Crackaway's Quest

by Will DuRey

  Wes wanted to believe the words he heard but he’d heard similar from other men in the past. Jim Hunter might believe what he said but his voice didn’t govern the views of the people in Washington. ‘There will always be greed,’ he said, ‘there will always be a need to fight for justice.’

  It was agreed that Jim Hunter and Sheriff Dix would ride out after the cattle, would stay with the herd until it was either across the Missouri or under the control of the soldiers sent out from Fort Pierre. Wes, in the meantime, set course for Palmersville.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The two men that Wes Gray had left trussed beside Clem Oates’s burning body returned shame-faced to Tad Carter with the news of the scattered herd. By mid-morning, two riders sent to investigate the possibility of gunfire in the hills, brought back the bodies of Pecos Tongs and his partner. Tad Carter’s angry outburst hid his fear but couldn’t disguise the fact that he didn’t know what to do next. He couldn’t stop the wagons, they had to continue on their way across the Missouri, but the cattle were a different matter. He could hold them for a few days while the other herd was re-assembled, but that could be dangerous and would generate suspicion; if the army were sent out to investigate he wouldn’t be able to offer an acceptable excuse. On the other hand, if he drove the animals on to the Cheyenne River Agency they would lose the sale to the cattle buyer waiting in Spearpoint, and Tad wanted his share of the money.

  Eventually, he settled for the fact that it was a decision for John Lord to make. He needed to consult with his boss. It would mean holding up the cattle for a day, but he could ride to the ranch and be back by nightfall. After issuing orders to those who remained with the herd, he set out at a steady pace. He thought about Wes Gray as he rode and the prospect of meeting him face-to-face held nothing but terror for him. The frontiersman had been a menace since his arrival in Palmersville. Five men were dead, cattle scattered and the illicit contents of the wagons discovered. Tad was chilled by the thought that he might be on the trail ahead, heading for a showdown with John Lord.

  Wes Gray hadn’t beaten Tad to the ranch; in fact he was just on the point of leaving Spearpoint following his talks with Sheriff Dix and Jim Hunter, but John Lord wasn’t there either. Accompanied by the Santee Sioux Lame Dog, he had headed for Palmersville earlier that morning. Tad hung about long enough to swap horses then followed his boss’s trail. Forty minutes later, his racing entrance into the town drew the attention of the townspeople along the boardwalks. It surprised no one when he hauled his mount to a halt outside the building that was John Lord’s office.

  John Lord listened to his associate’s catalogue of accusations against Wes Gray with growing concern. The message brought by Lame Dog had been unsettling enough; he agreed with Horace Archer’s assessment that the man called Medicine Feather posed a greater threat to their scheme than that other meddler, Crackaway. Tad Carter’s news emphasized the calibre of his opponent. Although he knew that Wes Gray was just another man, fallible and mortal, the reputation he’d brought with him had been more than justified by his actions. It was clear that Tad found no relish in the prospect of another meeting with the frontiersman.

  ‘What’ll we do?’ Tad wanted to know, the question aimed specifically at the handling of the herd, but John Lord’s brain was considering more that the immediate problem.

  ‘More to the point,’ he muttered, as though thinking aloud, ‘is what will Mr Gray do.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll come here?’ asked Tad. ‘Come gunning for you?’

  ‘Not straight away. If that had been his priority he’d have been here before you. He had a head start on you, didn’t he?’

  Tad considered the possibility that Wes Gray was in town, was watching this office and merely waiting for John Lord to step outside. When he voiced that thought, Lord looked to Lame Dog for assistance. The Sioux guard went out the back door. ‘If Wiyaka Wakan is in town,’ he told John Lord, ‘I will find and kill him.’

  ‘What about the cattle?’ Tad asked again after the Indian had left them.

  ‘We might have to let them go across the river,’ Lord told him. ‘We’ve got to consider what Gray’s done with the information he has. If he hasn’t come back here seeking answers then we’ve got to assume that he has passed it on to the authorities.’

  ‘You mean the sheriff?’

