by Ralph Cotton
“We all know that Kay is at that dawdling age,” said Herbert. “The others went through it; now it’s her turn.” He sighed, folded his reading spectacles and slipped them into his shirt pocket.
“I don’t want to impose . . . ,” said Margolin, squinting, searching the long woods line above the creek bank.
“I suppose you want me to go find her? Encourage her dawdling,” he said, not sounding imposed upon in spite of a slight frown.
“If you would, please,” said Margolin. “That big oaken bucket full of water is awfully heavy for—” She stopped with a short gasp.
“What is it?” asked Herbert, seeing his wife’s face suddenly drained of color.
“Herbert, get out there quickly,” Margolin said in a shaken voice, staring out across the yard toward the tree line.
Hurrying to the door, Herbert saw what had his wife upset. At the woods line, four riders stepped their horses out slowly from within the trees. On the first horse sat Ruddell Plantz; on his lap sat twelve-year-old Shirl Kay Wright. Behind Plantz came the parson, followed by Clement Macky and big Clarence Conlon. The four still wore their militia uniforms.
“Hunh-uh! I’m not standing for this!” said Herbert, shaking his head. “Plantz has gone too far this time.”
“Don’t start trouble with Kay on his lap! For God sakes! Just get her away from him, Herbert!” Margolin demanded, her voice trembling in fear.
Herbert gazed toward his shotgun above the hearth, but then thought better of it. He walked quickly out the front door and down off the porch. Seeing the angry expression on Wright’s face, Plantz called out, “Uh-oh, men, it looks like Councilman Wright must have woke up with a mouthful of horseshoes this morning.” He gave Herbert a tight smile, riding in closer without loosening his arm from around the young girl. “Why so cross today, Councilman?” he asked.
“Shirl Kay, climb down here this minute,” said Herbert in a tight but controlled voice, ignoring Plantz’s question.
“I can’t, Pa, he’s holding me,” said the young girl, offering a slight struggle, then ceasing to resist.
“He’s holding me, Pa, this bad ole man!” said Plantz in a mock childlike voice. “Ain’t that the most precious thing you ever saw.” He rustled Kay’s silky yellow hair. “I could just eat her!” Before Herbert could say anything more, Plantz lifted the girl out away from him and down to the ground. “Conlon, bring the young lady’s bucket of water up here,” he called back over his shoulder.
Herbert Wright breathed a sigh of relief as his daughter stepped away from Plantz’s horse. He watched as big Clarence Conlon rode up, leaned down and handed Kay the oaken bucket dripping fresh water from its rim. “Hurry inside with that water, Kay; your mother needs it,” Herbert said, keeping his voice even.
When Kay stepped inside the house, Plantz sat staring after her for a quiet moment. Herbert Wright glared at him, smoldering. Finally, Plantz said, “Councilman, you are truly blessed, having not one, not two, but three beautiful young daughters around you!” He grinned, looking all around the yard and asking, “Pray tell, where are the other two darling angels?”
“They’re at their Aunt Madeline’s house,” Herbert said grudgingly.
“Ah, Aunt Madeline!” said Plantz, as if in fond reflection. “Yet another beautiful Wright woman! A schoolteacher, isn’t she?” Plantz squinted as if trying to remember. “She’s out toward Topeka, or thereabouts?”
“What can I do for you, Plantz?” Herbert asked, not wanting to make small talk with Plantz or his men. He looked the four men over, noting their frayed and faded militia uniforms. No one in Umberton believed for a moment that Plantz and his men had nothing to do with murdering the colonel, Shep Watson and the Shawler boy, and raping and assaulting Julie Wilder.
“We’ve got a little problem, Councilman,” said Plantz, suddenly losing his smile and turning to business. “We’re hoping we can count on you, Wilmens and Bales to help us out.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Wright. “I thought the army issued orders for the militia to disband and stop wearing those uniforms.”
“Yes, the army did issue such an order, and that’s our problem right there,” said Plantz. “See, me and the boys here don’t mind giving up these uniforms; they’re about spent anyway. But it strikes us that this is a bad time to be disbanding.” He gave a stiff grin. “We think this is the time to be unifying.”
