Their conversation was cut short as townsfolk arrived for the start of the meeting.

  Mayor Baker began proceedings with a short address that outlined the council’s vision for the future of the town. If it was to thrive, he told the assembly, then it must be prepared to embrace the changes that would surely follow as Texas strived for reconstruction after the defeat of the Confederacy.

  ‘It is our desire,’ he informed his audience in stentorian tones, ‘to promote Mortimer so that it becomes a major player in this state in the years ahead. To that end, we,’ and at that point he spread his arms to include the Templeton brothers and Oliver Calloway, ‘have held discussions with Mr Cartwright,’ this time he indicated the man on his left who was a stranger to everyone else in the room, ‘a representative of the railroad company who intend to lay tracks about a hundred miles north of here.’

  There were murmurs of interest among those gathered although no one could fathom why the building of a railroad so far to the north could affect their town.

  ‘Through the good offices of Mr Cartwright,’ he continued, ‘we have an opportunity to establish a spur line to Mortimer. Not only will that give us the speediest possible access to all points east and west, but it will attract new people and new business, which will establish our town as one of the most modern and forward-thinking in the entire state.’

  The chatter among the audience grew louder. Mayor Baker raised his arms in an appeal for silence.

  ‘Of course,’ following the tone of achievement in which his words had so far been uttered he now adopted a deeper, more serious note, ‘there is a cost to be paid up front before the future benefits can be achieved.’

  ‘A cost?’ someone called. ‘You mean we have to pay them to come here?’

  ‘We’ll have to pay a portion of the costs. The railroad has limited resources; finance has to be raised for every portion of track and, of course, building a spur line can cause a delay to the main project. Time is money, friends, and the railroad is being built to a tight schedule. Theirs is a continental enterprise on to which we are hoping to attach ourselves. The profit in terms of the town’s growth and stature will be, ultimately, worth the investment.’

  ‘How much will the investment be?’ The speaker was John Stewart who produced the weekly newspaper.

  ‘Fifty per cent.’

  Mayor Baker’s reply was spoken as though the amount was no more than the cost of two shots of whiskey at the Rose of Texas, but it brought gasps of astonishment from some of the men in the room. When John Stewart spoke his words reflected the view of the assembly.

  ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  ‘We don’t have to find it all immediately,’ the mayor replied, which elicited a few laughs, none of which were laced with humour. ‘A figure of two hundred thousand dollars has been agreed in the first instance, the rest to be paid either in cash, goods or services as the work progresses. It’s a good deal.’

  Henry Sutton, who had been one of the last to arrive following the attention he’d needed to give to his daughter’s welfare, pushed his way forward.

  ‘And how do you hope to raise two hundred thousand dollars?’

  ‘The town has money that has been levied in taxes. With the permission of this meeting we will use some of that and raise the rest by individual subscription. To convince you of the worthiness of this enterprise both Mr Curt Templeton and Mr Joel Templeton are prepared to make a large donation to the cause, as am I, and Mr Calloway is actively seeking the support of the bank.’

  Dropping names had the desired effect; those seated at the table could see heads nodding in conversation with their neighbours and although there was no outcry of support the mood was definitely in favour of the proposal. Only Henry Sutton seemed doubtful and when the mayor added that he was seeking donations from other landowners and businessmen, Henry asked what benefit there was for him.

  ‘It’s all well and good being public spirited,’ he said, ‘but you’re asking for money that I’ve earned and I don’t see that there is any profit in it. I don’t intend to go travelling either east or west; there’s enough work on my spread to keep me busy until the angel’s trumpet sounds.’

  A few people laughed, one or two were interested to hear Mayor Baker’s reply but it was Curt Templeton who spoke.

  ‘Henry, you’re running a huge herd these days and it takes you and a handful of men several weeks to get your cattle to market. If, instead, you were able to load them on to a train here in Mortimer you’d save all that time away from the ranch, save yourself the overhead of extra crew for the drive and you’d be able to send them to the best-paying markets in the country. Joel and I have studied on this, Henry, and we’re fully in favour of the scheme.’

