“There’s a house,” Fong said. “Damn, is that pork chops I smell?”
“Yeah, they must be cooking dinner about now.”
They started toward the house, then saw a girl come from the house and walk toward the barn. Then they saw the boy throwing water on the girl.
“Ha! Did you see that?”
When the girl and the boy went back into the house, Fong and Hood started there as well, but stopped when they saw a man ride up, tie his horse off at the back porch, then go inside.
“I didn’t see no gun on him, did you?” Hood asked.
“No. He wasn’t wearin’ a gun.”
“Then let’s go have us some pork chops.”
Fong jacked a round into the chamber of the Winchester and the two ran quickly across the open space between the rocks where they had been and the house. Taking the back porch in one step, they burst through the door into the kitchen, Fong first.
The man was standing at a counter with his back to the door and when they burst in, he turned around quickly.
“Here, what is the meaning . . .” That was as far as he got before Fong pulled the trigger. The man went down as the mother and daughter screamed.
The boy reacted unexpectedly, grabbing a butcher knife and charging toward Fong before he could cock the rifle again. Hood picked up a chair and brought it down hard on the boy’s head, dropping him to the floor. By now Fong had cocked his rifle, and he shot the boy. He fired a second shot into the head of the man and a second shot into the boy’s head, making certain both were dead.
That left only the mother and daughter alive, and they were standing near the table, looking on with horror-struck faces.
“Damn, it’s been a long time since I’ve et me a home-cooked meal,” Hood said.
“Harvey, you know what else has been a long time?” Fong asked.
“What?”
Fong grabbed his crotch. “It’s been a long time since either one of us have had us a woman.”
“Yeah,” Hood said. “Yeah, it has been, ain’t it? You want the young ’n, or the mama? ’Cause it don’t make no never-mind to me which ’n I get.”
“Then I’ll take the young ’n.”
“No!” the mother screamed, but her scream was cut off by a hard blow to the side of her head.
Half an hour later, now wearing clothes other than the prison garb, Mo Fong and Harvey Hood rode away on the two horses they had found there. They also had eighteen dollars that they had taken from the sugar jar. Behind them, all four members of the Tindol family lay dead on the kitchen floor.
“Where we goin’?” Hood asked.
“North, out of this state,” Fong replied. “By the time anyone discovers them, we’ll be a long way from here.”
Montana Territory
Mary Kate had been Ackerman’s prisoner for a week. She had given up any idea of a hunger strike, or even of a hunger protest. She knew that she had to keep her strength up in order to take advantage of any opportunity that might present itself. And in order to do that, she had to eat.
Ackerman had made a point to get a newspaper every day, and at first Mary Kate thought that, perhaps, he was looking to see if an article had been printed about his crime. Was he that vain?
The answer to that question was . . . yes, he was that vain. But she soon realized that that was not why he was looking for the newspaper. He was looking for something specific, and evidently, today, he found it.
Killer Still Unknown
SHERIFF HAS NO NEW INFORMATION
Mary Kate Hamilton Still Missing
It has been over a week since the reprehensible murder of area rancher Jonathan McVey, and the disappearance of his wife, Mary Kate, who is also the daughter of Colonel Edward Hamilton.
The only clue available is the note that the killer or killers left at the scene of the crime in which there was left a demand for twenty thousand dollars to be paid for the safe return of the Colonel’s daughter. The Colonel has been most distraught since the event, as has been the young woman’s mother. Sheriff Tompkins has requested that anyone who might have some information to please visit him in his office.
The sheriff has stated that until such time as more information becomes available, that he can do nothing toward solving the crime, or apprehending the culprits.
It now appears that the only way to bring a happy ending to this case is for Colonel Hamilton to pay the twenty thousand dollars demanded by the scoundrel or scoundrels who abducted Mary Kate McVey. Colonel Hamilton has stated that he is willing to do so as the safe return of his daughter is the thing that is most paramount in his mind.
“Ah ha!” Ackerman said, showing the paper to Mary Kate. “I think perhaps we may be able to do some business with your father after all!”
“You mean because of this article?”
“This article, and the ad he placed in the paper,” Ackerman said. “He wants to deal.”
“Good. Then that means I can soon go home.”
“Well, maybe not so soon.”
“What do you mean? You said that my father wants to deal with you, didn’t you?”
“Yes. But now that we know that the sheriff has no idea who did this, I see no need to rush things. It may be that I underestimated your value, my dear. If he is so quickly ready to part with twenty thousand dollars, then I don’t think forty thousand dollars would be out of the question.”
“Oh!” Mary Kate said. “How dare you do such a thing? My father is coming to you with an honest and honorable proposal, and you would betray him like that?”
“Betray?” Ackerman said with an angry snarl. “You dare talk to me about betrayal? What do you think your father did to me?” Ackerman shouted the last nine words.
“I don’t know,” Mary Kate admitted. “I didn’t follow the court-martial that closely. I do know that my father agonized over it, and was very upset that it had come to that. I remember him telling my mother that he thought you were a good officer but that he had no choice.”
