Amarillo streets and search ’em out.”

  Tanner shook his head. “We don’t know what they look like.”

  “Hell, just look for six sodbusters hanging around together,” Jacks said.

  “There was seven,” Chasseur corrected him. “A woman was with ’em.”

  “A woman?” Jacks asked. “Where the hell did she come from?”

  Chasseur shrugged. “I got no idee. Anyhow, there’s only six sodbusters now. Them fellers they stole the gold from grabbed one and shot the other. And there really ain’t six of ’em. There’s five farmers. Our old pal Mack Kersey is riding with ’em.”

  “Kersey?” Tanner growled. “What the hell’s he got to do with a bunch of sodbusters?”

  “Hell I don’t know,” Chasseur replied. “But he even seems to be ramrodding the outfit.”

  Jacks was thoughtful for a moment. “He musta set up the job.” He motioned to Tanner. “O’course if he sees you, he won’t tie you in with Treadwell.”

  “I cain’t wait to meet up with that son of a bitch again,” Tanner said. He paused and grinned. “What about that gal you said was with ’em? Is she pretty?”

  “You bet she is,” Chasseur said. “I reckon we can bring her back to the cabin here after we get our hands on the money for a little whoopee time.”

  “Hell, boys,” Krieger said, laughing. “This ain’t a job, it’s a party.”

  “What’s a woman doing with ’em anyhow?” Chavez asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chasseur said. “She was there when I first caught up with ’em. But don’t you worry none about it. You ain’t gonna touch her.”

  “Why do you say that?” Chavez asked.

  “’Cause I ain’t sharing no woman with a Mezkin,” Chasseur replied.

  “Hijo de la chingada!” Chavez cursed. He was on his feet in an instant with his pistol in his hand. “Why do you talk like that, Indio? You ain’t no white man.”

  In one quick motion, Chasseur drew his Bowie knife and cut Chavez deep across his gun arm. The Mexican’s fingers went limp as arteries, muscle and tendons were severed by the skillful slash of the blade.

  “Now just minute!” Jacks yelled.

  But it was too late. In an instantaneous bound, the half-breed had treated his opponent to three more slashes. These were across his victim’s throat. Chavez, glassy eyed and moaning, sank to the floor.

  “Aw, hell,” Tanner said. He bent down and examined Chavez. “Good God, Chasseur, he’s already dead. Now we’re a gun short.”

  Chasseur put the knife back into its scabbard. “We’ve still got five guns. That’s more’n enough to handle them farmers even if Kersey is with ’em.”

  Jacks took a drink of whiskey and looked at the corpse. “That’s the quickest knife killing I ever seen.”

  “I was in a merciful mood,” Chasseur said. “So I sent him to hell without a lot of hurt.”

  ~*~

  Banker John Treadwell rapped on the McKenna’s door. Elvira answered the knocking and look at him in surprise. The banker politely tipped his hat. “How do you do, Mrs. McKenna.”

  “Hello, Mr. Treadwell,” Elvira said. “Come in.”

  He entered the house. “I don’t suppose Ed is back, is he?”

  “No he ain’t.”

  “That’s too bad,” Treadwell said. “I was hoping to speak to him.” He paused, hoping she would carry on talking, but she said nothing. “Mrs. McKenna, I hate to be a bother, but I could use a cup of coffee.”

  Elvira, raised in a tradition of southern hospitality, gestured to the table. “Take a seat. I’d be proud to pour you a cup.”<
br />
  “Thank you so much,” Treadwell said, sitting down. “You know, I could never figure out why a hot cup of coffee cools one down on a warm day.”

  “I don’t know that it does,” Elvira said, serving him. “Here’s the sugar.” She set the bowl in front of him.

  Treadwell slowly prepared the beverage, still wanting the woman to lead into some conversation. Even with his plan now in full operation he hadn’t wanted to leave any loose ends dangling. He thought he could keep himself in the picture better and avoid any unpleasant surprises by maintaining contact with the women on the Flats. He wasn’t worried about their animosity toward him. “This is good coffee, Mrs. McKenna.”

  “I’m glad it’s to your liking,” she commented insincerely.

  “I wrote some more letters to my superiors about the loans.”

  “Has anything special happened?”

