Thick cigar smoke floated through the dining room of the Delmonico Hotel as John Treadwell spoke to his dinner guests. “I’m afraid this isn’t as elegant as the restaurants in Boston, but believe me, this hotel is the best that Dodge City has to offer.”
“The thick cut of the steaks make up for the lack of decor,” one of the men, a quite fat individual named Farber, said agreeably.
His companion, a Mr. Lyman, who was the exact physical opposite of the other, agreed. “We’re really enjoying this exposure to western life this journey has provided for us.”
The dining room was wallpapered with an ornate flowery design while various landscapes and cityscapes of European sites were hung on the walls in gilded frames. The floor was polished waxed slats, and the tables all had clean white cloths that were changed after each use. The establishment’s rustic elegance was evidenced by its excellent cuisine that was not cheap. Another sign of its frontier refinement was the sign at the entrance which stated: the chewing of tobacco is not permitted on the premises. This accounted for the absence of cuspidors in the dining area.
Various types of customers were dining throughout the room. The crowd consisted of local business men in suits and cravats sporting stickpins with imitation glass gems; ranchers in rustic homespun attire including heavy boots; and jaded traveling men in rumpled attire.
Treadwell dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I must confess that I’m happy the home office finally sent out someone to visit me. I thought I’d been forgotten.”
“Au contraire!” Lyman cheerfully replied. “We’ve been most pleased with your accomplishments out here, Treadwell, old man. And careful note as been taken of your efforts.”
“Indeed,” Farber added. “You’ve done admirably well in the acquisition of property for the bank. We had our annual charity ball a few weeks past and even Mr. Chamberlain made some favorable remarks about your achievements when the subject came up during the evening.”
Treadwell sighed. “How I wish to return to that life where one’s social activities offer so much pleasure and diversion, not to mention elegance.” He paused to cut off another piece of his steak. “And, of course, I should mention the many community charities that occupy one’s time outside of business hours.”
The directors of the Commerce Bank of Boston enjoyed a reputation for their philanthropic activities in that city. Outside their business offices they were paragons of virtue and decency, participating in civic and public projects in an unselfish and generous manner. Even their wives sat on various charitable committees in a genuine effort to help those less fortunate than themselves.
“You’ll be back with us someday, Treadwell,” Farber said. “As soon as all our objectives out here are met.”
“And from the way you’re handling things, that should be very soon,” his companion promised.
“I’m only delayed in one area,” Treadwell said. “That’s the Kiowa Flats. But, of course, I have the situation well in hand. It’s rather—shall we say—sensitive.”
“Ah! Farber exclaimed. “Not unlike the problems Witherson had on the Arkansas River farther east, I trust.”
“It’s almost exactly the same circumstances,” Treadwell said. “But I have a solution in progress.”
“One similar to the Arkansas situation, hey?” Lyman asked with a grin.
Treadwell nodded. “I’m handling this in the very same manner. The big difference here is that the property owners have gained access to funds that could thwart our aims.”
Farber was alarmed. “That’s very serious, Treadwell! It could lead to a set-back.”
“That is why I have employed some gentlemen that are capable of nipping certain types of problems in the bud. They are the reason I requested funds from the special account.”
Lyman took a sip of coffee. “An expeditious move on your part, Treadwell. That’s precisely what that money is for.”
“I had to make a concession to one of the parties on the Flats,” Treadwell said. “I granted an extension on that particular loan. But our temporary employees will deal with that in the proper manner as well.”
“Then you are sure things are in hand, right?” Farber asked.
“Of course,” Treadwell assured him. “Lorimer Jacks—“
“Oh, dear!” Lyman exclaimed. “We really don’t want to know any names, Treadwell.”
“Excuse me. I meant to say I have a trustworthy individual supervising our efforts in this endeavor. He is on the scene at this very moment.”
“Bravo, Treadwell!” Farber praised him. “Now! Let’s turn our attention back to these steaks.”
The three businessmen ate with gusto, their affairs organized and going well.
~*~
A brilliant moon eased across the dark prairie sky as Zachary Steuben did his turn at guard duty. After the long day in the saddle he stood at his post, thinking of Edna Lee and wondering if the baby had been born yet. And if so, how were the new mother and infant.