“Unifying?” said Wright, getting an unpleasant feeling in his stomach, the way he always had when standing this close to Plantz and his men. “What exactly are you proposing, Ruddell?”
Plantz’s mock smile vanished. “To start with, you still call me Captain, Councilman,” he snapped. “This war is over, but by God let’s show some respect for them who protected your family, your home, your possessions!” He nodded toward the house.
“Yes, you are absolutely correct, Captain Plantz,” Wright said quickly, realizing that the war’s ending hadn’t changed a thing when it came to these men. “I apologize, most sincerely.”
“Hear that, men?” Plantz said over his shoulder.
“He apologizes, most sincerely.” He stared hard at Wright, then said to him, “It’s a good thing you do. We’ve been starting to think folks around here don’t appreciate all we’ve done for them these bitter years.”
“Of course we do!” said Wright. He was nervous, knowing how ruthless these men could get. “What is there I can do for you?”
“So, you still support our cause?” Plantz asked pointedly.
“Yes, as always, sir,” said Wright.
“Now that the Union has won this war, they’re going to forget what me and these boys done for them. We’re going to need help in order to keep up with the business of protecting Umberton and all the outlying areas.”
“Help?” Wright stalled.
“Yes, help!” said Plantz, raising his voice. “Am I talking to myself here?” he demanded. “I’m talking about money, gawddamn it! We need money! Else we’ll be limited to sticking around Umberton and hereabouts. You know my boys get rowdy and restless in one spot too long.”
Knowing where the conversation was headed, Wright said meekly, hoping his fearful voice didn’t sound too shallow, “I’m afraid any funds from Umberton would be out of the question right now. We’ve had difficulty managing to—”
“Hear that, boys,” Plantz called out to his men. “He’s giving us the old political runaround speech. Going to tell us all the important spending the town council has done, instead of going ahead and telling us to straight-out go to hell, like he wants to do!”
“No, no, please, Captain Plantz, that’s not what I’m wanting to do at all,” said Wright. “I only wish I had all the money in the world to give you brave men,” he lied. “But the fact remains that financially, Umberton is going to be strapped for a while, until we—”
“Five thousand dollars, Wright!” Plantz shouted, cutting him off. “To let us know that this town really is grateful for all we’ve done.” He swung an arm toward his men in their ragged uniforms to help make his point. “Look at us bunch of scare-crows. Our lives have been torn apart serving this community. You won’t just sweep us away from your doors like beggars. Will you?”
“God no!” said Wright. “But, five thousand dollars! Captain, this town doesn’t have that kind of money, I assure you.”
“You can raise it,” Plantz said. “There’s four councilmen and a president. That’s only a thousand dollars each, if you five wanted to take on the cost yourselves.”
“Gracious sakes, Captain!” said Wright. “That’s a staggering amount of money for only us five to come up with. I don’t think I could even come with my share of it!”
“Can’t or won’t?” Plantz asked harshly.
Wright sweated. “Well, I suppose I can come up with it, but it’s going to just about gut me. It’s certainly not going to be easy.”
“Easy?” Plantz looked all around. “It’s a hell of a lot easier for you to raise your t
housand than it will be for you to raise a new barn, a new house, maybe even a new family.” His stare bored into Wright’s eyes. “That’s exactly the way you need to tell it to the council. Are you hearing me, Mr. Councilman?”
“I hear you, Captain,” said Wright, looking crestfallen and weak.
“Then you will have that money raised for us in two weeks when we ride back in here? So we won’t have to camp in your front yard?” Plantz asked, although it was really not a question.
“I—Yes, I’ll certainly try,” said Wright, swallowing a knot in his throat.
“Try?” said Plantz, his hand going to the butt of his holstered pistol.
“No, I mean I will. I will!” said Wright. “I’ll go immediately to the other councilmen on your behalf.”
