by Jake Logan
“I saw code like this during the war, but I don’t recognize any of these symbols,” Slocum said.
“Of course not. This is a brand spanking new code.”
“What’s it say?”
“I got something to ask you, Slocum. You happy with the way the war ended?”
“Too many good men died. Can’t be happy about that.”
“The South died, dammit! The carpetbaggers flocked down and stole everything that wasn’t blown up or burned down during the war, leaving us nothing. Nothing!” Jesse James was getting worked up now, waving his arms around. His voice rose and turned shriller as emotion took control.
Slocum said nothing. He had wanted to find what the code meant, and Jesse was fixing to tell him.
“Some of us aren’t going to sit back and do nothing. Before the war, you heard of the Knights of the Golden Circle. They changed and became as weak as tea. But some of them—some of us—aren’t going to let that situation go on any longer.”
Slocum wasn’t exactly sure what Jesse was saying, but he didn’t like the sound of it.
“Me and the boys have come to New Mexico for a reason, Slocum. I want you to join us.”
“Join you to do what?” Slocum knew what the outlaw was going to say but he had to ask anyway.
“Throw in with us and the rest of the Knights of the Golden Circle so we can take over the whole damned territory and make our own country.”
6
“You have to realize that this isn’t a pipe dream, Slocum,” Jesse James went on, his eyes wide as he became more animated. He had a weak eye and it began to roam as his agitation grew. “We can do this. We’ve cached the gold to finance the whole damned operation.”
“What are you going to do?”
“This,” Jesse said, tapping the chalk markings on the wall. “This is part of our scheme. We can make this happen, Slocum. We can!”
“What are you intending to do? You can’t take on the entire New Mexico Territory.”
“But we can. We’re not alone. There are several powerful men backing us up. The Knights of the Golden Circle will be complete. We’ll turn the Southwest into a new country and merge with Mexico and the countries in Central America.”
“I heard tell you’d get the Caribbean islands involved, too, but that was before the war.”
“This is now, Slocum. We’re going to do it now. We’ll forge the Golden Circle. The Caribbean, Central America, the Southwest. We’ll be a country united in our belief that slavery is right.”
“We fought over that and lost,” Slocum said.
“We were sold out. Oh, not the generals but the politicians. They were paid off. Do you believe that Jeff Davis did all he could to win? He was a weak president. We should have had someone stronger to hold the reins of power. Why have the capital in Richmond when it should have been in the Deep South? Georgia or Alabama. He did everything wrong and might have been paid to lose the war for us.”
“Davis didn’t lose the war. We did.”
“We won’t this time. We’ll be stronger than ever. When the Golden Circle is a fact, we can move back into Florida and up the coast. We can strangle the damned Yankees and take back what’s rightfully ours.”
“You say you have the gold to do this?”
“Oh, yes, Slocum, we do. I’ve got it cached for when it’ll do us the most good.”
“You need more than money,” Slocum said. “You need to stop the Federals at Fort Union. There’s a powerful lot of them that won’t cotton much to you taking over the territory.”
“Don’t worry about them. We’ll have our army when the time is right—and it’s getting real close, Slocum. Real close.”
Slocum heard more than avarice and ambition in Jesse James’s voice. He heard a hint of the madness that had infected Quantrill and Anderson and so many others in the guerrilla band. Hindsight told him they had been fighting a losing war but had never believed that because of the infectious words of men like Quantrill. Facts meant nothing and faith was everything.
That worked. For a while. Eventually reality intruded and their illusions had to crash to the ground like a shattered looking glass. Slocum could hear the same deadly sound in Jesse’s words.
“You been working on this for a while?”
“It’s all figured out,” he said. “When the time is right, we’ll use the gold to bribe the right people.”
“Politicians who can be bought won’t stay bought,” Slocum said.
“You’re right. That’s why I’m not bribing politicians,” Jesse said. “The Knights of the Golden Circle will be in control of the entire northern part of New Mexico within a month. We’ll control the roads and cut off Taos and Santa Fe from their supplies unless they side with us. And they will. Why shouldn’t they? The people have been under the Yankee thumb long enough to know we offer them freedom.”