  “There might be a chance for reconsideration,” Treadwell lied. “But not for all the farms.”

  “For whose then?”

  Treadwell paused. “Well…that would be more or less up to me, you see? I would have to choose one or maybe two families.”

  “Choose anyone you like,” Elvira said. “But I’ll tell you right now, I ain’t got nothing special to say to you, Mr. Treadwell. Our husbands is gonna fix up our problems just fine for us. So we don’t need to worry about nothing. Now if you’re finished with that coffee I’d like to wash the cup. I got a lot of work to do today.”

  Treadwell smiled. “Of course.” He got to his feet, and went to the door. “One way or the other this problem we’re all facing will be resolved soon.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Elvira said. “Good day, Mr. Treadwell.”

  “Good day, Mrs. McKenna.”

  He left the house and went to his buckboard, wondering about the stubbornness of some people.

  ~*~

  Doss Kearns and his friends sat in the shade of an elm tree in the back lot of the Amarillo livery stable. All the Kiowa Flats group, except for Ben, were there, talking and smoking listlessly.

  “How long did Ben say he’d be?” Buford Turnbull asked.

  “He didn’t,” Doss answered.

  “He’ll rush, don’t nobody worry about that,” Becky said. “Especially when his business has to do with cash money.”

  “Lord above,” Zachary Steuben said sadly, snapping out of his own thoughts. “I’m just as sick as can be about J.R. and Ed. I surely am.”

  “Personally,” Doss said, “I think J.R. run off.”

  Buford nodded his agreement. “I’m sure he did. It’ll be hard for poor Mary Beth. But she’s got her boys Eldon and Harvey to help. Each of ’em can do a man’s work. But they ain’t gonna have a full share of the money since J.R. absconded with that gold.”

  “Well,” said Doss, “I think we’ll all be able to chip in enough for ’em.”

  Buford showed a pleased grin. “I’m glad you said that, Doss. It shows you’re a better Christian than you think you are.”

  “It’s the decent thing to do,” Zachary Steuben agreed.

  “What I dread is telling Elvira about Ed,” Buford remarked sadly. “It’s gonna tear her up considerable.”

  “Shouldn’t Ben tell her?” Zachary asked. “He’s her brother-in-law.”

  “Last night he asked me to do it,” Buford said. “He’ll be there, but he wants me to break it to the poor woman.”

  “I don’t envy you that,” Doss declared.

  “It’s part of a preacher’s duties,” Buford pointed out.

  “I reckon Ben’s recovering from the shock,” Zachary noted. “He’ s about his normal self now, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I think Ben has a strange way about him,” Doss commented. “Once something happens, he can get over it quick. He don’t have nary a regret about killing that poor cowboy. Fact is, I’m thinking his grief for losing Ed is fading away.”

  “He’s an outlaw,” Zachary said. “I bet he’s always gone to Ed’s place just to duck the law.” He glanced at Becky. “Are you and Ben gonna get hitched?”

  She smiled shyly. “I hope so.”

  “If you do,” Doss interjected, “it might be nice if you moved in with Elviry. She’s only got twelve-year-old Orvie. It’ll be a couple of years before he’s ready to do any real work on the place.”

  Becky shrugged. “I don’t know nothing about what Ben wants to do.”

  “At least you’ll be starting with plenty of cash money,” Buford said. “That’s more’n me and my Nora had, that’s for sure.”

  “Me and Lilly had my mustering-out pay from the Army,” Doss remembered. “It wasn’t much, but when you’re young you can do without and be content.”

  “Becky, you be sure and marry him first chance,” Buford said sternly. “You two have been in sin long enough, hear?”

  “Don’t start on the girl,” Doss scolded.

  “I cain’t help it,” Buford said. “It’s part of my Christian calling.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Kearns,” Becky said. She looked at Buford. “That was a right nice sermon you preached over Mr. McKenna.”

  “Why thank you, Missy,” Buford said. “I’m pleased you liked it. I only pray that you give a lot of attention to any other preaching I do.”

  “I’ll listen real good,” Becky promised.

  Buford started to say something else when Ben appeared around the side of the barn. “Y’all ready? Then let’s get them saddlebags and finish this all up.” He waited as the others scrambled to their feet and hoisted the heavy bags to their shoulders. “We’re going in a door at the back of the bank. I thought it’d be better to wait after dark, but our banker says we won’t be noticed so much now with all the people walking around the streets.”