Zachary was tired. Not with the type of fatigue that comes from plowing and harvesting, instead it was an emotional weariness brought on by the activities of the previous few days. His mind had stood about as much mental stress as it could cope with. He wanted the blissful unconsciousness that deep sleep would bring.
Zachary fought it as best he could. He kept dozing off and catching himself. Now and then he would walk around the entire camp trying to shake the cobwebs that dimmed his wakefulness. Finally he sat down on his grounded saddle and unintentionally slipped into a deep slumber that lasted for nearly an hour.
The sound awoke up him with a start.
He opened his sleep-laden eyes and saw the figure of one of the Brethren of the Communal Faith approaching him. Instant fear activated Zachary’s sluggish muscles and he brought up the barrel of his .44 Smith and Wesson revolver and pumped off three panicky shots as fast as he could.
The intruder spun around as the first bullet hit him in the shoulder. The second flew off into the night, but the third round struck in the back of the head, and he toppled facedown to the ground.
Doss, Ben and Becky were out of their bedrolls in an instant. The men approached the scene with guns drawn. “What’s up, Zachary?” Doss asked.
“One of them religious crazies tried to sneak up on me,” Zachary replied, panting.
Becky appeared holding a burning brand from the campfire. They looked down at the dead man in the flickering light. Zachary screamed.
Buford Turnbull, his face almost blown away by the exiting bullet, lay in his own urine where he’d gone to relieve himself.
“No! No!” Zachary yelled. “It wasn’t Buford! It was one of them Brethren!”
Ben looked from the victim to Zachary. “You musta been sleeping and he woke you up. Either that or you was dreaming while you stood guard. Hell, I done that enough myself. O’course I never shot nobody.”
“Oh, dear God!” Zachary exclaimed as the awfulness of what had happened came to full realization.
“A real shame,” Ben remarked. “Now there’s two widders on the Flats.”
Becky turned to Doss and Zachary. “I pray there ain’t gonna be no more.”
Zachary broke out in heavy sobs, sinking slowly to his knees. He held his face in his hands as grief racked him,
~*~
Buford Turnbull was buried in a deep grave. His companions wrapped him tightly in blankets before gently lowering him to the bottom of the narrow excavation. Zachary sat off to one side, dazed and unresponsive to the others. As Doss packed Buford’s belongings, he motioned Ben to come over.
“What’s up?” Ben asked.
“When we get back to the Flats, we’re gonna say that Ed and Buford was both killed in that fight in the Injun Territory.”
Ben nodded. “That’s prob’ly a good idee. There ain’t no sense in having Missus Turnbull hating the Steubens when no good can come of it.” He looked over at Zachary. “Do you think he’ll go along with it? It appears to me that he might just break down and blab out ever’thing. I don’t think the kid’s had much experience with real trouble.”
“I’ll take care of Zachary,” Doss replied. “You just stick to that story.” He walked over to the younger man and squatted down beside him. “How’re you doing, Zachary?”
“How do you think?” Zachary replied sobbing.
“I been thinking on this,” Doss said. “It really wasn’t your fault. Buford shoulda spoke out or something before he went walking around in the dark.”
“It was my fault. I killed Buford Turnbull and that’s that.”
“Now don’t you take on so,” Doss said gently. “Sure it’s a terrible thing. Hell’s fire, ain’t nobody saying it ain’t. But it was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it.”
“O’course I didn’t. I wouldn’t’ve harmed Buford for the world.”
“Listen real careful, Zachary, ’cause what I’m gonna say is important,” Doss implored. He paused to make sure Zachary was giving him his full attention. “Buford was kilt with Ed at that gunfight with the Brethren. Got that?”
“He was not,” Zachary argued, missing the point. “He got killed here last night and I was the one who shot him.”
“Now, Zachary, there’s nothing to be gained in that line of thinking. It’ll only create hard feelings that won’t help nobody, understand? Buford was shot at the same time Ed was. They’re even buried side-by-side.”
“How can we tell Nora that? Suppose her and Elviry want us to go get ’em and bring ’em back to the Flats to bury in the churchyard?”