“And slavery,” Slocum said.
“What else would you do with all those redskins? They’re killers and don’t deserve to be free. We can make them work and bring riches to the whole territory.”
“Killers,” Slocum said, almost under his breath. He knew who the killers were and he was in a cave with one.
“Damned right! We’ll be rulers over an entire country. Think about that, Slocum. How’d you like to run an entire state? You’re a smart fellow. When we take Santa Fe, you can be governor.”
“You fixing to be president?”
“Why not? The Knights of the Golden Circle need a strong leader. You can’t deny that I’ve held my family together. The whole damned territory will be a new family for me, a bigger one.”
“So what’s the purpose of the code?” Slocum asked.
“We need a way of communicating with the others so we don’t have to meet in public. If the marshal saw us all together, he’d get suspicious. And the people in Las Vegas don’t know how good they’ll have it when the Knights pick up the reins of power.”
“What’s this tell us?”
Jesse began explaining the code, working from one side to the other. He finished at the numbers.
“There’s a shipment of rifles and ammunition to the fort due anytime now. This is tomorrow’s date. The other part of the code tells the road where the shipment’s being sent.”
“And this?” Slocum pointed to another section of the code. “Does this tell how many guards’ll be with the wagon train?”
“I was right about you, Slocum. It does,” Jesse muttered to himself, counting on his fingers as he deciphered the code, then said, “Ten men will guard the wagons. Three wagons, ten guards, plus the drivers.”
“That’ll be quite a fight. You don’t have that many men, and the Army will be expecting an attack.”
“No, they won’t. That’s what makes the plan so perfect. We get the guns, and we’ll be ready for the final phase of the revolt.”
“You’ll need an army,” Slocum said, trying to get something more out of the outlaw.
“I got it all worked out, Slocum. It’s all up here.” He tapped his head. “Now we got to move. This here message tells us all we have to know.” He stopped and peered at the chalk marks in the faint light. “A pity he went and got himself killed. It’s going to be quite a ride getting to the ambush. But we’re used to that, aren’t we?” Jesse slapped Slocum on the back and strutted off, whistling “Goober Peas.”
Slocum trailed him, considering that Jesse must trust him or he wouldn’t have turned his back on him. Or did the outlaw simply know Slocum well enough that back shooting wasn’t in his nature?
“We got to ride hard. Mount up, Slocum. We’re on the road to destiny!”
With a loud rebel yell, Jesse James galloped off. If Slocum had a lick of sense, he would have fallen behind and then slipped away, heading south as hard as he could ride. He’d been in Santa Fe and had no desire to see the dusty, sleepy town again but that quiet would go a ways toward soothing his nerves after listening to Jesse’s cockeyed scheme to seize control of the entire terri
tory and turn it into a new slave-holding country.
Or was it so cockeyed? Slocum had the sinking feeling that, with enough gold for bribes, the politicians and businessmen in the territory might go along with Jesse. There had to be some resentment festering among those who paid taxes to Washington and got damned little back for it. Other than the cavalry and their string of forts, the excise taxes gave the citizens nothing back. It was the same throughout the South. The Northerners moved in with the force of the law behind them and taxed and virtually enslaved the population.
Slocum could have gotten away, but the lure of the gold required to buy an entire country spurred him on. Audrey had mentioned the sum of ten thousand dollars. It would take that—and more. He followed Jesse back to where the others still stood around the moldering body. They hadn’t bothered to bury their partner.
“I got the information we need. We ride north, men,” Jesse said. “And keep your guns at hand. The wagons’ll be guarded by ten soldiers.”
“That all?” Dennison scoffed and looked around. “Hell, Jesse, you can take ’em all by your lonesome.”
“You don’t want to miss the fun, Charlie,” Frank James said. “We’re gonna be kings ’fore you know it.”
Slocum wondered what Jesse had promised his gang. The sun and moon and stars above, from the sound of it, were all going to be theirs after the revolt. Men like Dennison would be content with killing, but the others needed more of a reward.
