Slocum and the Town Killers Page 7

  Maggie Almquist watched the two of them closely, but said nothing.

  Sarah Beth sagged and began to cry. She had worked so hard and taken so many risks to get them away from her father. Now they had been run to ground. Clayton Magee would take them prisoners again, and his bloodthirsty men would rape and kill and destroy everything and everyone in Foreman.

  “There’s the scout comin’ in now,” Maggie said. “Louisa, get back to work. We got a lot of bread to sell to those fine gentlemen, if you can call ’em that. Last time they rode through, they shot up the saloon when a couple of ’em got drunk.”

  “They’ve been here before?” Sarah Beth looked up and swiped at the tears welling in her eyes. She blinked hard and then laughed. She fought to keep the laughter from becoming hysterical. “That’s a soldier.”

  “Not just any soldier,” Maggie said. “That’s Roop Benedict.”

  “You know him?”

  “I do, and in the Biblical sense, too, just last week. He’s my beau. Someday I’ll make an honest man of him.” Maggie waved, and the sergeant waved back and grinned from ear to ear.

  “We got a squad of hungry fellas comin’ in, Miz Almquist,” he called. “You baked enough to take care of their appetites?”

  “Yours maybe.” Maggie wiped her hands on her apron as she went into the street to stand beside the cavalry sergeant. She reached up and put her hand on his thigh. Even though she had tried to clean her hand, she left a white handprint. Sergeant Benedict did not seem to mind.

  Sarah Beth swallowed hard as Maggie finished talking to the sergeant and came back.

  “Said Captain Langmuir’s not ten minutes out. Only got the one squad with him this time, and he left the drunkards back at the post.”

  “Post?”

  “Fort Supply, out on the Canadian River to the west of here.”

  “West? But they came in from the east, from where we’d been traveling,” Sarah Beth said weakly. She was not sure she wanted to believe these were real soldiers and not renegades riding with her father.

  “They patrol all over central Oklahoma. They’d gone north of here, then swept south, and are on the way back to Fort Supply. Surely is good seeing Roop again.” Maggie looked hard at mother and daughter. “Anything you want to tell me? Before you get back to work?”

  “No, nothing,” Louisa said, looking sharply at her daughter. “We have a lot of work to do, and I ought to get to it.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Maggie said, following her. She stopped in the door of the bakery and waved to the sergeant, who waved back.

  Then Maggie Almquist ducked inside and began barking out orders like a drill sergeant. So many hungry troopers would leave nothing for the townspeople and more bread had to be baked, and there was no time for the yeast to rise, much less bake it and—

  Sarah Beth shut out the litany of problems the bakery suddenly faced. She leaned weakly against the wall and stared at Roop Benedict, hoping that he was exactly as he appeared—a soldier from a commissioned army post.

  The sergeant sauntered over, leading his horse.

  “Ma’am, I saw you with Miz Almquist. You know her?”

  “My mother works for her.”

  “Do tell. Ever since that no-account husband of hers left, Maggie’s been workin’ her fingers to the bone. Glad to see she’s got dependable help. Miz Almquist, I mean.”

  “She said you were stationed at Fort Supply.”

  “Yes, ma’am, under the command of Captain Isaiah Langmuir, the best damned horse soldier in the Territory.”

  “You know Major Magee? Clayton Magee?” She watched the man’s reaction closely. Unless he was a better actor than she thought, he had never heard of her pa.

  “Can’t say that I have, though I heard tell of a new officer at Fort Gibson. He stationed there?”

  “No, just asking.”

  “Is Maggie—Miz Almquist—at a spot where she could take a few minutes from her work? I hate to ask, but the captain’s gonna be here ’fore we know it.”

  “I think that’s Captain Langmuir now,” Sarah Beth said. She saw a ramrod-straight officer sporting captain’s bars at the head of a column. The guidon carried the designation of a company she was not familiar with, which made her all the happier. She knew every single unit her pa had ever been in or commanded. This was not one of his.

  “Yup, surely is. Thank you, ma’am, for not lettin’ me go astray.”

