by Lyle Brandt
“Who are you?” Abel asked him, tight-lipped from a mix of fear and anger.
“Messengers,” the one who’d spoken first replied. “We got a invitation for the two a you.”
“An invitation?”
“Step inside first, willya? We don’t wanna draw a crowd.”
He did as he’d been told and heard the door close at his back. The man to Anna’s right reached out to pull the Colt from Abel’s belt, saying, “You won’t be needin’ this.”
“Will you be needing yours?” he asked.
“Not right away,” the first man said. “Unless you force it on us, bein’ stupid. Play your cards right, and you might come out okay.”
Abel had no good reason to believe him, every cause to doubt, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He would not risk Anna’s life unless he knew their situation to be hopeless beyond any doubt.
“So, what’s this invitation?” he inquired.
“Somebody wants to meetcha,” said their spokesman. “Somebody important.”
“And he couldn’t come himself?”
“He’s so important, people come to him,” the second gunman said.
“Impressive. How is Mr. Coker, by the way?” asked Abel.
Both men flanking Anna blinked at him. The leader of the pack recovered first and cracked a smile. “You ain’t as dumb as some folks seem to think.”
“Thank you for that. What is it your employer wishes to discuss?”
“We don’t get all the tidbits.”
“Just the orders, eh? And where should we expect to have this conversation?”
“Where we’s headed for, directly.”
“And if we prefer to stay at home? What, then?”
“We got instructions to persuade you. Maybe startin’ with your sis, here. She’s a juicy little piece. I guess you noticed that already.”
Abel didn’t plan to punch him, knew the risks entailed by doing so, but rage took over as the gunman reached across to lay a hand on Anna’s breast. The impact of his fist against the gunman’s face was satisfying, made up for the sharp pain in his knuckles as he spun to meet the second nearest shooter, swinging this time with his left.
The target ducked it, swung his six-gun in a high arc, grazing Abel’s forehead with sufficient force to stagger him. Abel reeled off to his left and met another pistol whipping toward his skull from that direction. This time, colored lights exploded in his brain like fireworks, then the world went black.
*
He found the front door standing open, didn’t like the look of it, and kept his right hand on the cross-draw Colt as he stepped through the gate, moving along the walkway to the Butlers’ porch. Before he climbed the steps, Ryder called out to anyone inside the house—a risky move, if enemies were waiting there, but better than surprising Abel, when he might be in a mood to shoot first.
No one answered.
Ryder drew his gun before he reached the open doorway, easier to offer an apology from that point on than risk his life, and felt a little foolish knocking with his free hand as his shadow fell across the threshold. Called their names again, louder this time, and still got no response.
Inside the parlor, he could see the signs of struggle: a small table overturned, a broken lamp soaking the floor with kerosene, which thankfully had not been lighted when it fell. He called once more, a waste of breath, and looked around for bloodstains—found some spatters on the floorboards near the entryway, but nothing serious—before he went to check the other rooms.
Nobody in the kitchen, with its small table and chairs for four. The bedrooms were immaculate, which eased his mind a bit for no specific reason he could name. A broom closet held only brooms and other cleaning articles, no bodies stashed away. He went out back to check the yard, and then the privy, but the flies in there were on their own.
Ryder went back inside the house and had a better look around. Inside the parlor, this time, he saw something sticking out from underneath the sofa. Bending closer, he made out an old Colt Paterson like Abel Butler sometimes carried, evidently dropped and kicked aside during a scuffle. That told Ryder all he had to know about the crime scene.
Abel and his sister had been taken. Whether they were still alive was anybody’s guess.
He found the sheriff in his office, working on a sandwich big enough to choke a draft horse. Travis looked up from his food as Ryder entered, mouth full, asking him, “The hell you want?”
“I’m looking for a lawman. Know where I can find one?”