  Henry Sutton knew the Templeton brothers to be careful and successful businessmen, so he acknowledged that if they approved it was probably a good idea.

  Mayor Baker was talking again, telling them of the threat from Gatling and the need to act quickly. His words were backed up by Thomas Cartwright, who spoke to the meeting for the first time.

  ‘I’ve only been in your town a short while,’ he began, speaking slowly and clearly like a practised orator, ‘and I like what I see. I agree with your mayor and your prominent citizens: this is a good town with a vitality that deserves to be rewarded. Put the bad days of the war behind you and look to the future. As Mayor Baker has told you, you are now in a race with another town to win the only spur line that will be laid in this part of Texas and you must act with all urgency. I say that not just because of the competition from Gatling, but because of the events of this morning. I’m talking about the slaughter on your main street and the death of your appointed law officer.

  ‘I know that there are good people in this town; however the decision-makers of the railroad will not take that into account. If news reaches them that this is a violent, lawless community they will be reluctant to lay their lines here. So I urge you, if you want your town to be a vibrant part of the new Texas, then act immediately. In the next few hours gather up every cent that can be spared and I’ll set out on the evening coach. In five days I’ll put it in the hands of the railroad treasurer, thereby ensuring a great future for Mortimer.’

  A few men cheered at the end of Cartwright’s speech and there was a great deal of grinning and back-slapping, as though each of them had just inherited a gold mine. Mayor Baker announced himself available to receive individual subscriptions, adding that each donation would be recorded and repaid when the town had sufficient funds to reimburse the donors, whose names would be inscribed on a roll of honour to ensure that they were remembered by future generations.

  A show of hands was all that was necessary for the mayor’s proposal to be accepted and soon the process of collecting donations began. Thomas Cartwright returned to the seclusion of his hotel room where he intended to wait until the collection was delivered to him. A target amount had been abandoned; he was content to take as much as the town could raise within the next few hours. Quitting Mortimer was now imperative, not only before his status as a representative of the Transcontinental Railroad Company came under greater scrutiny, but also before he was identified as Courtney Farraday, wanted by the Texas Rangers as the perpetrator of a similar swindle near the Louisiana border some months earlier.

  As he and Sol Barclay took the back route from the courthouse to the hotel he issued orders that would help them to elude pursuit once they were clear of the town.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Henry Sutton had acquired a room for his daughter at the Hotel of the Republic he’d chased away Dave Champion so that Sammy could rest and compose herself. The young lad had wandered around hoping to fall in with some people of his own age but, as most people were heading for the courthouse, the main street had become a quiet and lonely place. Then he saw Charlie Jefferson standing on the veranda outside the Rose of Texas and ran across to join him.

  ‘Gee, Mr Jefferson,’ he began, ‘that was some shooting. Who were those men?’ Before Charlie could answer that question Dave posed another. ‘Were you surprised when Sammy rode between you and those gunmen?’

  Charlie nodded; yes, he had been surprised but he still wasn’t clear in his mind whether he was angry with the girl for such reckless behaviour or just grateful that her unexpected intervention had saved his life. The latter, of course, was true regardless of the former, he was conscious of the fact that it had been an act of outstanding bravery, but couldn’t understand why she had done it; they barely knew each other, had exchanged nothing more than a handful of words.

  Dave was talking, explaining how Sammy had tried to persuade other bystanders to intervene when it had become clear that there were no shells in Charlie’s gun. Then, when the sheriff got shot, without another word she’d leapt into her saddle and galloped up the street.

  ‘We thought she’d been hit when her horse reared and she fell to the ground,’ Dave confided, ‘but it turned out to be a ploy to get her rifle to you.’

  ‘She was very brave,’ said Charlie.

  Dave seemed to take Charlie’s words as a criticism. ‘I suppose I should have been the one to intervene,’ he said. ‘It was wrong to leave it to a girl.’

