Jeffersons saddle, p.9
Jefferson's Saddle, page 9
‘I’ll wait here until Dave is awake,’ she told him. ‘The doctor thinks he’ll be well enough to travel later. There is a stagecoach leaving here in a couple of hours which will take him home. Travelling in that will be more comfortable than my father’s buggy. I’ll travel with him then ride back to the ranch after he’s settled at home with his father.’
At that moment, her father was sitting in a room in the courthouse alongside Mayor Baker, the Templeton brothers and Oliver Calloway. The purpose of the meeting had been to calculate the total amount that would be passed on to Thomas Cartwright now that those citizens willing to participate in the scheme to bring a branch-line to Mortimer had had the opportunity to hand over their money. Those donations together with the more substantial sums contributed by the town treasury, the Templetons, Henry Sutton, and Oliver Calloway by proxy for the bank were being counted in another room while these men drank brandy and puffed cigars. But what should have been a meeting of some celebration now had an air of edginess to it as the events of the afternoon, the collapse of the viewing stand and the knifing at Gus Brewer’s stable came under discussion.
‘How will Thomas Cartwright react if he learns of these events?’ asked Joel Templeton. ‘Will he still be prepared to support our enterprise?’
‘I thought he was showing reluctance after the shooting of Abe Agnew,’ his brother said. ‘He thought the railroad company would frown on a disorderly town.’
‘And now there’s been a public disaster. The directors aren’t likely to invest in a town that can’t look after its own citizens,’ warned Oliver Calloway.
‘Perhaps Cartwright won’t tell them,’ said Dustin Baker. ‘Perhaps he hasn’t heard the news. I do believe he intended spending the afternoon in his room, resting for the journey ahead.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ mused Curt Templeton. ‘I suggest we don’t say anything. Just hand over the money and get him out of town quickly. Once he’s accepted our money there will be no turning back. Even if later he hears about the collapse of the stand it is unlikely that he’ll pass on the details to the directors of the railroad. I don’t doubt that he gains financially when they adopt his proposal so he won’t want Gatling to win the prize.’
There were murmurs of agreement around the room and at that moment the two men who had been acting as tellers in the outer chamber entered. The sum of money they’d packed and locked into large carpetbag was a little over $40,000, a paltry amount compared to the proposed first instalment of $200,000, but Oliver Calloway was certain that the bank would give them huge financial support once it was agreed that the branch-line would be built.
‘Come then, gentlemen,’ said Mayor Baker, ‘let us deliver this money to Mr Cartwright and we’ll urge Harry Goater at the stage office to get the coach ready to travel as soon as possible. We’ve messed about with its departure time for the sake of Founder’s Day, but now that the events are ended there is no reason to delay it any longer.’
Harry Goater insisted that the coach would leave at the rescheduled time and not a moment before. By the time someone was sent to summon both driver and guard it would barely bring departure time forward by thirty minutes and, as the coach was only going as far as John Champion’s relay station that night, it wasn’t worth the bother.
Mayor Baker didn’t like having his authority opposed but Curt Templeton was of the opinion that changing the departure time might make Thomas Cartwright think they were keen to get him out of town, so it was almost two hours later when they assembled at the stage depot to usher Thomas Cartwright into the coach along with his baggage, which included the carpetbag full of money. When the coach pulled away the members of the town council exchanged smiles and back-slaps, confident that they had secured a railway link for Mortimer which, in turn, would provide a boost to their own ambitions and finances.
To Thomas Cartwright’s surprise the coach rolled along the street at little more than walking pace. When it came to a halt he thrust his head out of the window to ask the driver for an explanation.
‘Someone to collect,’ he was told and though he blustered that he had been assured that he was the only passenger, no one took any notice of him.
Charlie Jefferson tied Samantha Sutton’s pinto to the back of the coach, then went into the doctor’s house to collect Dave Champion. He carried him out wrapped in a thick grey blanket and put him on the long seat opposite Cartwright.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Cartwright demanded. ‘Is he diseased?’ His face showed his distaste for sharing with someone in ill health.