Travis bristled. “If you come here to insult me, you can turn around and—”
“Chew your cud and listen,” Ryder snapped at him. “The Butlers have been kidnapped. Will you help me find them? Yes or no?”
“When you say kidnapped—”
“You know what it means. And something tells me you know who’s behind it.”
“Hey, now!”
“If you do, and something happens to them while you’re snuffling at the trough, I’ll see you tried as an accomplice.”
“That supposed to scare me?” Travis asked him.
“If you’re smarter than you look. You know about a murder in advance, being a lawman, and you do nothing to stop it, you’re as guilty as the one who pulls the trigger. If it’s rape—”
“Whoa, now!” When he spluttered, Travis spat small fragments of his sandwich out onto his desktop. “Who said rape?”
“You trust your cracker buddies to control themselves with Anna Butler?”
“You don’t know a damn thing about—”
“What I do know, Sheriff, is that you’re bound by the law to stop a crime from happening, or find the ones responsible if you can’t get a jump on things. We both know you’ve been working with this lynch mob outfit Coker operates. That makes you an accomplice and conspirator. I’ll see you charged, tried, and convicted. Failing that—”
“You can’t just—”
“Failing that,” Ryder repeated, leaning on his hands across the littered desk, “I’ll come back here and do the job myself.”
Some of the color drained out of the sheriff’s face. “The hell’s that s’pose to mean?”
“Use your imagination, Travis.”
“Christ! What kind of lawman are you?”
“One with nothing much to lose, if I can’t find the Butlers while they’re still alive.”
Travis dropped his sandwich, spread his hands, a helpless gesture. “Whadda you expect me to do?”
“Your job,” Ryder answered.
“That’s pleasin’ the folks who elect me, not some high-and-mighty federal from Washington.”
“And saving lives?”
“The ones that matter.”
Ryder felt a sudden chill, as if someone had spiked his veins with ice water. He fought an urge to drill the sheriff where he sat. Said, “Have it your way. Your life just stopped mattering to me.”
He left the sheriff’s office, Travis staring after him. Ryder supposed that he would run to Coker next, and warn him, but it didn’t matter now. He planned to get there first, surprise the man in charge, and squeeze him till he gave the Butlers up.
Failing at that, if they were dead … then, what?
He’d have to think that through, decide what he could prove and what he couldn’t, if he started filing charges. So far, he had nothing against Coker personally, only supposition that he’d pulled the strings behind various crimes while standing back to keep his own hands clean.
Which didn’t mean he was exempt from punishment. Not necessarily.
But Ryder had to find him first.
He walked down to the Red Dog, circled round in back, and found the back door wasn’t locked. Remembering the way to Coker’s office, Ryder slipped inside and made his way along a poorly lighted corridor to reach the door marked PRIVATE. He tried the doorknob, gingerly, and felt it start to turn. Dispensed with knocking as he barged in, Colt in hand.
The empty office sneered at him. He checked
behind the door, found no one hiding there, and closed it. Ryder moved around the desk, sat down in Coker’s chair, and started going through his drawers, no real idea what he was looking for. It didn’t bother him, the prying, but as each drawer failed to give up anything of value, he could feel the tension building in his chest, behind his eyes.
Where should he look for Coker next?
He likely wouldn’t bring the Butlers here, where anyone might see them and connect Coker to whatever befell them afterward. That would be clumsy, and from what he’d seen of Coker, Ryder didn’t think he was a stupid man.
A bigoted fanatic, absolutely. Maybe crazy. Stupid, no.
He ought to check the Red Dog’s barroom next. Coker might well be killing time there, waiting for the word from his cronies that Abel Butler and his sister were securely locked away. He wouldn’t want to rush off, make a great to-do of it, in case some hostile witness made a mental note. The key was acting normal in the public eye, until you had no further need of guile.
