The Vigilance Man Read online

  The end of the mad adventure came with shocking abruptness. Juarez was tantalizingly close to the track into the hills, when his mount put a foot in a prairie dog’s hole and he went sailing over her head. His reactions were not impaired by this sudden accident, because even as he was rolling on the ground, he was drawing his pistol and taking aim at the two riders who were now bearing down. He had to decide in a fraction of a second at which of the two he would fire first. By blind chance, he chose Seaton, whose own gun was already in his hand. It was a lucky shot for Juarez, but quite the reverse for the leader of the vigilance men, for the ball took him through the chest and as his horse reared in fright at the sound of the shot so close at hand, Seaton slipped backwards from the saddle, landing heavily.

  Cutler was so nervous that he was barely able to pull his piece and draw down on the man now lying in front of him. When he had done so, though, and before the echo of Juarez’s shot had died away, he emptied the gun at the comanchero, loosing off all five chambers in quick succession. It only needs one bullet to kill a man and luckily, two of Cutler’s wild shots struck home; one in the man’s shoulder and the other straight into an eye. Although he was unused to such things, it looked to the young lawyer as though the man on the ground was dead. He got down from the saddle and went over to where Mark Seaton lay.

  Kneeling down, Cutler said, ‘Is there anything I can do for you, sir?’

  Seaton coughed and a trickle of blood, black in the pale moonlight, trickled down his chin. He said painfully, ‘You can give me your forgiveness, son. For everything.’

  ‘Lord, that’s nothing, Mr Seaton. I’m thinking that you didn’t know that my father was a lawman. From what I hear, he was set up.’

  ‘It’s too late for to do anything, but I’m sorry. Sorry that I took against you as well. Reach inside my jacket here. There’s your papers.’

  Reluctantly, Cutler did as the other had told him and found his letters of introduction and other documents. Clearly, Mark Seaton had not wished to run the risk of anybody else catching sight of them. To his horror, Cutler saw that the papers were besmeared with blood.

  The effort of talking was proving costly to the wounded man, because he was panting now and his face was haggard and drawn with pain. Cutler said, ‘Don’t tire yourself. Can I make you more comfortable?’

  ‘You’re a true Christian, son. More so than me, maybe. I hope you do well in life.’

  Although his experience of battlefields and injuries was not extensive, Brent Cutler could tell by the quantity of blood which was escaping from the injured man’s mouth, that he was gravely, perhaps even mortally, wounded. Seaton’s eyes were closed now and his breathing was less stertorous. Then, he suddenly came to again and stared searchingly into Cutler’s face. He whispered, ‘I’ve wronged you. You and yours. Sorry.’ Then, as Brent Cutler watched, the man took one last convulsive gulp of air and exhaled slowly and fully. He did not draw breath again.

  Although he had seen his own father die, being so close to a man as he expired seemed somehow more dreadful and to his surprise and chagrin, Cutler found that tears were running down his cheeks. Why he should feel so strongly at the death of the man who had been instrumental in lynching his father was, to Brent Cutler, something of a mystery.

  CHAPTER 11

  The aftermath of any event that involves the death of many men is apt to be a melancholy business. There were eighteen corpses to be dealt with after what became known in later years as, ‘The Battle of the High Peaks’. It was the bloodiest incident to take place in that region since the end of the war, although fortunately it did not delay the admission of the territory to statehood six months later.

  Apart from Mark Seaton, one other member of the posse had been killed by a stray bullet. With all the lead flying about that night, it was hardly a surprise that at least one ball had found its lodging place in the breast of one of the vigilantes. Jack Carlton was disposed to assume command of the outfit now that Seaton had breathed his last. Carlton was feeling pretty braced with the outcome of the night’s events. From all that he was able to apprehend, every one of the comancheros was dead, which meant that nobody would be likely to identify him as having had dealings with them at any stage. This was a great relief. Almost as good was the fact that Seaton now lay dead. Not only would he not have to cosy up to that pious son of a bitch, but Carlton guessed that as the dead man’s confidant and friend, he might be in with a chance of stepping into his shoes as head of the safety committee.

  As everything was being sorted out, dawn was breaking above the mountains. Archie, who most of those present appeared to know and trust, said, ‘I mind we ought to go up and look over the camp of those scallawags. Make sure there’s none of ’em still around.’

  ‘A fine idea, Mr Carmichael …’ began Jack Carlton, in a bright and cheerful voice.