  “I need to talk to the captain. Could you ask for me?”

  “What about, ma’am?”

  “He . . . it’s of great importance, but I want to speak only with an officer.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll put that in my report.”

  Sergeant Benedict hurried to where the captain had halted the column, saluted, and began his report. Sarah Beth knew the instant the sergeant got to mentioning her because the officer’s eyes snapped over to her and did not leave. His expression was neutral, but she got the feeling he looked at her just a trifle longer than was polite before turning back to his scout’s report.

  Sergeant Benedict saluted again, turned, and bellowed orders to the column of troopers. They dismounted amid a new cloud of dust. In spite of the early hour, they had ridden for a spell to accumulate so much road dust on them. The captain dismounted and brushed dust off his own uniform. Sarah Beth hurried over to him.

  “Captain Langmuir, did the sergeant mention I wanted a word with you?”

  “He did, but he failed to say who you were or the nature of your request.” He fought to keep from smiling. The corners of his mouth turned up the smallest amount. Sarah Beth could not keep herself from returning the smile as she introduced herself.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Magee. I knew there was a reason I headed for Foreman.”

  “Oh, my mother and I only arrived . . . recently,” she finished. Giving out information to anyone, even this handsome, charming young captain, did not come easily for her. She had learned to distrust anyone wearing a uniform—but those had all been in her father’s command.

  “Some other town’s loss then. What is it I can do for you, Miss Magee?”

  She turned her back to the nearest troopers and lowered her voice before speaking.

  “Have you ever heard of Major Clayton Magee? Or Albert Kimbrell?”

  “Can’t rightly say I have. A major? Is he new to the Territory? A relative of yours, since you share the same last name?” The man’s tone turned a little more brittle.

  “My father,” she explained.

  “I see. You and your mother are looking for him. Well, if I come across him, I will tell him you’re here.”

  “No!” The word escaped her throat like a horse from the starting gate. She felt all the blood drain from her face and she wobbled. Captain Langmuir grabbed her elbow to steady her.

  “Are you well?”

  “You must not let him know where we are. He . . . he destroys entire towns hunting for my mother and me.”

  “I’m sorry. He destroys towns? He gets drunk and—”

  “No, he has his men kill everyone, every last living soul. Then he burns the town to the ground and moves on.”

  “The sun is fierce in Oklahoma,” the captain said. “Come along. Sit in the shade a spell and—”

  “I am not suffering from sunstroke, and I am not crazy,” Sarah Beth said hotly. “He beat my mother terribly, and he kept me a prisoner. He locked me in the cellar to keep me ‘pure,’ he claimed. He is a monster. We got away and he’s come after us, him and his gang of bloody-handed killers.”

  “I see,” the captain said, obviously not believing a word of what Sarah Beth said. “Which towns has he burned?”

  “Cherokee Springs and Charity. Three others farther east along the same road. There might be others I don’t know about.”

  “Those are out of my patrol area,” he said dubiously. Langmuir took off his broad-brimmed hat and ran his gloved hand across his forehead to get the blond locks back from his eyes. He caref
ully removed his gloves when he noticed he still wore them and tucked them under his belt. The officer sought words and found them elusive.

  “He’s after us,” Sarah Beth went on. “He’ll find us, too, and destroy Foreman looking for us. He threatened to put me in shackles until he finds a man worthy of marriage.” She felt light-headed again. “I’m afraid he might marry me off to his second in command.”

  “This Kimbrell fellow?”

  “He’s worse than my father, in his way. My pa’s crazy. Albert Kimbrell just loves the smell of blood, seeing his victims die. He enjoys others’ suffering. I can’t imagine what he would do to me if we were married. It would be worse than what Pa does to my mother, I’m certain of that.”

  “I heard of men in the war like that,” Captain Langmuir said, still hunting for words and not finding them.

  “You served?”

  “I did not have that privilege. I graduated from West Point in ’66.”

  “There aren’t many commands available, so you must be quite good at soldiering.” Sarah Beth saw him puff up at the praise. He did not believe her father and Kimbrell were a threat, so she had to work her wiles on him to make him aware of the danger.

