The Vigilance Man Page 8

  ‘There’s a storm coming,’ said Jack Carlton.

  In the strange home of the old man called Archie, Brent Cutler listened to the wind picking up outside. He said, ‘You must be pretty well proof against all kinds of weather in here?’

  ‘You got that right, boy,’ said the old man. ‘Nary a drop o’ rain nor so much as a breath of wind ever get in here. Warm in the winter and cool in the summer, into the bargain.’

  ‘They say folks long ago used to live so, meaning in caves and suchlike.’

  ‘So I heard. We best talk of the morning. You don’t want to start telling all the world and his brother your name and business when we reach town, you hear what I’m tellin’ you? Put yourself and me both in hazard.’

  ‘I’m not sure of the best way to approach things,’ said Cutler slowly, ‘but whatever way it falls, I’ll take care not to bring you into the business.’

  ‘Huh! I’m old enough to take care of my own self. You’re little more than a boy; you’ll get ate up alive if you don’t take care.’

  ‘I have a job to do. More than that, I have a crow to pluck with that Mark Seaton. I didn’t realize until you told me one or two things, that I might already know the man. I can’t rest easy ’til I’ve looked into this and figured out all the angles. But it’s my affair and I’ll not drag anybody else into it.’

  CHAPTER 8

  The comancheros now found themselves in a grim and unenviable position. When the riders returned, it was to find their comrades hastening back from their search on foot and wondering what all the shooting might portend.

  The deaths of two of their number was sad, but it confirmed absolutely, at least in their own minds, that the earlier attack on their camp had indeed been the work of the vigilantes. Juarez, whose nephew had been injured in the earlier attack on their camp, said, ‘It is, without the shadow of a doubt, the work of those bastards from Greenhaven.’ There was little point in haring off after the men now, not without first setting down together and figuring out a plan of campaign. In the meantime, they surveyed the wreckage of their possessions.

  The three wagons in which they had proposed to move the girls south to the border had been reduced to piles of charred ashes. A similar fate had befallen the harnesses, rifles and other gear, which had been stowed nearby. They had also suffered casualties and in addition to these misfortunes, were almost out of money due to the large sum which had changed hands a few hours ago in order for them to acquire the eleven girls.

  The men took counsel among themselves, hoping to mitigate in some way the disaster which had befallen them. The girls whom they now had charge of were even younger than they had been led to believe. In fact two were just fourteen years of age; three of them were fifteen and none of the others above eighteen. Anybody who caught a glimpse of these fresh young white girls in the company of swarthy bandits such as them would fully apprehend the situation at once. Anybody who guessed that white slavers were in their area would be certain-sure to raise the alarm. Getting their cargo to the Rio Grande on foot was hardly to be thought of, even if they travelled by night. Long before the sixty-mile journey was completed, they would find themselves fighting for their lives against soldiers or vigilantes and such an encounter would most likely end with every mother’s son of them hanging from trees.

  It was Juarez who came up with the scheme which might, as the saying went, enable them to pull the meat from the fire without burning their fingers. He said, ‘We owe the men of Greenhaven a bad turn for their work this night. We need wagons too, to carry these,’ he gestured at the girls, ‘to Mexico, without their being seen. The answer is clear enough.’

  ‘Tell us then, brother!’ said one of the men, who was not overly pleased to see Juarez setting himself up as their captain.

  ‘Why, the matter is simplicity itself. To speak plainly, we descend upon that town tomorrow night and set it to the torch. Then, while those who live there are racing back and forth like headless chickens, trying to save their families and houses, we take the wagons that we need.’

  There was dead silence after Juarez had spoken, as sixteen violent and ruthless men worked the idea over in their minds, looking for any way that it might bring about their own deaths. They saw none. True, one or two of them might fall if there was gunplay, but that was no more than the fortunes of war. They had, once before, had occasion to burn a village and that had gone well enough. The towns hereabouts were built almost entirely of wood and blazed merrily once a fire was kindled against their walls.

