by Jake Logan
As Slocum stepped outside, he saw a man limping down the street. Slocum started for Abigail’s store, then paused. Something about the man struck him as familiar. Then it hit him.
The gimpy man was the one he had shot back in North Platte. He had left him in the town lockup but somehow Rafe Ferguson must have gotten his henchman free.
Slocum swerved, changed direction and cut across the dusty street in time to see the man limp into the town’s other saloon. The Corinthian Palace looked like a duplicate of the Prairie Delight. Slocum edged closer, then slipped inside and pressed his back against a cool brick wall so he could view the room.
A door closed at the rear, hinting that the man he had shot had vanished there.
“Howdy,” greeted the man behind the bar. Except for the bushy mustaches, he looked like the other barkeep’s twin. It didn’t take Slocum much to figure they were also the owners, the Gorman brothers.
“What’s back there?” asked Slocum, indicating the door where his quarry had disappeared.
“Poker game. But that one’s private. If you want, I can ask around and get you into another game.”
“Never mind. Give me a beer,” Slocum said, dropping a nickel on the bar. He scooped it up, found a table at the far comer of the room and settled down to wait. Sooner or later the limping man had to come out. When he did, Slocum would find out what had brought him to No Consequence.
6
Slocum had hardly drunk half the beer when the limping man came from the side room. Slocum turned slightly in the chair and made certain his six-shooter rode easy, the leather thong free over the hammer. He reached across and rested his hand on the butt of the Colt Navy, then hunkered down and turned away, hiding his face when he saw two more men join the one he had winged back in North Platte.
The one trailing his wounded partner was the man Slocum had kicked in the belly and taken out of the fight. The third man he knew all too well: Rafe Ferguson.
The three men argued among themselves and paid Slocum no attention as they went outside. After they left, Slocum reared back in his chair and craned his neck to peer out the dirty saloon window. The trio stood outside the building arguing. Try as he might, Slocum couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“You ready for another beer?” the barkeep called out.
“This one’ll do me, thanks,” Slocum said, draining the rest of his beer in a single gulp. The three men moved away from the door, and Slocum followed cautiously. He had not expected to see Ferguson again, much less his two henchmen. Whatever brought them to No Consequence was of interest to Slocum because he figured it had to do with Abigail Stanley. Maybe Ferguson didn’t like the woman talking the North Platte marshal into letting Slocum go, or maybe it was something else.
If Abigail was right about No Consequence turning into a boom town when the railroad came in, Ferguson might have a brand spanking new swindle ready to play on the citizens.
Slocum had to admit his interest in Ferguson and what he might be up to had a lot to do with his personal dislike of the man. Rafe Ferguson was a tinhorn gambler and cheated whenever he thought he could get by with it. But the paltry few dollars he had taken from Slocum in a crooked poker game paled beside siccing his two henchmen on Slocum. That had been uncalled for.
Staying in the shade served the double purpose of keeping Slocum from easy view of the men he followed as well as preventing the burning sun from sucking out moisture from his body. Ferguson walked with purpose toward the edge of town where the livery stable stood. If he and his men rode out of town, Slocum was willing to let them go.
But they veered from the street and disappeared from sight. Slocum lengthened his stride and turned the comer of the bookstore around which Ferguson had vanished. His hand went to his six-gun and then moved away. A fourth man had joined Ferguson and his cronies.
They stood in a tight circle, shutting out everyone and everything else. Slocum’s curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wanted to listen. He stepped back and looked up the wall of the bookstore. He went back to the front, jumped and grabbed a drainpipe that creaked and groaned as it started to come free from its moorings.
Working his feet as much as he could, he drove his toes into chinks in the mortar between the bricks and got some traction. Slocum scrambled faster and grabbed the edge of the roof as the drainpipe jerked free. Hanging by his fingers, he began to pull himself up until he could roll onto the edge of the steeply sloping roof.
Slocum wiped sweat from his face, then carefully made his way to the peak of the roof and peered over. The four men still discussed their business, but it looked as if the newcomer was backing off from Ferguson and his partners, trying to distance himself from the swindler.
From the top of the roof, Slocum still couldn’t hear. He rolled over the peak and slid down the far side until he caught himself at the back gutter. He was now less than fifteen feet from the men and overheard snippets of what they said.
“We got to this fine town just in time, sir,” Ferguson said to the well-dressed man. “You need our services something fierce.”
“This isn’t right,” the man said. He rubbed his palms against his shiny trousers and tried to turn away. Slocum got a better look at him. The man’s clothing spoke of money, and the diamond headlight in his silk cravat showed more wealth than Slocum was likely to see in a lifetime. His florid face glistened with sweat as his eyes darted around, looking for a place to run. He was clearly uncomfortable talking with Rafe Ferguson.
That made Slocum think Ferguson was working some sort of swindle and was trying to recruit this prosperous citizen of No Consequence to help him, knowingly or otherwise.