  “I do what I can,” he said. “General Sherman is a fine example, and I try to emulate him.”

  “Then you are aware of what he did to Atlanta. Major Magee is doing the same thing to every town he finds.”

  “I’ve had no report,” the captain said.

  Sarah Beth tired of trying to win him over by wiles or threat. She grabbed the sleeve of his blue wool jacket and pulled on it insistently.

  “You have to believe me. Foreman is in danger. You and your men are, too. Major Magee’s men are killers, each and every one, and there are three or four dozen of them.”

  “Miss Magee, I need to see to my men. I’ll make inquiries.”

  “Of whom? The towns are dead. Except, except possibly Charity. We barely escaped him there, and he might have left the town to come after us.”

  “He cannot be too efficient if you escaped.”

  Sarah Beth bristled at the implied insult. “Our lives are in peril. Are you saying that two women couldn’t possibly elude an army officer?”

  “Not exactly, but if he is as determined as you say . . .”

  “He is.”

  “Then I find it difficult to believe you have outlegged him.”

  Sarah Beth tried to find new words, but could not. She slumped and shook her head. When she looked up, Captain Langmuir was staring at her with pity in his gray eyes. He thought she was the crazy one, not her father.

  “Be careful, Captain. Be very careful. If you meet up with my pa, he will kill you and your entire company outright.”

  “I am always cautious. Indian Territory is rife with brigands and outlaws of all stripes.”

  He nodded once to her, put his hat back on, and hurried away. The set of his shoulders showed how eager he was to leave her and her wild claims behind. Sarah Beth had done her best and had failed. All she could do was hope that her father did not get on her and her mother’s trail because Foreman would die. Her mother had reached the end of the road, and no argument would get her to run any more.

  Sarah Beth saw the captain mustering his men. The sergeant saw that all the horses were watered, and then they mounted and rode from town. The captain glanced back in her direction once, then sat a mite straighter and looked ahead, leading his men.

  Away from the direction from which Clayton Magee would approach the town.

  The only thought rattling in Sarah Beth’s brain was that the captain and his men would be safe, even if she wasn’t.

  9

  Slocum glanced to his side to see how the marshal was faring. Vannover clung to the horse with grim determination. If Slocum had not been able to put on the bridle before giving the horse to the lawman, Vannover would have fallen off. Behind them came random shots and angry cries. Kimbrell and his cronies would recover their horses in jig time and be on the trail quick.

  “Circle,” Slocum said, pointing. “If we circle around, we can get back to where we left our horses.”

  “I can hang on,” the marshal protested.

  “That’s not the point. They’re coming after us. We can shoot it out with them, but it’s like stepping on ants. No matter how fast you stomp, a few more always boil up until you’re swamped.”

  “We ride these horses till they drop, then go to ours because they’re rested. Think that’ll work?”

  Slocum didn’t answer. It had to work. The sun was poking up over the horizon, promising to silhouette them if they kept riding eastward. Even with the outlaws’ ammo dump being blown up, each man carried enough spare rounds to fight a small war. Getting rid of two snoops wouldn’t take anywhere near that much.

  They rode steadily, varying the pace to get the most distance and speed from their stolen horses as possible. As Slocum led them up a slope, he heard a thud. He looked back and saw Vannover flat on his back, gasping for breath. Cursing, Slocum wheeled about and trotted to the lawman.

  “You still in one piece?”

  Vannover tried to sit up, but the wind had been knocked from his lungs. He gasped and finally got to breathing again.

  “Sorry, Slocum. My ankle’s botherin’ me something fierce. I tried to reach down to rub it. Not used to ridin’ bare-back, not like when I was a kid.”

  Vannover’s horse had not stayed to see the fate of its rider. It had galloped away into the grove of bois d’arc and cedar and was nowhere to be seen. Slocum held out his hand. Vannover took it and swung up behind. The horse staggered under their combined weight.