‘He’s had an accident,’ Charlie told him. ‘He’s going home.’
Cartwright was going to continue his protest but one look at Charlie’s face hushed the words. Then Samantha Sutton climbed into the coach and his countenance altered. It was a change of expression which didn’t escape Charlie’s notice. He took in the man’s features, the fair, curly hair and mutton-chop sideburns, the heavy-lidded dark-blue eyes and the prominent Roman nose. He was a big man, heavy, but good clothes managed to hide the fact that his bulk was not all hard muscle.
‘I’ll ride out tomorrow,’ Charlie told the girl, making the words a clear warning to the passenger.
At that moment, Henry Sutton, who had joined his daughter at the doctor’s house after the meeting at the courthouse, looked into the coach with some final words for Sammy.
‘Stay overnight with the Champions if it gets too dark to travel. John will find a room for you.’ Then he saw the man in the opposite corner. ‘Cartwright,’ he acknowledged. ‘Safe journey.’ Then the door was closed and the driver yelled at the horses and slapped the leathers on their flanks. The coach pulled away and Charlie Jefferson and Henry Sutton watched it until it was out of sight.
‘Who was that man?’ asked Charlie.
‘Thomas Cartwright. He’s an important man to this town. Through him, Mortimer is about to prosper.’
Henry Sutton didn’t say any more; he wasn’t forgetting that Charlie Jefferson was just passing through the territory and until the railroad announced the construction of a spur line it was better to restrict knowledge of it to those it affected. Nor was he forgetting that the recent acts of violence had occurred after Charlie Jefferson’s arrival.
Charlie wasn’t interested in the man’s business dealings; he was concerned by the animal look that had flashed across Cartwright’s face when he saw Samantha. He consoled himself with the fact that Samantha and Dave were only travelling as far as the first relay station. He didn’t know that the coach was stopping there overnight and he might not have given the fancifully dressed man another thought if, two hours later, Horry Blackmore hadn’t joined him at a table in the Rose of Texas.
The deputy looked uncomfortable, as though he had something on his mind, something for which he would be blamed and didn’t know how to rid himself of the problem.
‘Another telegraph message for the sheriff,’ he began, mumbling, turning his head this way and that to make sure that no one was listening. ‘From the Texas Rangers’ office in Austin.’ He looked around again. ‘It seems that Sheriff Agnew made an enquiry about the man called Farraday.’
‘What did the reply say?’
‘That he is wanted for fraud and murder. A poster was issued about him nine months ago.’
‘Have you found it?’
Horry nodded and reached inside his shirt for the large sheet of paper that had been twice folded. He moved closer to Charlie in order to confine sight of the picture to the two of them. It was a scratchy drawing as, in Charlie’s experience, all such posters were, but when he saw it Charlie immediately knew the face. The features depicted showed a prominent nose and big, heavy-lidded eyes, a large face topped with curly hair.
‘Do you know this man?’ Charlie asked Horry.
Horry nodded. ‘He calls himself Thomas Cartwright and he’s taken the town’s money to bring the railroad to Mortimer.’
‘What?’
‘What should I do?’
‘You need to wire ahead to the next town that the coach reaches and have the sheriff there arrest him.’
When Horry informed him that the coach was travelling only as far as Champion’s relay station that night, Charlie’s thoughts immediately centred on Samantha Sutton and the possibility that she, too, might stay overnight at the relay station. He remembered the feral look that had crossed Cartwright/Farraday’s face as Samantha settled herself in the coach beside Dave Champion. Abruptly he stood, determined to ride out to the relay station even though twilight was almost upon them.
Horry grabbed his sleeve. ‘What should I do? he asked again.