“Right, right, right, what’s that mean?” Ferguson asked in his oily tones. “We are men of the world. We see what we want and we seize it!” He grabbed air in front of the man’s face. To his credit the man did not recoil. “Don’t you see what you want and strive for it? I’m offering you the chance to—”
Slocum felt the shingles under him begin to yield, and he had to lie back flat on the roof to keep from tumbling off. Gingerly prying the shingles away from his body, he laid them to one side, but by the time he was able to eavesdrop again the details of Ferguson’s swindle had been revealed.
“I don’t know,” the fashion plate said.
“But you’ll think on my offer? You won’t be disappointed, I promise.”
“Yes, I’ll consider it all very carefully.”
The man turned his back on Ferguson and the others and bustled off, his short legs pumping hard. From what Slocum could tell, the man was a tad on the bowlegged side, hinting at a past spent astride a horse for long hours. If so, he had improved his lot in life. No cowboy sported such fancy duds.
Ferguson and his partners exchanged whispers, cast a look at the man to see if he returned, then the three retraced the route they had taken. Slocum was glad he had clung to the verge of the roof. Otherwise, Ferguson would have spotted him.
Poking his head over the edge of the roof, Slocum saw the well-dressed man go in the back door of a building halfway through town. Gripping the edge of the roof, Slocum swung his long legs over the edge, dangled and then dropped to the ground. He waited a minute to be certain Ferguson didn’t return, then went after their mark.
He tried to open the door to follow the man but the door was locked. Slocum went around the building and stepped into the street, staring at the building.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. Then Slocum went into the No Consequence town hall.
“What can I do for you?” asked a clerk behind the counter. The man pushed back half-spectacles on his nose and wiped his ink-spotted hand onto a rag on his desk.
“I’m looking for someone.” Slocum described the man he had seen talking to Ferguson.
“That’d be the mayor.”
“Would it now?” Slocum nodded knowingly.
“Adam Westfall. He’s not in right now. Said he was stepping out to grab a bite to eat. The long hour
s he spends in his office”—the clerk jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a closed door at the rear of the room—“don’t let him keep a regular schedule.”
“I suspect getting the town ready for the railroad directors is keeping him jumping,” Slocum said.
“And how. If you want, I can take down your name and arrange an appointment with the mayor sometime later.”
“Thanks,” Slocum said. “I’ll be back. What I had to ask him wasn’t that important.”
Slocum hesitated in the doorway and caught sight of the mayor’s office door opening a crack in a reflection off the inside of the front window. Slocum didn’t bother turning to see if the mayor would come out or duck back into his office like a prairie dog diving down its hole when danger neared.
Slocum had promised Abigail he would let her know if he intended riding on right away or if he would stay around town for a spell. Seeing Ferguson with the mayor convinced Slocum he could afford to spend a day or two longer in No Consequence.
He went into Abigail’s store as she finished selling a passel of goods to a farmer. The man and his two young sons struggled to get their supplies outside and loaded into their buckboard.
“John, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”
“I’m like a bad penny. I keep turning up.”
“I love it when you’re bad,” she said, grinning. “Maybe I can close the store for a spell and see just how bad you can be.”
Slocum wasn’t going to argue with her, but he saw the expression of lust leave her face to be replaced by one of concern.
“Oh, drat,” Abigail said, stamping her foot. “I forgot. The mayor is supposed to give a speech in a few minutes and I can’t miss it.”
“What’s Mayor Westfall talking about?”
Abigail started to speak, then clamped her mouth shut and turned her bright blues eyes fully on Slocum.
“You’ve been poking around town. I don’t remember the mayor’s name being mentioned in your hearing. Not while I was around.”
“No Consequence is an interesting place,” Slocum said noncommittally.
“I don’t think Mayor Westfall will talk too long,” she said, taking Slocum’s arm. “Then we can discuss how long you’ll stay. In town, that is.”
“If he’s like most politicians, he might be talking this time next week, unless the voters start to leave.”
“The mayor’s a fine speaker. He worked his way up from riding herd in Montana to a position buying horses in North Platte, then he came to town and ran for mayor last year. He’s done a splendid job of arranging everything for the railroad.”
“Was it his idea or yours?” Slocum asked.
“Mine,” Abigail said, no hint of modesty showing. “It didn’t take much to convince him and the town council, though. They saw how important a railroad line could be the future of No Consequence.”
Arm in arm they walked back to the town hall and went inside. The clerk had abandoned his post and thrown open double doors at the side of the main room, showing a small meeting room with chairs for twenty people and standing room for that many more. Half the seats were already filled.
Abigail hurried in, greeting the people in the front rows and working her way through the crowd. Slocum wondered how long it would be until a town like No Consequence elected a woman as mayor. He knew nothing about Adam Westfall, but had no doubt that with her skills Abigail would make a better leader.
The room grew increasingly stuffy as others filed in. Abigail guided Slocum to a chair at the end of a row near an open window. The feeble breeze coming in from the main street helped keep him from sweating like a pig. They waited only a few minutes more before Adam Westfall made his grand entrance.