“Fifteen miles north of Las Vegas,” Jesse said. “That’s where the wagon train will come across from the east before picking up the road down to Fort Union.”
“We’re with you, Jesse. All the way!”
Slocum wasn’t sure who picked up the cheer, but he found himself going along with it. He was glad he did because as the last hurrah died on his lips, he saw Jesse staring right at him. The outlaw leader smiled, tipped his hat in Slocum’s direction, and then put his heels to his horse’s flanks.
“I see the wagons!” Frank James shouted from the top of a scrubby cottonwood. He waved so frantically to signal the approach that he nearly fell out amid wildly shaking leaves and spindly limbs. He caught himself, then shinnied down the trunk to land on the ground next to his brother. “It’s just like you said, Jesse. Three wagons, the drivers, and ten guards. The way they’re riding, they don’t expect a hint of trouble to come their way.”
“Well, they’re right,” Jesse said. “They’re not going to get a hint of trouble. They’re going to get a shitload of it!”
The gang cheered. This time Slocum remained silent, trying to judge what he ought to do. The gang didn’t bother with bandannas over their faces. Slocum knew that meant no one in the wagon train was going to walk away from the robbery. He had been on more than one raid during the war where it was assumed that this meant death to everyone setting eyes on them.
“Mount up. You know what to do,” Jesse said. He looked at Slocum, eyes hard. “Ride with me.” He turned his horse’s face and galloped off in the direction of the wagons. Slocum followed. He had little choice but to go along with the massacre because Jesse and the others would hunt him down since he knew too much of their plans now.
Slocum scoffed at the notion of an independent state being carved out of New Mexico Territory, but Jesse James wasn’t joking. If he had the gold, he was now going for the weapons to bring about his dream of a country allied with the Knights of the Golden Circle.
All that Jesse lacked were the soldiers to ride under his banner. From the way he had spoken so confidently, that wasn’t going to be a problem either. Slocum had no choice. He galloped after the outlaw in time to hear the first ragged volley of shots from the wagon train’s guards.
He burst through a cloud of dust and saw that the gang’s initial attack hadn’t been coordinated. One half had jumped the gun and alerted the soldiers so that they jumped into the wagons and fired from the relative safety of the wagon beds.
“They’ve got all the ammo they need to hold us off,” Slocum shouted. “Pull back and regroup.”
The gang closest to him reacted to the sharp edge of command in his voice. Those on the far side couldn’t hear his orders because of the increasing reports from the soldiers’ return fire nor could they see because of the billowing cloud of white gun smoke rising.
“What do we do?” asked a youngster. He looked panicked.
“This your first raid?” Slocum asked. He got a quick nod in reply. “Stay behind me and make sure none of the soldiers sneaks off. We don’t want them getting reinforcements.” Slocum doubted this would happen, but it kept the anxious outlaw from shooting him in the back.
Slocum put his head down and raced forward. Bullets sang past him and the acrid stench of gunpowder made his nostrils flare. He pulled parallel with the wagon as a soldier reared up to fire. Reaching out, Slocum snared the rifle barrel and tugged hard, sending the bluecoat tumbling to the ground.
Galloping on, Slocum drew his six-shooter and fired twice at the soldier crouching in the rear of the wagon. The soldier never saw him, being intent on Charlie Dennison charging at him from the other side. The soldier gasped and slumped in the wagon bed. Slocum had winged him, but from the way he gasped and spit blood, he might not live long.
“Damn you, Slocum. He was mine!” Dennison roared. He turned his rifle on two soldiers crouched under the second wagon.
And then the silence descending on the battlefield clutched at Slocum’s heart. No more firing meant the soldiers and drivers were dead. It took Jesse James a few seconds to realize he had triumphed. He led his men in a rousing victory cheer.