  Archie looked at him coldly and said, ‘Don’t bother talkin’ to me like I’m soft in the head, son. You needn’t think on steppin’ into no dead man’s shoes, neither.’

  Some of those present observed that Carlton blushed like a schoolgirl at this and drew their own conclusions. The old man’s scheme was sensible and so they all mounted up and set off up the track. Jack Carlton had a face like thunder, wondering where that old goat got off, speaking to him so.

  They stumbled across a pitiful sight when once they reached the hollow where the comancheros had been based. Eleven cold, frightened and bedraggled girls, some of them no more than mere children, had spent the whole night in the open, exposed to the pouring rain. All were shivering and some were weeping with terror. They had heard the shooting and did not know what to expect when this hard-looking bunch of men rode up.

  The men of the posse looked down at the piteous spectacle and their hearts were consumed with burning rage at the sort of men who could treat helpless young women so. All of them had children of their own; some had daughters of about the same age as these girls. A number dismounted and went over to reassure them that they were now safe and that no harm would befall them. If the vigilance men had up to this point any qualms or misgivings about the massacre in which they had lately taken part, it wanted only the sight of those helpless children to dispel any such emotions.

  They moved gently among the girls, taking their own coats off and draping them around the shoulders of those who were in greater need of them than their owners. It was while engaged in this activity, that they stumbled, quite literally, across the youngster who had earlier been injured by the mine which Archie and Cutler had sprung. He was huddled on the muddy ground, in a fever, trembling violently as though he had the ague.

  When it became known that one of the bandits who had reduced the young girls to their pitiful state was still breathing, there were murmurs of anger and one or two men looked round to see if there might perhaps be a tree conveniently near at hand. Even in his distressed condition, and with only one eye to guide him, Juarez’s nephew was not about to die without a fight. He caught sight of Jack Carlton and pointed a quivering finger at him, crying, ‘Ask your fine friend about this. Who brought us our food? Who supplies powder and guns to such as us?’

  Despite his horror at discovering that one of those who had seen him come to the camp was still living, Carlton carried things off well enough. He said contemptuously, ‘You little snake, you won’t save your neck by telling a heap of foolish lies. You’ll answer for this! Slaving, indeed. I never heard the like and so close to our own town as well. I tell you, boy, it’s all up with you now.’

  A few of the men stirred uneasily and one or two looked sideways at Carlton in a curious fashion. There had on occasion been speculation about his not infrequent trips out into the wild with wagons laden with the Lord knew what. Perhaps sensing this, Carlton said, ‘I say we deal with this rogue, here and now. What say we hang him as soon as we find a tree?’

  ‘There’ll be no hanging of anybody today.’ Carlton looked round in astonishment to see who had spoken in such a calm and authoritative
manner and found himself facing a young man of perhaps twenty or twenty-five years of age.

  ‘Who the Deuce are you,’ asked Carlton, ‘to be laying down the law round here?’

  ‘I am the law,’ said Brent Cutler quietly.

  Unobtrusively, Archie Carmichael moved to the side of his young friend and laid his hand on the hilts of his pistol. He said, ‘I’d strongly recommend as you all hear what this fellow has to say.’

  ‘Who the devil are you?’ asked Jack Carlton in an ugly voice, staring at Cutler. ‘I don’t mind that I even know your face. You ain’t from hereabouts, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘I’m from the District Attorney’s office in Pharaoh. My name’s Brent Cutler. I’ve come to help your town make arrangements for proper law. There’ll be no more lynchings here.’

  Carlton had one last card to lay down. He said, ‘You’re the rascal who killed Ezra Stannard. We were warned about you. Truth is, some of us were looking to take care of you lately. What have you to say to that?’

  Without speaking, Cutler removed from inside his jacket the letters of authority given to him by his office in Pharaoh. He said, ‘You’re all welcome to examine these at your leisure when we get back to Greenhaven. Meantime, those poor girls look like they need warmth and food rather than us standing here disputing.’

  There was something so calm and assured about the young man’s manner, that none of those present really doubted that he was who and what he said he was. Some had met him in the bar of the Lucky Man not twelve hours since and knew that he had been vouched for by Archie. But as he had said, the first and most urgent priority was to get the poor girls to shelter before they caught their death of cold.

  At first, there was some doubt about the neatest and most humane means of transporting the frightened youngsters to town. Then somebody recollected the two wagons and four riders rode off to see if something might be effected in that direction. It proved possible to jury-rig harnesses to the wagons by lashing together the cut traces and supplementing them with pieces of their own tack. Somehow or other the matter was achieved and the girls led down from the hills to where the two wagons were waiting for them. At Cutler’s insistence, the wounded boy was also allowed to travel in this way.