Slocum expected to hear a band playing and men carrying flags to precede Westfall. The mayor glad-handed the men along the aisle as he reached the podium. Reaching into the inner pocket of his fancy cutaway coat, Westfall cleared his throat and looked over the crowd.
His eyes locked for an instant with Slocum’s, then he glanced away almost guiltily.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out on such a fine, hot Nebraska afternoon.”
The mayor began droning on with platitudes about how splendid a town No Consequence was to live in, and Slocum’s attention began to drift. He looked out the window, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of Rafe Ferguson or his two henchmen. Nothing stirred outside, not even the dust in the street. It was too hot and still.
And it got hotter inside the town hall as Westfall fell into the rhythm of his talk. Only when Abigail elbowed him in the ribs did Slocum snap his attention back to the mayor.
“I usually don’t go on like this, my good friends, but we have reached the point where this meeting became imperative. We must join hands and go forth to sell the municipal bonds necessary for the railroad to come to our fair town.”
A ripple of applause went through the small crowd.
“We have to sell a hundred thousand dollars’ worth,” Abigail whispered. “It is going to be difficult, but without the money, there’s no way we can attract the railroad.”
Slocum’s eyebrows rose at the amount.
“What does the railroad company need with the money?” he asked suspiciously. “Is it a bribe?”
“Not at all!” Abigail said. She settled down and half turned toward Slocum. “It is development money. We cannot expect the railroad to bear the entire financial burden. With a stake in the line, everyone in town is more likely to pull together.”
Abigail fell silent as Mayor Westfall began explaining how they all needed to sell bonds to their neighbors, to friends, to anyone with a few dollars willing to invest.
“And what an investment in our future it will be!” he cried. “The plains will blossom with our agriculture and herds, all destined for markets back east. The access the railroad will afford No Consequence is beyond price. And,” Westfall said, his voice dropping to capture the crowd’s attention fully, “we can all benefit, if we own the bonds ourselves.”
“How’s that possible?” asked a skeptical farmer on the other side of the room.
“If you invest one hundred dollars, you will receive back one hundred fifty in only five years. The hundred dollars now will go to the railroad; taxes will pay back the interest.”
“Since I have to pay taxes, that sorta sounds like I’d be payin’ myself. That don’t make sense.”
A ripple of agreement spread through the room.
“You won’t be paying that much in taxes,” Westfall said. “No Consequence will become a center for commerce. Taxes paid by those dealing with us will more than repay the debt. The money both to develop and to pay back the bonds will come from outside No Consequence.”
“But we have to put up that hundred dollars to start?” asked the farmer.
“Yes, and you will be rewarded many times over—in money, in new markets, in prosperity!”
“Well, if I don’t have to pay the taxes that’ll pay off the bonds, sign me up for five hundred dollars!” The farmer jumped to his feet and began fumbling for a wad of greenbacks in his pocket.
The others in the room were slower to line up to pledge their money, but Slocum saw the rock beginning to roll downhill. He wasn’t sure it could be stopped—or if anyone should try.
7
“Why should I go along?” Slocum asked. He stood just inside the door of Abigail’s store, staring out into the already hot Nebraska day. After the mayor had made his call for every citizen of No Consequence to buy—and to sell to their neighbors—the bonds necessary for bringing the railroad to town, Slocum and Abigail had returned to her store and the small living quarters behind it. The night had passed pleasurably but much too fast.
The sun poked its red disk above the eastern horizon and began the constant chore of burning everything under it far too soon for Slocum’s liking. The idea of venturing out onto the prairie with the mayor and a gaggle of farmers in tow struck him as ridiculous.
“Doesn’t much matter to me what’s good or not for No Consequence,” Slocum allowed. “You live here. You ought to decide for yourself. Each and every one of you.”
“But this is important, John,” Abigail said earnestly. The blonde pushed her bangs back from her forehead and sucked in a lungful of air that caused her breasts to rise and fall enough to catch his attention. Clothed or bare, those were mighty fine womanly attributes.
“Besides you and the mayor, who’s going?”
“A half dozen farmers, all backers of the project. We have to meet with others who aren’t as dedicated.”
“You mean you have to argue with farmers who don’t want any part of the rails crossing their property.”
“That’s what part of the hundred thousand dollars is for, John. We need to buy right-of-way across many of the farmers’ fields. But they will benefit. They—”
“You don’t have to convince me,” he said. “I’ll ride along.”
“You make it sound as if you want to watch for something,” Abigail said.
“I don’t have any trouble admitting that,” Slocum said, grinning. “You’re the one I want to watch.”
Abigail laughed. “You’re incorrigible. Let’s get saddled and join the mayor and the farmers who’ll go with us. They’re assembling in front of town hall in a few minutes.”
“Are you riding or taking your buckboard?” Slocum asked.
“Riding.” Abigail batted her eyelashes at him and added, “If you’re lucky, you might catch a glimpse of my legs.”
“Count me in,” Slocum said. He wanted to see who else went with the mayor. If Rafe Ferguson rode with the politician, something was rotten at the town hall.