  “Don’t know how good I can ride like this,” the marshal admitted. “No saddle and no bridle.” He favored his ankle, but Slocum saw his left arm, injured back in Charity, was hurting him, too.

  “We don’t have much farther to go,” Slocum said. He thought they were only a mile or so from where they had left their horses. It would be good to feel the saddle under him again, but it would be even better to get the boxes of ammunition from his saddlebags. Try as he might, Slocum could not remember how many rounds he had left with him.

  “You’re what the town needs for a deputy, Slocum. You think you’d consider stayin’ on full time?”

  Slocum snorted and shook his head. This produced a laugh from Vannover.

  “Didn’t think so, but had to ask. If I get back to Charity in one piece, I’m not sure the town fathers’ll want to keep me around. Not done a whole lot to keep the peace there.”

  “If Magee and his killers go back, there’s nothing anyone can do,” Slocum said. “Unless you’ve got an artillery battery and about a hundred trained soldiers to back you up.”

  “A mite short on those, though we do have some army troopers what move through the countryside from time to time. No way to let ’em know what’s going on, short of sending a courier. Charity’s not near big enough to warrant a telegraph station, and we’re miles from a railroad.”

  Slocum wondered if the two women had a better chance at getting away from Clayton Magee by staying in the bigger towns. If thirty or forty cowboys shot up Wichita, even using guerrilla tactics, there’d be plenty of firepower to slow them down. Eventually, a force big enough to deal with Magee would be rounded up. As it was, he destroyed the small towns completely and nobody noticed.

  Nobody but the people who had lived in them—and they were all pushing up daisies.

  Slocum topped a rise and started down into a hollow where he thought their horses were tethered. He was so intent on getting back to his paint and getting the marshal astride a saddled horse that he got careless. The bullet took off his hat and missed his scalp by only inches.

  He reacted by jerking to the left. This carried Vannover off the horse with him. They both slammed hard into the ground. Again, the marshal had the wind knocked out of him, but Slocum was in better shape. He drew his six-shooter and rolled away until he came to a shallow, weed-overrun ditch. Without moving
a muscle, Slocum lay surrounded by the weeds, watching and waiting. There were several spots in the woods where the shot might have come from, but he dared not risk exposing himself until he knew exactly where the sniper hid.

  Slocum sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He might face more than a single gunman, too. Kimbrell would have rousted the entire camp after their horses had been shooed off and the ammunition had been blown up.

  A fitful wind kicked up, further camouflaging any hidden sniper. Leaves sighed and the tree limbs began to bend in the wind. Worse, Vannover groaned and started to thrash about on the ground.

  “Stay still. For your life, don’t move. They think you’re dead.”

  “Feel past dead,” the marshal said. He flopped back and lay still. In a lower voice, he called to Slocum. “You spot the sons o’ bitches?”

  Slocum was more intent on sorting out sounds mingling with the wind through the trees. He rolled onto his back and fired twice. An outlaw had been sneaking up behind him, coming from a totally unexpected direction. Slocum’s first slug hit the man in the jaw and twisted his head about. The second ended his life. Slocum rolled back onto his belly and peered through the weeds.

  He saw two more outlaws coming from a spot affording a good shot at any rider. One of them had taken the earlier potshot. Slocum braced his pistol, aimed, and fired. The first man grunted and clutched his belly. The second was used to gunfights, though, and did not freeze when his partner got hit. His six-gun came up and homed in on Slocum like it was a compass finding north.

  He blazed away as he ran for cover.

  “Get into the ditch,” Slocum ordered Vannover. The marshal wasted no time obeying. Dirt and plants kicked up in tiny fountains as more bullets came their way.

  “I shot a man behind me. Grab his six-shooter. I’m about out of ammunition.”

  “Got it,” Vannover said. Slocum was pleased that the marshal had already been scuttling for the fallen gun without being told. In spite of their sorry position, they might just get away yet.

  Slocum took the pistol from him when the Colt Navy came up empty.

  “Our horses are—were—in that grove yonder,” Slocum said. “They might have found them or they might just have gotten lucky and spotted us riding along the ridge.”