  John Lord shook his head. ‘If he knew that the Bureau of Indian Affairs had a man in Spearpoint he might have tried to contact him.’ He paused a moment, mentally weighing the chances of Wes Gray being in possession of that information. To his knowledge, the scout hadn’t been to Spearpoint; indeed his name hadn’t been mentioned when he’d been at the railhead town a couple of days earlier and the arrival of such a celebrity wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. No, he concluded, Weston Gray couldn’t have known about the Bureau’s interest in the cattle that had been unloaded there. ‘Jim Hunter intended taking the first train out after the cattle left the pens,’ he said aloud, ‘perhaps he’s already gone.’ He pushed concern for interference from the Bureau of Indian Affairs to the back of his mind. ‘If he found the whiskey on the wagons then he’ll report the matter to the army. If they find it they’ll come here to search the warehouse. They mustn’t find any of the government supplies. Unload as much as possible on the shopkeeper, anything else you can take to the ranch.’

  ‘What about the whiskey on the wagons? Do you want me to ride back there and have the kegs destroyed?’

  ‘There isn’t time for that. We’ll deny any knowledge of it. Put the blame on the owners or drivers of those wagons that are carrying it. They are all independent hauliers. I’ll tell any investigators that they’ve done it without my knowledge, abused my trust.’

  Tad Carter chuckled. He’d always admired his boss’s cool manner, his ability to think quickly in order to gain credit or shift blame.

  ‘Get to work,’ John Lord told Tad. ‘Tell Hal Adamson he needs to get as much stock into his store as possible, and I want paying for it by the end of the day. Then get the rest out to the ranch.’

  ‘What’ll I do for transport? All the freight wagons are on their way to the Cheyenne River Agency.’

  ‘There must be other wagons around. Get what you can. Just make sure that you clear the warehouse of any incriminating stock.’

  When Tad Carter had left him, John Lord went to the safe that sat in a corner behind his desk. From it he took several stacks of money, which he then packed into saddlebags that had been stowed away in a tall cupboard. He was wondering if he was overreacting to the recent news; it was possible that Wes Gray had attributed the attack by Tad and Clem Oates to a personal vendetta; that they were seeking revenge for the beating he’d handed out in the saloon. It wasn’t even certain that he would report the illicit whiskey to the army. It could be that he’d return to the Cheyenne River Agency and have Horace Archer confiscate it when it arrived. Perhaps he had nothing to fear from the frontiersman, but he wasn’t prepared to take that chance.

  His immediate plan was to head east to one of the bigger cities where he could lose himself for a few weeks. He had contacts in high places, as high as Washington, if necessary, who would ensure he was cleared of any wrongdoing. It might bring his current scheme to an end but he had no doubt in his ability to find another avenue for making money. He would gather together a few belongings from the ranch, leave some instructions for the running of the place with the foreman then be on the road before nightfall. There was nothing in Palmersville he’d regret leaving behind. At that moment he looked out of the window and saw Jenny Trantor leaving the office of the lawyer, Harry Portlass. Perhaps there was one thing, he thought, and he left his office to follow the girl along the street.

  Jenny was feeling happy as she hurried along the town’s main street. She had made a decision and finalized it with her visit to the lawyer’s office. She had almost reached the turning that led to her home when she heard the hurrying footsteps behind. Her first thought was that she’d left something in the o
ffice, or that Harry Portlass, the lawyer, wanted her to reaffirm what she’d told him. A glance over her shoulder revealed her mistake and inwardly she trembled when she identified her pursuer. John Lord’s attentions were unwanted, the more so because of his persistence despite the implacability of her rejection. His need to dominate was apparent every time he spoke to her and it frightened her. No matter how flattering his words, he couldn’t hide from her the signs of a mean and vicious character.

  ‘Jenny,’ he said, catching her arm and turning her so that they were face-to-face, ‘I need a word with you.’ Jenny tried to shake herself free but the rancher held her tightly. ‘I’m heading east for a while. Perhaps Chicago, Pittsburgh or even New York. It’s a trip I’d enjoy a whole lot more if you came along with me. What do you say?’