Ryder was on his feet and moving toward the door when it swung open. Standing there in front of him, with a surprised expression on his face, a cowboy type he’d never seen before, revolver dangling from his hip. The stranger blinked at Ryder once, seemed just about to ask him something, but he’d wasted too much time. Ryder reached out to grab the collar of his shirt, propelled him toward the desk, and kicked the door shut as he turned to face the new arrival.
Who was reaching for his six-gun now, too late again. Ryder was faster, pressed the muzzle of his Colt Army against the cowboy’s forehead as he thumbed the hammer back.
“Can’t miss at this range,” he advised.
“Awright! Le’s not be hasty, here!”
“You want to live, I take it?”
“S-s-sure!”
“Then, when I ask you something, answer me straight off, and keep it honest. Otherwise, your life’s not worth a nickel to me.”
“Ask away,” the cowboy said.
“Where’s Coker?”
“Thought he was in here. He’s who I come to see.”
“For what?”
“I’m s’pose to tell him how the boys are doin’, them got hurt in Colored Town.”
“And if he’s not here,” Ryder prodded, “where would you look next?”
“A couple places.” Starting to look crafty.
“Spit it out. You’re running short on time.”
“Okay! I’d ask the barkeep if he’s gone to eat somewhere, then maybe try his house.”
Ryder already knew where that was, having made a point to track it down soon after reaching Jefferson. “Where else?” he asked. “I need someplace he’d go to have a private talk with someone, where they won’t be interrupted.”
“Here,” the cowboy said, then winced as Ryder poked his skull more forcefully. “Jesus! I don’t know ever’thing about him, mister!”
“Then you’re no damned good to me,” Ryder replied.
And knocked him cold.
18
Boss oughta be here any minute now,” Wayne Henley said. “He never likes to keep folks waitin’.”
“That’s considerate,” the carpetbagger with the bloodied head replied, “for a kidnapper.”
“I’ll warn you now. Best watch your mouth when he gets here. The boss ain’t got my sense a humor.”
Now the woman spoke up, asking him, “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you that awready. Boss just wants to have a talk with you. Show you the error of your ways.”
“Our ways?” the man came back at him. “Given the choice, you’d still have slavery.”
Henley responded with a shrug. “Why not? Jus’ think of all the good we done for darkies.”
“Good?” The woman wore a shocked expression.
“Sure.” He started counting on his fingers. “First, we brung ’em here from Aferca. We gave ’em jobs, good food, someplace to stay outta the rain when they ain’t workin’. Saved their heathen souls for Jesus, if you’re one of them who thinks they got souls. Me, I ain’t so sure.”
Now she looked disgusted. “God, I don’t believe this.”
“That’s ’cause you’s from way up North. The only darkies you see are the servants in your houses, all cleaned up and dressed proper. The only thing you know about our life down here is lies told by them abolitionists.”
“We’ve seen enough firsthand,” her brother said, “to know that you’re barbarians.”
“See, that’s the kinda thing you shouldn’t tell the boss,” Henley replied, then kicked the smart-mouthed captive in the stomach, where he sat against the wall. “Could get your ass in trouble, if you don’t watch out.”
“You brute!” the woman hissed at him.
“Keep talkin’, missy. You ain’t winnin’ any friends, and friends is what you gonna need, about the time boss man gets done with you.”
She glared at him but held her tongue this time.
“You know,” he told her, smiling, “I can be the friendly sort, I put my mind to it. I don’t ask much, except a little ’preciation.”
“You’re disgusting!”
“Lotta women think so, when we start to get acquainted, but they come around.”
She turned away from him, cheeks reddening. It made him smile.
The other carpetbagger didn’t like it, though. “If you so much as touch my sister—”
“What?” Henley demanded. “You gwan jump up here and whip my ass? Seems like you tried that once already.”
“If you’re half a man, give me a second chance.”
“Half stupid’s what you mean to say, I guess. You think I’m gonna loose your hands before I get the boss’s say-so, you’re the stupid one.”
“What do you hope to gain from this, harming a woman and an unarmed man?”