“There ain’t no way we could trace our steps back to their graves in this wide prairie country anyhow,” Doss replied. “And even we could, they wouldn’t be nothing but bones. So nobody’s gonna know there was a few days between the times they went to their Maker.”
“The truth’ll come out someday.”
“How? Ben and the gal will be gone. There ain’t gonna be nobody ’cept you and me that’ll know the real story. And if J.R. suddenly shows up, he won’t know the differ’nce either.”
“I ain’t sure of this.”
“Listen, Zachary, if what you done was so all-fired bad, how come I ain’t mad at you?”
Zachary was thoughtful for a moment. “But there’s two widder ladies on the Flats that ain’t got their men to look out for ’em. And there’s prob’ly a good chance it’ll be the same at the Dawkins farm.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Doss replied. “Nora Turnbull has got kids. The oldest are a boy seventeen and another’n thirteen. The oldest girl is already fifteen. They’re growed up enough to work now. And, as far as Elviry goes, there’s more’n one woman running her place with a hired hand or two. She can get help from us too. Don’t forget that ever’ family on the Flats is gonna be outta debt; free and clear with cash money to spare.”
“I suppose, Doss. It’s just that—“
The volley of shots whistled through the camp, some of the slugs kicking up dust around the campfire.
“Godamn!” Ben yelled. “It’s them Brethren again!”
Four horsemen galloped toward the camp as the three men and girl turned to meet them. The Brethren’s fire was highly inaccurate, and Ben managed to hit one of the riders, causing him to tumble from his saddle and crash to the earth. The man, although hurt, stood up and looked around dazed as he tried to orient himself. Ben’s second shot finished what the first had not.
Becky began loading the extra weapons. “I knowed they’d be back,” she cried out fearfully. “Elder Brother ain’t gonna rest ’til either him or us is all dead.”
“Good God!” Ben exclaimed. “There ain’t no cover around here a’tall.”
“They ain’t got any either,” Doss the ex-soldier pointed out.
“Yeah, but they can draw off outta range,” Ben reminded him. “We cain’t. Look out now! Here they come.”
A half dozen horsemen galloped in a semi-circle around the camp, shooting at the defenders. Ben yelled obscenities as he fired but failed to hit anyone.
“Where’s the rest of ’em?” Zachary asked.
His question was answered by the sudden pouring of heavy fire into their position from another direction. Although the Brethren couldn’t get close enough to aim accurately without exposing themselves, they made up in quantity what their shooting lacked in quality. Doss and the others didn’t dare raise their heads for fear of catching a bullet.
“We cain’t do nothing!” Zachary wailed.
“Oh, yeah,” Ben countered. “I’m getting the hell away even if I got to crawl all the way to Kansas.” He gingerly edged forward, keeping close to the ground. In a couple of minutes he covered some six yards before being spotted and driven back by a sudden increase in the incoming fire. “Whew!” he said. “Now, boys, this is what we mean by being pinned down.”
“Them son of a bitches must have a lot of ammunition,” Doss surmised. He looked around as best he could. “They’re working closer. I reckon they got us.”
“I knowed it,” Becky said. “Elder Brother’s got some power that helps him. I shouldn’t’a told Ben about that gold.”
“Let’s make a deal with ’em,” Doss suggested.
“Hell, no!” Ben growled. “I’ll die before I give up my cash money.”
“That’s exactly what’ll happen to you too,” Doss said. “Maybe we got a chance by giving up.”
“Don’t do it, Mr. Kearns,” Becky warned him. “Elder Brother’ll kill you either way.”
“Then let’s die fighting,” Ben said.
“Hell, why talk about getting kilt?” Doss said. “Maybe we can fight our way out of here after all.”
“Sure we can,” Zachary said hopefully.
Ben laughed bitterly. “Sure, boys, and pigs can fly.”
Once again the fusillades from the Brethren increased, forcing them closer to the ground. The experience became so overwhelming they didn’t notice the horsemen until they were right on top of them.
The Brethren leaped from the saddles and a brief scuffle broke out as the other attackers lifted their fire. Ben fought desperately with punches and kicks, but three opponents finally dragged him to the ground. They quieted his final struggles with bruising blows from rifle butts.