  Their leader was dead and the Greenhaven safety committee was rudderless and adrift. There was now grave suspicion attached to Jack Carlton and, catching the general mood, he voluntarily withdrew himself to his store and hoped that things would die down. It was certain that there was no appetite to see him appointed to lead the vigilantes. Besides which, everybody felt instinctively that the day of the vigilance men had come to a natural end. Mark Seaton had held the group together by the force of his personality and without him, the remaining men were found to be biddable and not in the least degree averse to seeing a sheriff take over the job of maintaining order in their town. It would perhaps mean taxes of more than the current dollar a month, but that might be a small price to pay for not having to turn out at all hours to tackle crime or disorder.

  There was one final point which inclined the men of the town towards accepting tamely the imposition of a regular sheriff. Not all of them were as hot for the Lord as Seaton had been and nor were many of them total abstainers. It might be pleasant to have a bar open past ten at night or even, shocking as the thought had once been, to be able to sup ale on the Sabbath.

  Archie Carmichael stayed on in town for a few days to lend his own authority to the enterprise. He was not an educated man, but he surely had a fund of common sense. A few former members of the safety committee also offered their services in organizing the first election ever held in Greenhaven for a municipal post. The man who was voted in was a steady individual who folk reckoned would be up to the job.

  It was three weeks before Brent Cutler felt able to leave Greenhaven. He was growing increasingly worried about the horse which he had hired for just seven days in Fort James, wondering if there would be a warrant out for him for rustling by now. But he could not in all conscience have left the town any earlier; not until all the loose ends had been tied up. Letters had been despatched to the families of the girls they had rescued; the bodies of the fallen needed to be collected and there were various other trifling details, which Cutler felt duty-bound to perform. He was keenly aware that he himself had been the catalyst for most of the strange events which had occurred in and around Greenhaven. One minor detail he undertook personally was to turn loose the boy who had lost his eye. Cutler gave him ten dollars and wished him Godspeed. It would have sat ill with him to see such a young fellow dealt with harshly.

  On the day before he left the town to head back to Fort James and then pick up the railroad train to Pharaoh, Cutler took a turn round the place to bid one or two people farewell. He called first at the general store, where Jack Carlton was now spending every hour that God sent. He knew fine well that he had had a narrow escape and that any more of his mysterious trips out to the High Peaks would be most unwise. This meant that he was now wholly reliant for his income upon the store and this meant harder work. He no longer had the prestige of being a leading light of the safety committee either. When he saw Cutler entering the store he favoured him with a malevolent glare.

  ‘I just dropped by to let you know that I’m leaving town tomorrow, Mr Carlton,’ Cutler told him.

  ‘What’s that to me?’

  ‘Only this: you’ve been lucky. Let’s hope that you continue so.’ Without waiting for any reply, Cutler turned on his heel and left.

  Archie had already gone back to his peculiar cave home and Cutler wished that he might see the old fellow one last time. Howsoever, duty called and he really had to be getting back to the county seat. He had to pay well over the odds for the unauthorized use of the horse for the extra couple of weeks when he finally returned to Fort James.

  It was not until he was safely settled on the train to Pharaoh that Cutler really had time to sort out and order all his thoughts and impressions over the last three weeks. His father had been fully exonerated, at least to his own satisfaction. His mother and sisters would be glad to know that, at any rate. His feelings about Mark Seaton were complex and hard to understand. It was fairly certain that Seaton had believed his father to be guilty and that others had fabricated the evidence which led to his lynching. By the time he’d left Greenhaven, Cutler had picked up enough scraps of information to discover that Seaton had also been planning to see him lynched as well. Despite this, he could not find it in his heart to bear a grudge against the dead man. Seaton had lived an upright life, according to his own lights, and had probably done more good than ill.

  To his surprise and pleasure, the very same conductor was on the train as on the journey down to Fort James. The old man recognized Cutler and said, ‘Well, and how did you find it in Greenhaven? You enjoy yourself?’

  ‘I don’t know that I’d say exactly that I enjoyed myself, no,’ said Cutler, ‘but it was certainly a lively and interesting time.’

  ‘Lively?’ exclaimed the conductor, ‘lordy, the place must have changed somewhat since last I was there!’

  ‘I think that the changes are going to continue,’ said Cutler. ‘Leastways, I’m hopeful that that’ll be the case.’