‘Tell the mayor what has happened, then organize a posse and get out to John Champion’s relay station as quickly as possible. You can’t let him escape.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dave Champion didn’t react well to the lurching, swaying movement of the coach. Doctor Spenser had warned him that the journey would be unpleasant and that he’d rather keep him under observation for the night, but the hours of rest on the doctor’s couch had subdued the pain in Dave’s head and lulled the lad into believing that the worst was over. The prospect of being at home with his father was worth a little discomfort. But the combination of ragged motion and the persistent sounds generated by horses, coach and driver were sufficient to arouse once more the sensations of pain and nausea from which he thought he’d escaped. Before they were halfway to the relay station his face had become drained of all colour and his eyes were tightly closed in an effort to fight the pain in his head.
Concerned for her young friend, Sammy Sutton tucked the blanket around him and pressed her cool hand against his forehead. He was hot but he shivered, and when the right front wheel struck a rock causing that corner of the coach to lift then bounce on landing, he moaned loudly. The doctor had supplied a cushion for the journey which Sammy now adjusted under the lad’s head in an effort to make him more comfortable.
Thomas Cartwright was talking to her, as he had tried to do with little success for most of the journey. Sammy had answered his initial enquiries and observations with politeness but she soon became uncomfortable with his conversation, and as Dave’s need of her attention grew the easier it was to ignore the dandy fellow, which was what she was doing now while considering means of reducing Dave’s discomfort.
Henry Sutton had built up his ranch by means of his own hard work and although he was now able to employ men to work with the stock and in all other aspects of managing the business, it didn’t mean that he no longer engaged in those tasks himself, nor did it mean that his daughter didn’t get her hands dirty. Perhaps it would have been different if Sammy hadn’t been such a tomboy, but she worked cattle and helped to maintain the property as eagerly as her father and as well as any of the hired hands. Consequently, agile and stronger than her slim frame suggested, she had the utmost confidence in her own abilities, often surprising people with undertakings that no one would suspect her capable of achieving.
So it was now. With a supple twist of her shoulders she eased her way through the narrow side-opening. Then, reaching up to grip the metal containing-rail on the roof of the coach, she pulled herself through until she was able to stand on the bottom ledge of the opening. With head and shoulders above the top of the coach, she called to the driver, needing to shout to make herself heard above the rumble of the wheels, Tex’s commands to the horses and the occasional crack of the whip.
‘Get back inside,’ Tex Hames told her when he recovered from his initial surprise. ‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’
‘Slow down,’ she told him, explaining that Dave was ill and as they were only going as far as the relay station there was no reason to race the horses.
Tex grumbled that he was in charge and that he wouldn’t do anything until she got back inside, but already he was pulling on the long leathers to control the speed of his team.
When she slipped the lower half of her body back into the coach, Thomas Cartwright placed his hands around her waist and held her as if to support and guide her to safety.
‘Allow me,’ he said.
Uncomfortable at his touch, Sammy shrugged to dislodge his hold, then pushed at his hands.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
‘I’m impressed,’ he said, his hands still on her hips. ‘That was quite a feat.’
Sammy placed her hands on his chest and pushed. He stumbled, perhaps due to the swaying of the coach, and sat down heavily on his seat. A grin spread across his face. It unnerved Sammy, and as she retook her place at Dave Champion’s side she wondered if asking Tex Hames to slow down had been a mistake.
John Champion had been watching for the arrival of the coach for more than an hour when it eventually appeared, travelling so sedately that he figured one of the horses had cast a shoe or strained a tendon, and so the driver was nursing it to the relay station where it could be doctored before morning.
‘Your boy’s inside,’ Tex told him as he brought the team to a standstill. ‘There’s been an accident.’
Sammy told Dave’s father what had happened while he carried his pale and bandaged son into the house. Anxious to learn the full extent of his son’s injuries, John Champion neglected his duty and left the horses harnessed to the coach. He told Tex Hames and Barnaby Coutts, the shotgun guard, to help themselves to coffee. Thomas Cartwright, keeping a tight hold on the carpetbag, which had travelled with him inside the coach, sat at the communal table. He was hungry and anxious to have his stomach filled in preparation for the travelling he planned to undertake when darkness fell.