  Charlie rubbed Dave’s hair. ‘No. It wasn’t your fight and, grateful as I am for what she did, I’m just pleased that Miss Sutton came to no worse harm than a bruising from the fall.’

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Charlie said he was looking for a barber shop but everywhere seemed to be closed for business.

  ‘Everyone’s at the town meeting, I suppose,’ Dave informed him, ‘but Mr Clarke’s shop is on the next block. He should be back shortly. He has a bath-house out back, too.’

  Promising himself a later visit to Mr Clarke’s shop, Charlie walked with Dave down to the stretch of ground along the riverbank where the events were scheduled to take place. Dave wanted to know if Charlie was going to enter any of the competitions or races, and when Charlie realized that there were money prizes to be won he was tempted, but a fee was required to enter and he couldn’t risk any of the small amount of money that remained in his pocket.

  By the time they’d navigated the fête area and discovered that there were to be foot races, horse races, prizefighting, rifle shooting, pie and cake stalls and a dozen other events, Charlie’s stomach was grumbling. Little food had come his way since the plate of stew he’d been served at the stage station the previous day. When he and Dave returned to the main street the groups of men dotted here and there along the boardwalks bore testimony to the fact that the meeting at the courthouse had concluded. One or two heads turned in Charlie’s direction as he passed and he knew that those who had witnessed the earlier incident on the street were pointing him out to those who had not. He thought he recognized a couple of cowboys from the Sutton place, especially one wearing a red shirt and a long moustache who, yesterday, had kicked at a rock in the ground as though uninterested in Charlie’s plea for information. Now he leant against a rail and tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes while his companions openly watched Charlie’s progress towards the barber’s shop.

  Zeke Clarke, like every other barber whose chair Charlie had sat in, never stopped talking. He’d ask a question but would seldom wait for an answer, streaming out words that might or might not have relevance to his chosen topic.

  ‘Are you just here for the celebration? I’ve been here seven years now. It’s a good town, thriving, and a railroad link would be a great thing. Yessir, I can see the advantage. What about you, are you in favour? Of course, generating money to pay for it isn’t going to be easy. Dustin Baker may have dreams and plans for Mortimer but I didn’t hear how it’s going to be paid for other than by public contribution. I may be busy but I don’t make a lot of profit from a fifty-cent haircut.’

  Charlie didn’t know what the barber was talking about but it didn’t seem as though an opinion was required. So, between Zeke Clarke’s chatter, the increasingly wearisome sound of Dave Champion’s pipe and the general fatigue by which Charlie was beset, he was almost asleep as Zeke’s razor scraped over his jaw.

  ‘Are you Charlie Jefferson?’

  The voice was loud, but strangely it carried no hint of threat. Still, it startled both the barber and his customer. Zeke Clarke, turning to identify the man in the doorway deftly lifted his razor away from Charlie’s throat, while Charlie’s eyes opened but he had to wait a few moments until the man had shuffled his way into a position where his face could be seen in the mirror.

  He was a big man, more than six feet high and wide and round, like an overgrown child with puppy fat that had never been shed. He was wearing grubby canvas trousers, a grey shirt and a once-white, wide-brimmed Stetson with a high crown. A badge was pinned to his shirt pocket. In his left hand he held a slip of paper.

  ‘Charlie Jefferson?’ he enquired again.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I’m Horry Blackstone. I’m Sheriff Agnew’s deputy. That is, I was his deputy. Part-time deputy, he called on me when he needed help.’

  Charlie guessed that Sheriff Agnew hadn’t called on him often or for anything important.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked.

  Horry Blackstone shuffled his feet and tried to put some authority into his voice when he spoke.

  ‘You can tell me what all that shooting was about earlier and why Sheriff Agnew got killed.’

  ‘I would help you if I could, Deputy, but I didn’t know the men who attacked me.’

  ‘You didn’t know them?’ Horry found Charlie’s statement difficult to believe.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor why they attacked you?’