  For anyone else looking at the expression on the face of Jenny Trantor, a verbal answer wouldn’t have been necessary. Shocked by his implication that she would ever consider going anywhere with him, her contempt showed in her glowering eyes and tight pressed lips.

  ‘Perhaps we could go and see the Horseshoe Falls at Niagara,’ John Lord added.

  Jenny was affronted by his arrogance and offended by his disrespect. She slapped him across the face, so hard that it was heard by people on the other side of the street. ‘Learn the meaning of the word no,’ she told him. ‘I will never, ever go anywhere with you. I thought I’d made that clear the last time we spoke.’

  The venom in Jenny Trantor’s words matched the power she’d put into the open-handed slap and, as a result, John Lord’s mouth curled into a snarl, his anger at her apparent revulsion exacerbated by her public act of defiance. He’d retained the grip on her upper arm and used it to pull her a step closer. He slapped her twice using both sides of his hand; hard, nasty blows that were intended to belittle her, to show her and those watching their interplay that she was of little worth. He was the master in Palmersville and wouldn’t permit anyone to presume otherwise.

  Jenny sobbed with the suddenness and impact of his double strike. She raised a hand but didn’t touch her reddening cheek. ‘You’ll regret that when Mr Gray returns,’ she told him.

  John Lord stared at her, the name of Wes Gray prickling fear in him such as he’d never before experienced, but he tried not to let it show. He thrust the girl aside so that she stumbled, bumped against the wall of the bank and fell to the ground. ‘Your backwoodsman,’ he scoffed. ‘If he returns to this town he will be the one to regret it. He’ll never get off this street alive.’

  When John Lord struck Jenny there had been several exclamations of outrage from those townspeople who were in the immediate vicinity. Some came running to investigate the matter but when John Lord was recognized, many of them held back. The blacksmith, Bob Best had rushed from his forge, a hammer still clasped in his hand. His concern for Jenny’s wellbeing was forestalled by her insistence that she just wanted to return home. Feeling her face swelling and her eyes watering, Jenny hurried away down the alley that led to her house.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Bob Best demanded to know.

  ‘None of your business,’ retorted John Lord.

  ‘Hitting a woman! You should be ashamed.’

  ‘She deserved it,’ was the brazen answer he gave. Looking at the handful of people who had gathered at the spot, his eyes came to rest on Hal Adamson. He singled him out. ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ he asked the storekeeper. ‘Get your stock out of my warehouse and don’t dally.’

  Hal pulled back his shoulders. ‘I told your man, I don’t have any stock in your warehouse.’

  John Lord leant forward so that his face was only inches from that of the other man. He spoke softly but with menace. ‘I believe we have an agreement.’

  Hal Adamson’s pale eyes blazed angrily. The day he’d asked John Lord for financial assistance was a day he rued. He’d been forced to accept John Lord’s goods ever since, had been made to pay through the nose for them and was no closer to paying off the debt. He wanted to tell Lord that he would no longer buy from him but he knew his business would be sold out from under him if he attempted such a course of action. John Lord had a similar hold over the prices and profits of other traders in the town.

  Hal’s subservience to John Lord was unknown to his friends and peers, it was a situation of which he was embarrassed; discussing his personal affairs had always been difficult for him. Not even his best friend, Bob Best, was aware that he was in debt to John Lord and it was something of a dilemma. Hal was a town councillor and the council had long been weary of Lord’s growing arrogance around town. More importantly his stranglehold on the town’s wealth was holding it back from accomplishing its plans. The current amenities were basic and the expectation of financial benefit from the silver extracted from the ground had not been forthcoming. Only the miner’s wages were spent in the town and most of those were disappearing into John Lord’s coffers. The citizens were still waiting for their new schoolhouse, larger church and better medical facilities. Those were projects that Hal was as anxious to see fulfilled as any other member of the council but knew that they were unlikely to come to fruition until John Lord’s domination of Palmersville had come to an end. The fact that that domination had come about because of the weakness of people like himself haunted Hal but more worrying was the knowledge that it would continue indefinitely because no one knew how to break the stranglehold.