  “D’you want me to come along, Ben?” Becky asked.

  “No. You wait here. It won’t take long.”

  The group made their way out of the livery yard and into the crowded streets, eventually turning off into an alley behind a group of buildings. When they arrived at the bank, Ben knocked on the door. They were admitted to a little used office away from the main part of the establishment by a man with a Mexican cigarillo in his mouth.

  “Boys,” Ben said. “I’d like y’all to meet Horace Goodwin. He’s the man we do business with.”

  The man who greeted them was short and bald, the front of his grey suit covered with cigar ashes. “Let’s not waste time, gentlemen,” he said. “We’ll weigh her out right now.”

  He led them into a small room with a scale. Ben and the farmers set the bags of nuggets on the table beside the instrument “There it all is,” he announced. “Have at it, Horace.”

  It took a half hour as the process proceeded. Each bag was emptied on the scale and minutely inspected by Goodwin. Then he carefully balanced the weighing instrument and noted the amount before calling for the next bag. When the final sum was written down, he tallied the total.

  “Gentlemen,” the banker said. “You have three hundred and thirty-one and one-quarter pounds of gold there. For assay purposed that comes to fifty three hundred ounces. “

  “How much will you give us for it?” Ben asked.

  “Two dollars an ounce,” Goodwin said. “Let me see…” He turned his attention back to the paper and scribbled some figures down. “That comes out to a grand total of ten thousand, six hundred dollars.”

  “Hell, Horace!” Ben exclaimed. “That’s too far off the reg’lar market value.”

  “Then take it to an assay office and do your business with the government,” Horace said. “I have too much of an overhead.”

  “Twenty dollars an ounce is what you’re gonna pay,” Ben said. “That’s still a big profit for you.”

  Goodwin laughed. “I can’t unload the stuff for that much, Ben. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you’re being ridiculous talking about two dollars an ounce,” Ben insisted. “Let’s get to fifteen then.”

  “I’ll raise it to five,” Goodwin said.
“That’s five dollars for each of fifty three hundred ounces. Not bad.”

  “You got us over a barrel,” Ben said. “Twelve and a half per ounce then.”

  “Six.”

  “Twelve,” Ben countered. “You’re being unfair as hell, and you know it.”

  “All right then,” Goodwin said. “Let’s stop playing. Ten dollars an ounce. That’s my final offer. I’m done bargaining.”

  “Eleven,” Ben said stubbornly.

  Goodwin shook his head. “My final offer is ten dollars per ounce. That’s fifty three thousand dollars.”

  Ben looked at the farmers who shrugged their collective acquiescence. He turned back to Goodwin. “We’ll take it.”

  Doss addressed the banker. “Sir, would you do us a favor? How much is that for eight shares.”

  “How do you figger eight?” Zachary asked.

  “It’s one share for each of five farm families and Becky,” Doss said. “And two for Ben.”

  Goodwin said, “Each share is worth six thousand, six hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

  “You ciphered that right quick,” Buford said.

  “It’s elementary arithmetic,” Goodwin said. “Wait here and I’ll fetch the money and a couple of men to carry this gold off for me.”

  After he left, Zachary Steuben grinned in happy anticipation. “Let’s head for Kansas right after we’re paid off.”

  “It’s late,” Ben said. “Best make an early start in the morning.”

  “Let make it real early,” Buford said. “The sooner we finish this trip, the happier I’ll be. I don’t want nothing else bad to happen to any of us.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben and the farmers wasted no time after the big payoff. They went directly to the livery barn for Becky Morris and the horses. After final packing and adjustments of horse furniture, the happy group rode out of Amarillo at a canter. In less than an hour Ben located a secure area out of sight of the main road.

  “Let’s make a cold camp,” Doss Kearns suggested.

  “What for?” Buford Turnbull asked. “We beat them pagan rascals so bad they’ll never come back looking for us.”

  “Maybe not,” Doss allowed. “But I don’t know much about that banker Goodwin, and if he’s anything like Treadwell back home, I wouldn’t put it past him to try and steal back our money.”