  ‘It could be because of a man called Farraday. His name was on the lips of a dying man out on the Sutton range and it was the name uttered by the prisoner who was killed in the jailhouse last night. Do you know anyone called Farraday?’

  At that moment, the room seemed to darken, as though someone else had taken up a position in the doorway thereby preventing the sun from doing its job, but the doorway wasn’t directly behind Charlie, it was at an angle beyond the scope of the mirror. Charlie assumed that it was another customer but for the moment he was more interested in hearing Horry Blackstone’s answer.

  It was no surprise to learn that the deputy didn’t know anyone in Mortimer by the name of Farraday, Charlie had thought it unlikely that the gauche fellow would know more people than the sheriff. Charlie turned his attention to the barber but he, too, shook his head. If Farraday was in Mortimer, Charlie decided, he wasn’t making any impression on its citizens. When he got the chance he turned his head to ask the newcomer if he was familiar with the name, but there was no one else in the room. Horry raised the piece of paper he was carrying.

  ‘This telegraph message came for the sheriff from Fort Smith. It says you were employed by the military as a special agent.’

  ‘That’s not information you should be announcing in a public place,’ Charlie told him. ‘You’re the head lawman in Mortimer now; you’ll have to learn to keep secrets.’

  Those words flustered Horry. It was clear from his expression that he doubted his ability to carry out the most menial of duties; being head lawman was way beyond his capabilities.

  ‘I wondered why the sheriff was checking up on you,’ he said, guilelessly.

  ‘Perhaps he checked up on everyone who came to town so that he could keep an eye on troublemakers.’

  Horry Blackmore considered Charlie’s explanation and accepted it. ‘I don’t suppose he would have kept you in jail if he’d got this information last night.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Charlie. ‘I hope that means that you’re not going to put me back there because of the killings this morning.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ asked Horry. ‘You killed the men who killed the sheriff.’

  Zeke Clarke cleared the remaining foam from Charlie’s face and pointed the way to the bath-house. As Charlie reached in his pocket for some coins he glanced out of the window to where Dave Champion still waited, but the lad was no longer playing his pipe because he had company. The cowboy with the moustache, the one Charlie thought he’d seen at the Sutton ranch, was talking to Dave. It didn’t seem unlikely that they would know each other, they might even have travelled from the Sutton ranch together that morning. Suddenly, the cowboy flipped a small coin in a high loop towards Dave; then, without a backward glance, set off across the street towards one of the now busy saloons.

  Half an hour later, having almost fallen asleep in the warm water and afterwards having tarred the dust out of the only clothes he possessed, Charlie stepped on to the street almost refreshed, almost tidy, certainly hungry. Dave Champion stopped piping so that he could greet him.

  ‘I’ve got a message for you, Mr Jefferson.’

  Charlie was surprised to find himself hoping the answer would be Samantha Sutton when he asked who it was from.

  ‘I don’t know his name. A man gave me a dime to tell you he had the information you wanted.’

  Charlie recalled the cowboy with the moustache flipping a coin to Dave and, when asked, Dave confirmed that he was the one who had sent the message, but he didn’t think he worked for Henry Sutton. ‘He’s a stranger in town.’

  ‘Are you sure the message is for me?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘Of course. He asked your name, said he’d seen us together earlier.’

  Charlie knew that that was true, although the man had feigned unconcern, he hadn’t fooled Charlie.

  ‘What’s the message?’

  ‘He wants to meet you at the livery stable. He said to wait until the horse races had begun along the riverside.’

  Charlie wondered if the cowboy was the man called Farraday and if he would be walking into a trap if he went to Gus Brewer’s stable. After paying Dave, Charlie had seen the man cross the street to the Double Diamond. Perhaps he was still there and perhaps it would be to Charlie’s advantage to take the initiative. He slid his pistol out of its holster, checked that each chamber was loaded, then left the boardwalk and took the first pace across the street.

 

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