  Since there were no dissenting voices, it was accepted that this would be the course of action. There seemed little else that could be done other than cutting their losses and abandoning the girls, hoping perhaps to take down a mail coach on the road to gain a little capital. Set against this was that by doing as Juarez suggested, they would be showing that they were men who were not to be injured and killed with impunity. The character of helpless victim was one which sat ill with these men. At the very least, they would have to revenge themselves upon those who had harmed their interests so wantonly.

  The following day dawned sullen and dark, with the leaden skies holding a promise of rain to come. Archie was up and about early, as was his wont. He chaffed Cutler when the young man showed no signs of stirring before seven, saying, ‘You ain’t working in some fancy office now, boy. There’ll be no fine carriage to take you to work, neither. You want to get to town with me, then you best bestir yourself and wash. I dare say you’ll be wanting coffee and vittles too, afore we set out.’

  ‘We’re leaving at once?’ asked Brent Cutler groggily. ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘Hurry is that the day’s half worn away and I got a heap of things need doing,’ replied the old man tartly. ‘Now just move yourself.’

  After they had made a good breakfast, Archie lit his pipe and said in a conversational tone of voice, ‘You riding the vengeance trail?’

  The direct question was unexpected and for a second or two, Cutler hardly knew how to answer. He said finally, ‘What makes you to think so?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Archie, a satisfied smile on his face, ‘I thought so. Man answers your question with one of his own, you can take oath as he’s something to hide.’

  Cutler thought this over for a few seconds before saying slowly, ‘I don’t know what put it into your mind to ask about this, but no. I don’t think I’m seeking vengeance. Looking for answers to one or two questions, maybe.’

  ‘Just as I thought. There’s more to this than a business transaction.’

  Although he had not fully untangled the threads, even in his own mind, it seemed to Cutler that it might not be a bad idea to share with this strange man what he now knew. Haltingly, because the pain of what had happened those twelve years ago was still as fresh and raw as ever, he told Archie about the lynching of his father. When he had finished his narrative, during the whole course of which the other man had not once interrupted him, Cutler said, ‘When I read the documents on this trip and saw the name Seaton, it half brought something to mind, though I couldn’t have said what. Then when you told me about this marshal who was killed, everything fitted neatly together.’

  ‘Yes, it weren’t hard to calculate that something was going through your mind when you asked if I could recollect the name of the town where that occurred.’

  The two of them sat there in companionable silence, the old man sucking on his pipe. At length, Cutler asked, ‘What can you tell me about Seaton? Do you think he would have lynched a man he knew to be innocent?’

  ‘Not when I knew him well, no. But men change over the years. I couldn’t answer for his character these days. He was always a stiff-necked beggar, worrying about his neighbour’s sins more than his own.’

  There didn’t appear to be much else to say and so they saddled up their horses and set off west towards Greenhaven.

  It was disturbing to Mark Seaton that the representative from the District Attorney’s office had still not shown up yet. He was hoping
that some misfortune had befallen the fellow on the road, but still inwardly fretting that at any moment a stranger would fetch up and announce to all the town who he was and what he had come for. It would have eased Seaton’s mind to have taken this Cutler on the road and disposed of him out of sight of the town. He was not sure that once people had spoken to and broken bread with the man, that they would countenance his summary execution. It was a real conundrum.

  As a rule, folk in Greenhaven were bright and cheerful early on a May morning, but today it was as though a cloud hung over the town. The deaths of four citizens in less than forty-eight hours had had a bad effect upon the place. The weather didn’t help matters, either. Rain had been expected the previous night, but it hadn’t arrived. Judging from the roiling black thunderclouds up towards the High Peaks, though, it wouldn’t be long before there was a regular downpour.