“Gain ain’t got nought to do with it,” Henry replied, his temper heating up. “You seen how much we lost awready, in the war you goddamn Yankees started. Nothin’ any one of us can do to get that back again, until the lot o’ you is dead and off our backs!”
“You can’t go back in time,” the carpetbagger said. “What’s gone is gone.”
“Like you’ll be, in a little while. Not sure about your sister, though. I might just—”
“Might just what?”
The deep, familiar voice made Henley jump. He hadn’t heard the door open behind him, raging as he was against the carpetbagger. Now he spun to face the boss.
“It’s nothin’, Mr. Coker. Just havin’ some fun, is all.”
“What happened to your face?”
He raised a hand to touch his bruised right cheek, wincing. “They didn’t want to come along at first.”
“Which one did that to you?”
He blinked at Coker. Said, “The fella.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway. I see that you repaid him.”
“Sure, we got a few licks in.”
“And now you’re starting on the woman?”
“Huh? Hey, no! I wouldn’t—”
“Wayne?”
“Yessir?”
“Get out.”
“Um, sure … if you don’t need—”
“Get out!” Barely a hiss, this time, but carrying the menace of a coiled-up rattler.
“Yessir!”
He wasted no time getting to the door and through it, closing it behind him, careful not to let it slam, in case it sounded like a gesture of defiance. Henley had a sudden need for daylight and fresh air, to calm his churning gut.
*
Ryder got the Appaloosa back, same daily rate, and pushed it to a gallop on his way out to the Union garrison. Arriving there, he found the soldiers and freedmen working together, setting up tents on a dry patch of ground beside the military bivouac, neither side saying much to the other as Ryder passed by on his way to see Captain Legere.
The captain, as expected, wasn’t thrilled to see him for the second time that day. The sigh that he released verged on theatrical. “What i
s it this time?” he demanded.
Ryder laid the story out as briefly as he could: the Butlers missing, obviously kidnapped from their home, likely snatched by Coker’s Knights. The captain didn’t yawn, exactly, but he didn’t seem impressed, either.
“Likely? That’s all you have for evidence?”
“If I knew where they were beyond a doubt, I’d spit it out.”
Legere stared off beyond the new addition to his camp, under construction. “Well, it makes no difference, in any case,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“Kidnapping is a local crime, perhaps a state offense. Who knows, for certain, in this godforsaken territory? Either way, I have no jurisdiction.”
“There are lives at stake,” Ryder reminded him.
“And constitutional restrictions which you ought to be aware of, as a federal agent. Tell your story to the sheriff.”
“He’s a part of it!”
Legere turned back to face him, cocked one eyebrow. “Is he, indeed? And how would you know that?”
“Because I’ve dealt with him. Because he next to told me so.”
“Next to? That’s pretty flimsy, you’ll admit.”
“What is it, Captain?” Ryder challenged. “Do you hate this place so much you won’t do anything to help its people? Are you worried about drawing notice to yourself? Afraid someone will ship you off to fight the Indians, instead of lounging here in camp?”
Legere’s face colored, not from any heating by the sun. “You have the gall to ride in here and ask for help, then to insult me when I tell you it’s beyond my legal obligation?”
“Damn your obligation! Get your nose out of the rule book for a minute. Help me save two lives!”
“At the expense of my career?” Legere frowned wearily and shook his head. “This town is volatile. You’ve seen it for yourself. A spark could set it off. I won’t provide that spark by usurping the sheriff’s powers, going door to door in search of two lost do-gooders who should have stayed at home.”
“You’re that determined not to budge? You’d let them die? Likely condemn the woman to a foul indignity before her end?”
“Texans are savages,” Legere replied. “I can’t fix that with eighty men—or eighty thousand, if it comes to that.”
“You’re useless,” Ryder spat, turning on his heel, toward where his mount was tethered. “Have another cup of tea. I’ll deal with it myself.”