“Good.” Plantz grinned again and dropped his hand from his pistol butt. “Look at it this way. You’re speaking to those folks on our behalf. We’re not telling them five thousand is our figure. You can tell them any figure you come up with. It’s all right with us. Far as we’re concerned, you can pass your part of any cost on to the others.” His grin widened. “Hell, you can even make yourself some money on this deal, if you’re a good convincing talker.”
Wright wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Of course I would never—”
“Shut up now, Councilman,” Plantz interrupted. “Don’t start lying to us. Save your lying for the townsfolk and the council.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to raise the five thousand you men need to get your lives back in order and get farther away from here,” said Wright, seeming reenergized by the talk of passing his cost along to the other townsmen. “But can I have your word, sir, that no one will ever know the exact amount you asked for?”
“Are you trying to insult us, Councilman?” said Plantz, wearing his grin.
“No, please! I wouldn’t dare, Captain,” said Wright, sorry he’d opened his mouth on the matter.
“The true amount will go with us to our grave,” said Plantz. “We are all honorable men.”
From inside the front door, Margolin Wright stood watching, clutching her youngest daughter against her side, the loaded shotgun down from the wall and leaning close at hand. “He touched me, Mama,” the girl whispered, cradled in the crook of her mother’s arm.
“Shhh, child, no, he didn’t,” Margolin whispered urgently in reply.
“Yes, he did, Mama,” Kay insisted. “He touched up here, and down there, too.”
Margolin Wright stood in a tense nauseated silence for a moment; then she struggled to keep an even tone to her voice, asking, “With his hand, Kay? He only touched you with his hand?”
“Yes, Mama,” said the child, sounding confused.
“Thank God,” she breathed. “All right, darling, you couldn’t help it,” Margolin said to her. “Keep quiet about it. . . . Don’t ever tell Pa about it, promise me?”
The child only nodded against her mother’s side. Margolin looked down at the loaded shotgun, trembling. But then she lifted her eyes back out through the window, having fought off the urge to grab up the gun and run screaming out the door and empty it in Ruddell Plantz’s face. She stood in silence, stroking her daughter’s hair until Plantz and his men turned and rode slowly back the way they had come.
At a crossroads a mile from the Wrights’ farm, the parson rode up beside Plantz and said with a short dark laugh, “That was almost too easy, wasn’t it?”
Plantz smiled, staring straight ahead. “If he wasn’t convinced when we left, his wife will convince him for us.”
“What have you done, you dirty dog?” the parson asked with a sly grin.
“Nothing worth mentioning,” said Plantz. “But Margolin Wright will make sure her husband does everything he can to get us away from here.”
The parson nodded, staring straight ahead. “And leave we shall, for a time anyway.”
“Yeah, for a short while,” said Plantz. “This is going to be our home stomping grounds, just like before. Only now that the war is over we’ll spread out in any direction we please, do our raiding, then come back here where we know we’re safe.”
They rode on for the next two hours until they reached an abandoned barn in a stand of trees near a crossroad. Stopping a few yards away, Plantz and the parson looked down at two fresh sets of hoofprints leading to the barn door. “Everybody back,” Plantz said quietly.
The parson and the other two men started to rein their horses off the thin path, but before they could do so, the sound of an owl resounded four times from inside the barn. “Hold it,” said the parson, stopping his horse. The other two men followed suit. After a short pause, four more owl hoots resounded from the barn. The parson and the men breathed more easily.
“All right,” said Plantz with a short chuckle, “it’s Peerly and Kid Kiley. Nobody but Peerly gives that bad of an owl hoot.”
The four rode closer to the barn, watching Peerly swing the big door open for them. Once inside, the four riders stepped down and handed Kiley the reins to their horses. While Kiley led the animals aside for a short rest and some water from a rain barrel the militia kept there for that very purpose, Plantz stretched his back and said to Peerly, “All right, Nez, it’s been a busy day and it’s still not over. Give me some good news.”
“We scared the hell out of the woman, Captain,” Peerly said with a firm smile. “Just like you told us to.”
“Enough to make her keep her mouth shut and send her packing?” Plantz asked.
“I would say so, Captain.” Peerly beamed.