  As he trotted his horse along Main Street, Seaton scarcely noticed a white-haired old man, accompanied by a younger man who was smartly and soberly dressed. He had more important things on his mind that scrutinizing every passing stranger. Had he looked closer, he might have realized that he had at one time known the old man pretty well.

  ‘Yonder’s Seaton,’ said Archie, ‘him coming along now on that grey mare.’

  Cutler observed closely the man thus indicated and felt an electric shock of recognition run through him when he looked at the man’s face. He was instantly transported back to that terrible night in his childhood when he had witnessed the death of his father. ‘I recognize him,’ he said in a soft undertone to the man walking at his side. ‘Mother of God, I recall him now as though it had been yesterday. It was he that organized my father’s death.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ said Archie. ‘There’s no point in tipping your hand, leastways not ’til you know what you aim to do.’

  ‘As to that, I hardly know myself.’

  ‘Want some advice?’

  ‘I’d be right glad of it.’

  ‘Then here it is. Don’t go racing after Seaton right now and making a ruckus. Let folk here in town see you and get your measure. That way, if there’s any talk o’ just tucking you quietly out of the way, maybe people won’t wear it, if you follow me. You won’t be some stranger who can be bundled off in the wilderness and silenced.’

  *

  Although it wouldn’t do to let others see it, Juarez felt terrible about the blinding and disfigurement of his nephew. He had always taken an interest in the boy and acted as his protector. Now, while the youngster was in his own care, he had lost one eye and had his handsome face torn open in half a dozen places as well. Now that day had broken, it was possible to assess the full extent of the boy’s injuries and they did not look at all good. In truth, he needed the services of a doctor, but that was unthinkable at the moment. They would just have to hope and pray that none of the wounds became poisonous. A wave of fury swept through the bandit as he thought about the actions of those vigilantes. The two men who had been shot dead last night were one thing. This had been a fair fight and they had fallen in battle. The raid on the camp, though, that was something else again; a cowardly and unmanly piece of work.

  The boy was sleeping fitfully and Juarez found himself unable to take his eyes off that terrible, empty eye socket. Well, he would see that this injury was amply recompensed in blood and fire. It might not restore sight to his sister’s son’s eye, but it would make Juarez himself feel a whole lot better.

  Juarez strolled over to three of the men who were sitting smoking and glaring around them moodily. He said, ‘We need a man to stay here and set a watch on the women.’ None of the three looked at all enthusiastic about undertaking such a task and one of them hawked and spat.

  This man looked up at Juarez and said, ‘You’re taking a lot upon yourself, my friend. “You” need a man? Are you our captain?’

  ‘By no means. But we all want to get the wherewithal to take those girls over into Chihauhau, is it not so?’

  ‘It might be so. But I’ll be damned if I stay here when we ride tonight.’

  Every one of the men whose views he canvassed expressed the same opinion as that first. Not one of them, even the young fellow of seventeen, would consent to remain in the camp while the others set off to burn down the town. In the end, there was nothing for it but to dragoon his nephew into undertaking the guard duty. In a way, it made sense, because the lad would certainly be no manner of use to them; he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

  The girls were getting fidgety and restless, wanting to know when they’d be getting to town. Some of them, chiefly the younger ones, still believed that they would be acting on a stage or, at the very least, dancing in some kind of cabaret show or musical theatre. They were impatient to reap all the supposed benefits of their new careers: the fine clothes, money to spend, admiring beaux and all the rest of it. Tempers were fraying and their latest guardians had little time for this nonsense, telling the young women that there were worse things than being stuck up in the hills with no shelter. This sounded so ominous, that even the brightest and liveliest of the girls felt disinclined to ask just what was meant by this. By the end of the day, all but one or two had correctly divined that they would have been better off had they stayed in their dull homes and resisted the lure of the fine lifestyle being dangled before them by the men who had recruited them from the farms of Montana and Nebraska.