  Sometimes, in his mind, Hal urged himself to revolt against Lord’s orders. He wanted to be strong but knew that he wasn’t and when they came face-to-face his determination deserted him. Bob Best’s pronouncement that changes would occur if Wes Gray could be persuaded to remain in Palmersville had given him some hope. He wasn’t sure what the frontiersman could do or what grounds he would have for doing it, but according to the stories that had circulated since his arrival it seemed that violence was permanently only an arm’s length away. If John Lord was killed Hal wouldn’t shed any tears; he would be freed from his obligation to the rancher. But Wes Gray had quit the town and there was no reason to suppose he would return. He turned away with Lord’s voice ringing in his ears, telling him to get his wagon to the warehouse, and he was aware that Bob Best was regarding him with a quizzical look.

  As the people dispersed, Bob Best stood alone on the street, troubled by John Lord’s assault on Jenny Trantor and the subsequent outburst against Hal Adamson. In his opinion, the rancher’s behaviour had bordered on the criminal, but not only that, it had carried a hint of hysteria. Jenny’s slap had, no doubt, been instrumental in inflaming Lord’s temper, but it seemed unlikely that that alone could have produced the violent response. What else, he wondered, was troubling the rancher, and how much of it was due to the arrival of Wes Gray in Palmersville? His lips stretched in a grimace, but one which contained a great deal of self-congratulation because he’d predicted an upheaval. He didn’t know where the scout had gone but he was sure that he would return and when he did he would be bringing a hornets’ nest to slam about the ears of John Lord.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It wasn’t until he neared the outskirts of Palmersville that Wes Gray saw the two flat-board wagons whose dust had been ahead of him for the last mile. If he had caught up with them sooner he might have seen that one of the two horsemen riding alongside the wagons was Tad Carter, but that man had now ridden ahead to report to his boss and left the others to their task at the warehouse.

  At Bob Best’s stable, Wes dismounted and allowed the pinto to drink from the water trough. He splashed some water over his own face to rid himself of the dust and sweat that had gathered there. He looked down the main street and, in keeping with his first arrival in this town, observed little activity. A disquieting atmosphere hung over the place, as though a great storm was imminent and people had cleared the street to find safety in their own homes. One or two people remained on the boardwalks and Wes could see Sheriff Johnson leaning against a post outside his office. The lawman seemed to be watching Wes, as though his re
turn was likely to be the catalyst for whatever situation was developing.

  Despite the sense of relief occasioned by the frontiersman’s arrival, the blacksmith was still grim-faced when he stepped outside to greet Wes. He barely looked at the scout, his attention focused on the wagons farther along the alley. They were lined up outside John Lord’s warehouse.

  ‘Something’s happening,’ Bob Best told Wes. ‘There’s been non-stop activity there since midday. People taking away goods by the wagon-load. Could John Lord be quitting town?’ Bob’s last words had been barely loud enough to hear, but there was no mistaking that it was an event he wouldn’t oppose.

  ‘Who do the wagons belong to?’ Wes wanted to know.

  ‘Those two have just come from John Lord’s ranch but I’ve seen some of the town’s shopkeepers take away stock. All sorts of goods.’

  ‘Grain? Blankets?’

  ‘Sure. Hal took away a wagon-load to his store.’

  ‘What about whiskey?’

  ‘Didn’t see any of that but Benny Kingston at the saloon gets his stock from a supplier in Council Bluffs. He won’t deal with John Lord.’ The blacksmith shrugged.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t think Hal Adamson had anything to do with John Lord either, I thought he kept his stock in the other warehouse but he took plenty away from John Lord’s earlier.’

  ‘Probably just a business arrangement.’

  Bob Best nodded but his face failed to register any sign of agreement. ‘It was the way Lord spoke to Hal earlier that surprised me. Ordered him to remove his stock and insisted on payment by the end of the day. Hal was embarrassed but barely raised an argument. Well, he’s a good enough man, Hal Adamson, but he isn’t a natural fighter.’

  From the short meeting he’d had with the storekeeper, Wes had already come to that conclusion.