Doss managed to get to his feet and held his clubbed carbine ready to bash in some skulls. But he saw it was useless and lowered the weapon. It was immediately snatched from his grasp.
Zachary never had a chance. He was pinned down in the dirt, completely unable to fight back.
When Ben was pulled to his feet, he laughed scornfully at the Brethren. “It looks like you fellers finally put some thought to your fighting.”
Now, with the Kiowa Flats group disarmed and holding up their hands, the Brethren stepped back. One came forward and slapped Becky’s face hard. “Scarlet bitch of shame!” he yelled. “You’ll pay dearly for your sins.”
Elder Brother and Deacon Daniel rode up to the group. The Brethren’s leader glared down at the prisoners. “You now have reason to tremble in terrible anticipation. The wrath of God is about to descend on your evil souls. You’ll know the Devil in hell as does your companion who has already fallen into our hands.”
“He’s talking about that feller Dawkins,” Deacon Daniel said to the prisoners. “We hung him right after we fought you in the Injun Territory.”
“Oh, Lord,” Zachary moaned.
“He’s still hanging from a cottonwood,” Deacon Daniel continued. “But from the way the sun’s been shining so hot lately, I’d say he was mighty ripe about now.”
“And you shall all swing with his rotted corpse,” Elder Brother promised. He gestured to his followers. “Bind the Outsiders!”
As Doss was being trussed up, he looked at Elder Brother. “How about letting a feller say something?”
“You want to speak, Outsider?”
“I’d like to say something; yeah.”
“Say your piece,” Elder Brother said. “I am curious as to what words a bandit and murderer would choose as he faces justice for his merciless crimes.”
As Doss spoke, the Brethren searched the saddlebags, getting the money out. “No matter what you think, we ain’t outlaws. We’re farmers from up in Kansas and that’s a fact. A slick-talking banker worked things around so that he was gonna take over our land if we didn’t pay off the notes he had on us. We couldn’t settle the debt, and it looked like we was about to lose ever’thing. We heard about your gold and wrong as it was, we robbed y’all so that we could save our farms.”
“Most touching,” Elder Brother said sarcastically.
“We heard the same story from the man we hung,” Deacon Daniel growled.
Elder Brother, added, “And in the attempt to save your property, you sacrificed the blood of my people.”
“I’ll take the blame for the stealing but not the killing,” Doss said. He looked at Ben. “He can own up to you for what he done. But why don’t you turn young Zachary here loose? He was just following along on what us older’uns decided. He has a wife and prob’ly a new baby by now too. And the girl here. You cain’t harm a woman, for God’s sake.”
Elder Brother pointed to Ben. “And you, Slayer of the Faithful, what have you to say?”
“Go to hell, you son of a bitch,” Ben snarled. “With half a chance I’ll blow your godamn head off!”
Elder Brother urged his horse forward to where Ben stood with his arms tightly bound. The cult leader kicked out catching him full in the chest. Ben stumbled back a couple of steps before falling to the ground with the breath knocked out of him.
“We shall waste no more time,” Elder Brother said. “We go now to where the other Outsider is waiting for his companions to join him in hell.”
Zachary trembled, saying, “You mean you’re gonna hang us?”
“Exactly, young man,” Elder Brother replied. “And you had better pray that God shows you more mercy than I when your immortal soul passes before him on Judgment Day.”
“Hey!” Deacon Daniel exclaimed. “There’s two of ’em missing.”
Doss spoke up. “You kilt him during the first fight we had.”
“Sir,” Zachary spoke up, “I shot the other’n last night. I was trying to talk ever’body into giving you back your cash money. But they wouldn’t. And this other’n tried to kill me. So I shot him. I wanted to give your cash money back to you, don’t you understand?”
“Oh, Zachary!” Doss moaned in disappointment.
Zachary persisted in his lie. “I knowed this thing was all wrong. I told ’em so. But I’m just a kid, see?”
“Shut your lying mouth!” Elder Brother yelled in fury. “Isn’t there supposed to be honor among thieves? You cannot even live up to your own code of evil and destruction.” He turned to the trembling Becky. “And as for you, we’ll take you back to Colorado where the women will stone you to death as a harlot and traitor to the True Word of God.”