  The plan that Juarez formulated with his comrades during the day was a simple one which, properly executed, might prove devastatingly effective. After dark, the fifteen men would ride down to Greenhaven. They would not approach the town as one body of horsemen – such a proceeding being likely to arouse the liveliest suspicions among those who saw them. Comancheros were not the most popular of men in those parts and the sight of fifteen riding into a town would almost certainly draw forth the vigilantes to see what they were about.

  Once they were on the outskirts of the town, the men would scout round and locate some handy wagons, such as might be driven off in a hurry. The most likely spot for acquiring such vehicles would be the livery stable. While some were doing this, others would be preparing to raise a dozen fires simultaneously at many different places, including commercial premises and domestic dwelling houses. In the ensuing panic, with everybody fighting furiously to prevent the whole, entire town from being burned to the ground, it should be easy enough to harness up the wagons and take them, using stolen horses to draw them.

  The great drawback in this scheme was of course falling foul of the vigilance men. However, they too would be too busy saving the town to think of forming up a posse or anything of that sort. Or so at least Juarez and the others hoped.

  It was drawing near to the time, thought Brent Cutler regretfully, that he and Archie would be parting. He didn’t know what business the other had in town, but it would presumably be better conducted without his being present. After they had seen Mark Seaton ride by, Cutler said, ‘I suppose here is where we part company?’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I thought you’d private business here?’

  Archie looked at him sideways and said, ‘You’re a green young thing. It wouldn’t sit easy with me to abandon you here. You want that we stay together for the day, I’m agreeable.’

  Relief flooded through the young lawyer and he began to express this in words, only to be cut short in the most irritable way by the older man. ‘Yes, yes. There’s no need to get all flowery. You got money for a hotel room?’

  ‘I have money to disburse for accommodation. Is there a hotel in this town?’

  ‘Money to disburse for accommodation! Lord, you sound like a dictionary. They let rooms over the Lucky Man. Used to have a whorehouse above the saloon, but Seaton put paid to that. Come on, I’ll show you the way.’

  The barkeep at the Lucky Man was only too pleased to rent two rooms for the night. It was a rare enough occurrence. Cutler tried to pay for Archie’s room, as well as his own, but this offer was brusquely refused:
‘I ain’t yet in need o’ charity from any man!’

  Archie went off to see whoever he had come to town to deal with, reminding Cutler that it would be no bad thing for him to make himself agreeable to those he met. The young man wandered round Greenhaven, trying to get a feel for the town. It seemed a steady and reliable kind of place and for all that he was there to overturn their current arrangements for the maintenance of good order, he was forced to concede that whatever they were doing appeared to be working well enough. In the course of his perambulations, he took good care to be as pleasant and good natured as he could be, ensuring that those whom he encountered were favourably impressed with him and not likely subsequently to think him a dangerous villain fit only to be hanged.

  The next day, having established himself a little, he would call on Seaton and lay his cards on the table. It was a pity that there was no telegraph office in the town, or he could perhaps have sought advice from his boss. The fact that Archie was apparently determined to stay with him and support him was a source of great comfort, though; almost like having an older relative near to hand.

  Despite the four deaths, life in Greenhaven went on that day much as usual. Any death is regrettable, but life continues and already other concerns were pressing the average citizen of the town; such things as earning a living, providing for one’s children, dealing with creditors, putting food on the table, keeping a roof overhead and the hundred and one other normal, everyday worries. By nightfall, the battle with the comancheros and murder of two men by a dangerous confidence trickster were no longer in the forefront of most people’s minds.

  Although he wasn’t himself a total abstainer from intoxicating liquor, Cutler seldom drank and had only once or twice seen the inside of a saloon, preferring books to whiskey and beer. That evening, though, Archie talked him into visiting the bar at the Lucky Man. ‘The more men as see you and judge for themselves how likely you are to be a killer, the better it will be when you beard Seaton in his lair,’ was the way in which he expressed this. So, with considerable reluctance, Brent Cutler found himself that evening supping a glass of porter in the crowded barroom.