A regular running of the journey from Mortimer to the Champions’ stage depot would have meant that Sammy Sutton would have mounted her pinto and ridden home before darkness fell, but because of the slow pace, it had been almost twilight before they reached their destination. Reluctant to leave until she was sure that her young friend was settled, she unhitched the pinto from the back of the coach and led him to a water trough at the rear of the building. Darkness fell suddenly in that part of the country and Sammy soon realized that she would need to stay at the relay station for the night.
John Champion allotted one of the rooms to her but after she’d eaten and helped him to wash the dishes, she went to sit with Dave and was there until the lad fell asleep. Sitting in Dave’s room wasn’t without an ulterior motive. Thomas Cartwright had cast sly looks in her direction while everyone had been gathered around the table, and she wasn’t eager to spend any great length of time in his company.
In fact, Cartwright had taken to his own room shortly after the meal, anxious to grab a little sleep before Sol Barclay arrived with the horses. Over a pack of cards and a bottle of whiskey, the stage crew, Tex and Barnaby, brought John Champion up to date with affairs in Mortimer and other towns along the stage routes. So it was late when the last light was extinguished and silence settled around the low buildings of the relay station.
When a day is full of events such as those that had filled Sammy Sutton’s day the result is either a night of deep, satisfying sleep or a sleepless night. This night, for Sammy, it was the latter. Over and over, she recalled her arrival in town to learn of Charlie Jefferson’s arrest, followed by the ambush attempt which had resulted in the death of Sheriff Agnew rather than Charlie’s, and then the collapse of the stand which, momentarily, she thought had ended Dave Champion’s life. She had been relieved to discover that he had not been killed; so much so that she had served as his nurse for the remainder of the day.
Now she should be sleeping but the thoughts in her mind were too vivid, especially when she tried to understand the behaviour of Charlie Jefferson. He was a puzzle: at one moment shunning her and then showing genuine concern for her safety when he thought that she, too, might have been injured when the viewing stand collapsed. With a sigh, Sammy got off the bunk and went outside to seek the company of her pinto who was in the corral at the side of the house.
From his position on a high southern ridge, Sol Barclay had seen the arrival of the coach and had settled down to wait for darkness. When, at last, no more lights showed from the buildings, he saddled the two horses and set off to the rendezvous. To give those within the station time to settle into sleep, and so as not to cause any unnecessary noise, he walked the last half-mile. When he reached the yard he halted, unsure what signal to give to let Cartwright know he’d arrived.
As it happened, none was necessary. In a moment, a figure emerged from the darkness of the doorway and his bulk made his identity unmistakable. Barclay grinned when he saw the carpetbag that Cartwright clutched to his chest. Wordlessly, Cartwright took the proffered reins and the two men turned to lead the horses to a distance far enough from the house for the sound of their hoof beats not to awaken those sleeping within.
Suddenly a voice carried across the yard. A female voice that was full of suspicion.
‘What are you doing?’ called Sammy.
The unexpected challenge brought about different reactions. Barclay, thinking only of escape, drew his pistol and would have fired at the girl, but Cartwright grabbed his arm before the gun was fully clear of the holster.
‘A bonus,’ he hissed. ‘She’s the daughter of a local landowner. He’ll pay for her return.’
‘Are you crazy?’ snarled Barclay. ‘We can’t hang around for ransom money. Let’s go with what we’ve got before the house is aroused.’
But talk of a ransom was just an excuse that had leapt into Cartwright’s mind; he knew that a demand for money would never be made, but the young girl’s sudden appearance presented him with an opportunity that he couldn’t resist. Throughout the coach ride from Mortimer she had aroused an immediate need in him, one he intended to fulfil at the earliest opportunity.