Slocum rode back to the wagon and looked down at the soldier he had pulled from the wagon. He stirred and sat up, groggy from the fall. Slocum jumped from the saddle and knelt beside the man, whispering, “If you want to live, fake being dead.” He fired his six-gun so the slug ripped away part of the man’s scalp. Such wounds bled like a son of a bitch and the shock knocked the soldier out.
“Good work, Slocum,” Jesse said, thinking Slocum had performed the coup de grâce. “I’m glad I wasn’t wrong dealing you into this game.”
“It’s not a game,” Slocum said, standing so he blocked the soldier from Jesse’s direct view. The shallow breathing would be a giveaway—a dead giveaway from both the soldier and Slocum.
“No, you’re right. The Knights of the Golden Circle is deadly serious. To independence!”
Jesse’s shout was picked up by the others.
While they celebrated by riding in circles around the wagons and the bodies of their victims, Slocum looked into the back of the wagon at the man he had shot. As careful as he had been, the man had died from his wound. Slocum pulled him out and then saw he wasn’t exactly right. Three other bullet wounds in the man’s chest had added to the chances of the man dying. Slocum’s final bullet might have pushed him over the edge, but if anything, he had given the man a more merciful death. The other wounds were fatal—slowly fatal.
He yanked back the canvas and saw crates of cavalry carbines. Making a quick inventory told him Jesse had just acquired more than a hundred rifles in this single wagon.
“We got ammunition in this one,” Frank James called. “We got it all, Jesse. We got it all and didn’t lose a single man!”
A new cheer went up, but Slocum turned wary. It hadn’t been an easy victory, but it had been too easy.
“Jesse,” he called. “Jesse! We got to get out of here fast. Something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jesse James said. “We just won our first battle for independence. There’s—”
A distant bugle signaled the arrival of a larger cavalry troop.
“Frank, we got company coming. Maybe an entire company!” Jesse laughed, a note of insanity in his voice. “You and Charlie get the wagons out of here. Hide the cargo while the rest of us lead the bluecoats on a wild-goose chase.”
Slocum dragged the soldier he had knocked out from under the wheels to prevent him from getting run over as Fr
ank James snapped the reins and got the load of rifles rattling forward. The soldier’s eyelids fluttered and he looked up, finally focusing on Slocum’s face.
“Stay quiet. There’s a company from Fort Union coming this way,” Slocum said. He swung into the saddle, shot the soldier in the dust a dark look to keep him from trying to be a hero by drawing his pistol and blazing away at the outlaws. Then he rode off. He had done what he could for the soldier. It was up to him to decide if he wanted a posthumous medal or preferred a chance to eat rotten food in the fort mess hall again.
“Where are they heading?” Slocum called to Jesse. He pointed to Frank and Charlie driving at breakneck speed back along the road.
“Don’t ask. We got to decoy them bluecoats away so they have a chance.”
“How?”
“The survivors will come after us if we kill enough of them. That or the ones not filled with good Southern lead will turn tail and run whining back to their fort.”
Jesse laughed as he wheeled about and brought the rifle to his shoulder. He began firing when the lead element of the horse soldiers thundered into view. They raced past the point of the ambush and came on.
Slocum saw that he had no other choice. The soldiers would run him to the ground if they didn’t break off their attack. He pulled his Winchester and fired low, bullets skipping across the ground and nicking horses’ legs. This created more confusion among the attacking soldiers than if he had felled one or two of them.
Jesse motioned and rode due east. The wagons had driven north. The officer in command shouted at his men to regroup. A half dozen were left on foot because of the wounds Slocum had inflicted on their horses. He hoped that they’d find the soldier he had saved since the man required some first aid but wasn’t in any danger of dying.
Why he cared was beyond him—he had spent the war killing men wearing Federal uniforms. Then he realized why he had gone to such lengths and risked his own life. The war was over, and he didn’t want Jesse James or anyone else reigniting it. He had fled West to get away from the outcome of the war and had found riding the range a freedom denied him before. Jesse threatened that freedom if he plunged New Mexico into a war he could never win. Before it had been North against South. This time it would be North and South against New Mexico. Those odds were even worse than the ones Robert E. Lee had faced.