“Because I don’t want no trouble from her right now. Nobody has ever been able to pin any murders on us. Let’s keep it that way.”
“But she couldn’t have done that anyway,” said Peerly, still beaming. “She had no proof.”
Plantz’s attitude turned sour. “Are you a gawddamn lawyer now, Nez? You know what will or will not get us hung from a gallows pole?”
“Well no,” Peerly said, quickly deflated, “but I always heard you say the same thing.”
Plantz gave him a cold stare, then said in a quieter tone, “You’ve talked enough to everybody to know who is with us and who’s not?”
“Oh yes, Captain, I’ve done all that,” said Peerly, regaining his confidence.
“Good work,” said Plantz. “You can forget about the woman for now. Let’s wait and see what she does. We’ve got more important matters to attend to right now.”
The parson cut in, asking Peerly in an accusing tone of voice, “You and Kid Kiley didn’t do anything to her, did you?”
“No, hell no!” said Peerly. “We did just what we was told to do. We hung around, made our presence felt, scared the bejesus out of her, then rode here!”
“Satisfied?” Plantz asked, a bit cross over the parson cutting in.
“Sorry, Captain,” said the parson. “I just get bad feelings about this woman. I’ve been getting them ever since we left the boardinghouse.”
“Bad feelings how?” Plantz asked. He was always interested in hearing the parson’s premonitions.
“It’s not all clear just yet,” said the parson, slightly closing his eyes as if for a better look into some netherworld inside his mind, “but I see her holding a hangman’s noose.”
Plantz thought about it for a moment. Not wanting to look too superstitious, he shrugged, grinned and said loud enough for the others to hear him, “Hell, she’s just a woman. One hard stare from us and she’ll fold like a house of cards. She’s weak, I saw it in her eyes.”
“A woman doesn’t have to be all that strong, if she manages to get the law on her side,” said the parson, defending his premonition.
“Law or no law,” said Plantz, “she’s not going to be a problem, right, Peerly? Right, Kiley?” He looked back and forth between the two.
“Not at all,” said Kiley, standing aside with the horses.
“No problem,” said Peerly. To the parson he grinned and said, “I expect even the best of us can have a wrong
vision now and then.”
The parson gave him a sharp look.
“Forget the woman,” said Plantz, to both Peerly and the parson. To Peerly he said, “Go bring everybody together, tonight!” He turned back to the parson. “It’s time we ride away from here long enough to make some fast money. When we get back, there’ll be five thousand dollars waiting for us,” he said with bold confidence.
Chapter 15
Being familiar with the trail west, Julie traveled quickly and efficiently, putting Umberton and the Free Kansas Militia out of her mind as best she could. At night she made her camp off the flatlands in any trees, gulches or bracken she could find. She banked her fire and made sure the flames were down low on a bed of glowing coals before darkness set in. This she would have done regardless of her encounter with Plantz and his militia.
Having traveled the high northwest, Julie was no stranger to the perils of the trail. Riding down from the high country to her father’s farm, she had swung wide of buffalo hunters, trappers, roving Indian bands under paint, and any other traveling parties that her intuition might have warned her against.
These were not gentle times, she warned herself, on her third night out. She sat idly poking a stick around in the low-glowing coals of her campfire. These were times of restlessness, and uncertainty, she recalled her father having told her not long before his death; now with the war over, she speculated that both the restlessness and the uncertainty would only grow worse before they grew better.
“This nation has wounded and lost itself,” she recalled the colonel saying, when he’d seen that the war was about to come to a close. “Like anything lost and wounded, it will prowl about in its pain, until it finds itself a place to settle, lick its wounds and heal.”
Oh, Pa . . . Julie raised her free hand and wiped her shirt cuff across her eyes. She stared down into the coals, feeling the warm glow somehow draw tears from her. Don’t do this, she had told herself, remembering how she had vowed there would be no more tears. She laid the stick aside, picked up her warm tin cup of coffee and stared upward, out across the deep purple sky, her eyes finding a wide track of glittering diamond stars and following them farther out, deeper into the endless universe.