“He had a choice,” Ackerman said, spitting the words out. “He could have seen that I was right. History proved that I was right, but reason seems to be a trait that your father lacks. Well, my dear, he has a choice now. He can either deal with me, or pay the consequences. And since it would be you who would ultimately be paying the consequences, I think he will deal.” He thumped the paper with the back of his hand. “And his response tells me that.”
“What are you going to do now?” Mary Kate asked.
“Now, my dear, I am going to open negotiations with your father.”
Two days later Morgan returned from town with a copy of the Deer Lodge Examiner.
“It looks like we got our answer,” he said.
To the gentleman who recently contacted me through an ad in this paper:
You have suggested that you are willing to do business with me. I welcome your open attitude to begin negotiations. Please understand that the price mentioned was merely a suggestion. Upon further contemplation, and in consideration of the value of the product I have that you hold so dear, I believe that the final sum may be much higher. I will contact you with further details by mail.
“I’m not sure this is what we want. Looks to me like he’s trying to up the ante,” Matthew said.
“It doesn’t matter what the ante is,” Falcon said. “The bottom line is, he isn’t going to get any money anyway, so it doesn’t matter if he asks for a hundred thousand dollars. All we want to do is get him engaged in dialogue. As long as he is talking to us, he isn’t doing anything else.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Edward picked up his mail at the post office, two days later, Falcon was with him.
“This is odd. There is no return address on this letter,” Edward said.
“Then I’m sure that’s the letter we are looking for. Open it up and take a look,” Falcon suggested.
Edward opened the envelope and removed the letter. He held it in such a way that both could read it at the
same time.
Dear Colonel Hamilton:
I am glad to see that you are showing reason and common sense. Let me assure you that we both want what is best for your daughter. It is to my advantage to keep her safe so that the value not be diminished. And it is that, her value, that is the subject of this letter.
After careful consideration, I have decided to increase the price I am asking for her safe return, to $40,000. I am sure that you agree with me that your wonderful daughter is worth that amount.
Should you wish to communicate with me, please do so by placing another ad in the newspaper.
You will forgive me if I do not sign this letter.
Falcon took the envelope over to the window and showed it to the postal clerk.
“Can you tell by looking at this, how this mail was delivered?” Falcon asked. “Did it come by train or stagecoach?”
Pleas Malcolm, the postal clerk, looked at the envelope. “Oh, neither, sir,” he said. “As you can see, it has a Deer Lodge postmark. That means it was picked up at one of the mail drops right here in town.”
“Do you know which drop?”
“Well, Walt Bizzel is out making his rounds now. It isn’t likely that he will know where he got the letter, but it won’t hurt to ask him.”
They found Walt emptying a mailbox at the corner of Main and Montana.
“Mr. Bizzel,” Edward said. “I wonder if we might have a word with you?”
“I don’t mind a bit, Colonel, as long as you don’t mind walking along with me. I have schedule to maintain, you know.” Bizzel stuffed the handful of envelopes into his bag, then closed and locked the mailbox. He started toward the next corner at a brisk walk.
“We don’t mind a bit,” Edward said as they started walking along with him. He showed Bizzel the letter. “I just picked this letter up at the post office. Mr. Malcolm said you might know where the letter was posted.”
“Look, I handle more than a hundred letters a day, there’s no way I would . . .” Bizzel stopped in midsentence when he saw the envelope Edward was showing him.
“Oh, yeah, I do remember where I got that one. I got that letter down at the Cottonwood box. I remember it because it didn’t have a return address, which is pretty rare. And also I saw that it was addressed to you. I thought about it, because of your daughter being taken and all.”
“The Cottonwood box?”
“Yes, it’s the last mailbox at the north end of town.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bizzel, you’ve been a big help,” Edward said.
A few minutes later, Falcon and Edward were standing by the Cottonwood box at the north end of town.
“Where does this road go?”
“The next town is Washington Gulch. But I have to tell you, it isn’t much of a town,” Edward said.
There was a spirited discussion over what to say in the newspaper ad. Matthew and Megan wanted to suggest that forty thousand was too much, but that they would be open to negotiation. Falcon and Morgan wanted to give in to the demand.
“I just hate to give the son of a bitch what he is asking for,” Matthew said.
“Yes,” Megan agreed. “There is no way he should be rewarded.”
“You don’t understand,” Falcon said. “We aren’t going to give him anything. This is just a way of making him overconfident, and less cautious.”
“I don’t think we can make him any less cautious,” Edward said. “Ackerman is one of the most cautious people I know. But he is arrogant, and that makes him prone to being overconfident. I agree with Falcon and Morgan. I think we should offer him what he has asked for.”
“All right,” Megan said. “Let’s do the ad.”
This is Edward Hamilton, and I address this personal ad to the person with whom I have been in contact. If you can prove to me that the product I wish to buy is still in good condition, I am agreeable to your terms. Please provide me with that proof.
After Ackerman read the ad, he drummed his fingers on the table for a moment as he tried to decide how to prove to Edward that his daughter was still safe. Then he got an idea.
“Mrs. McVey, your father wants proof that you are still alive and unhurt. I think it would go a long way toward easing his concern about you. I am willing to give him this proof, but it will require your cooperation.”
“What do you want me to do?” Mary Kate asked.
“I’m going to take you into Washington Gulch, where I will have your picture taken. I intend to send that picture, along with a letter from you, to your father. Are you amenable to that?”
“You are going to let me write to my father?”
“Yes. I intend to read it, of course, to make certain that you say nothing that can endanger this operation. But I think that, with your letter, and with a picture of you, it will help ease some of your mother and father’s worry.”
“Why, all of a sudden, are you concerned about my parents?”
“Because I want this transaction to go smoothly,” Ackerman said. “The more smoothly it goes, the better it will be for all of us.”
“All right. Take me into town and take my picture.”
“Before we do this, I want your promise that you will do nothing to call attention to yourself. If I see that you are trying to, in any way, signal the photographer, I will kill the photographer. Do you understand that? I won’t do anything to you, I need you alive to be able to make this operation work. But I don’t need the photographer for anything but the picture. If you force me to do it, I will kill him, and his entire family. Do you want that on your head?”
“No, I don’t. Of course not.”
“Then I expect your fullest cooperation. Do I have your promise?”
“Yes,” Mary Kate said quietly.
“Good girl.”
Washington Gulch was little more than a flyblown speck, clinging to the side of a mountain. It was made up of whipsawed lumber shacks with unpainted, splitting wood turning gray, surviving by providing cowboys and miners with cafés, saloons, and bawdy houses.
The town, like so many other Western towns, had grown up with the promise of a railroad, but that promise never materialized. Then, when the Washington Gulch to Helmville Stage Line went out of business, Washington Gulch was barely hanging on.
As Ackerman rode into town with Mary Kate riding by his side, he had two riders in front and two behind, in case Mary Kate decided to make a break for it. Mary Kate sized up the town as they rode in, looking for any chance to escape.
“Do you see that mother and her two children over there, Mrs. McVey?” Ackerman asked, pointing to the little family that was walking down the boardwalk just in front of a mercantile.
“Yes, I see them.”
“Quite a lovely family, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Mary Kate replied, wondering where Ackerman was going with this.
“If you try and escape, I won’t shoot you. But, I will kill that mother and her two children.”
Mary Kate gasped. “You wouldn’t dare do such a horrid thing!”
“I consider myself at war, Miss Hamilton. And when one is at war, one must put aside all human feelings in order to become the consummate warrior. Believe me, Miss Hamilton, I will kill that mother and the two little girls, and I won’t give it a second thought.”
“What kind of beast are you?”
“I am not a beast, I am a soldier.”
“My father was a soldier, too, and he would never do anything like that.”
“Your father was never a soldier. He was an experiment in international diplomacy. He exchanged his British title for a commission in the American army.”
They stopped in front of a building that had a sign reading: RON DYSART, PHOTOGRAPHY.
“Smith, you and Waters go around back. Jerrod, you and Powell stay out here. Let no one else in the building until we come out,” Ackerman said.
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, Miss Hamilton. Let’s have your picture taken.”
Inside t
hey were met by a woman who was wearing her hair tied up in a bun behind her head. She had a pair of glasses, but at the moment they were hanging from a cord around her neck.
“May I help you?”
“This is my daughter,” Ackerman said. “I want a picture of her.”
Mary Kate bristled at the suggestion that she was his daughter, but she said nothing about it, for fear that he might do harm to the woman.
“Wait here, I’ll get Mr. Dysart,” the woman said.
Dysart was a rather small man, very thin, with a prominent Adam’s apple. He wore garters around the sleeves of his blue-striped shirt. He had a small, neatly trimmed mustache, his hair was very dark, combed straight back, and glistening from some sort of hair gel.
“My wife tells me you want a picture of your daughter,” he said. He looked at Mary Kate, then held his hands up, making a frame with his thumbs and forefingers. “Oh, yes, what a lovely creature she is. She will be a great subject. But, are you sure you want her dressed in such a fashion? Suppose we let Mrs. Dysart show her some of the clothes we have here?”
“I want her photographed just as she is,” Ackerman said.
“Oh, my, well, yes the customer is always right. Of course I will photograph her anyway you wish. Perhaps if she holds a bouquet of flowers. We have some beautiful flowers, made from silk. You can scarcely tell the difference between them and real flowers,” Dysart said.
“She will be holding this newspaper,” Ackerman said. “Can you take a photograph so that the date on the paper can be read?”
“What an odd request,” Dysart said.
“Didn’t you just say that the customer is always right?”
“Yes, but I am a professional, after all. And one would think that you would want to take advantage of my expertise. You do want the most beautiful picture I can compose, don’t you?”
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