The Stranger from Abilene

He read the question on Clayton’s face and said, “Cage, the citizens of Bighorn Point pay me to administer the law, but the law has to be seen to be done. They don’t want my word for it. They expect to inspect the evidence.”

He smiled. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Five dead Apaches is quite a haul, for Bighorn Point or anywhere else.”

“Yeah, the taxpayers are gonna be real pleased.”

And they were. Brass band pleased.

The town had another hero to add to their list, right up there with the gallant Colonel Parker Southwell and his band of lionhearts.

The Apaches, as wicked and treacherous as ever, had obviously been in league with the bandits the colonel had destroyed. They had taken out their murderous rage on the Southwell Ranch, killing, raping....

Oh, and poor Mrs. Southwell.

That very flower of American womanhood had been outraged, then horribly murdered, her ranch segundo , the brave Shad Vestal, tortured and killed within her sight.

“The only fly in our ointment of valor,” said Mayor Quarrels, “is that the savages were not taken alive. It would have been my great pleasure to hang them all.”

Quarrels said this at the commencement of a street meeting, when Marshal Kelly was presented with a handsome gold badge made from two double eagles.

When the crowd heard the mayor talk about the hanging, they cheered wildly.

As for Clayton, being an outsider and the one who’d thrown poor Mrs. Southwell in horse piss, Mayor Quarrels only shook his hand, and a few in the crowd managed a halfhearted “Huzzah.”

However, Clayton did get an invitation from Ben St. John, the banker, to discuss his financial affairs and his forthcoming nuptials to Miss Emma Kelly.

After singling Clayton out from the crowd, the fat man pontificated on marriage and money matters.

“Marriage is a big step, Mr. Clayton, and the one way to ensure happiness is to be financially secure,” he said. “As the immortal Mr. Wilkins Micawber says, ‘Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen pounds six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery.’ ”

St. John’s eyes met Clayton’s, but could not stay there, sliding away like black slugs. He looked at Clayton’s chin and beamed. “Do you catch my meaning, sir?”

“Yes, I do,” Clayton said.

“Then come see me at the bank. I assure you, we can put you on a path to prosperity that will enhance your marital bliss.”

St. John put his hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Shall we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll be there,” Clayton said.

He’d disliked the man on sight, and the suspicion lingered in him that St. John might be the one.

He could be Lissome Terry.

Chapter 54

It fell to Moses Anderson to remove the bodies from the Southwell Ranch and clean up the house. He and his helpers were just finishing up when Cage Clayton rode into the yard on an inspection and swung out of the saddle.

“Bodies are all gone, Mr. Clayton,” the black man said. “I took them into town earlier this morning.” Anderson wiped his hands with a rag, a talking man glad of an audience. “The undertaker says they’re all too far gone for him to make them pretty, so he’s just gonna box ’em and bury ’em. Buryin’ is tomorrow and the mayor will be there and a lot of other folks. Mayor’s laid on a barrel of beer for the wake an’ a hog on a spit and it’s shapin’ up to be a shindig. Yes, sir, a real hootenanny.”

He shrugged. “ ’Course, black folks ain’t invited.”

Clayton smiled. “Neither am I.”

“Well, Mr. Clayton, that’s a real shame, an’ after the way you killed them Apaches an’ all.”

There was an expectant look on Anderson’s face, but Clayton didn’t want to dwell on the subject.

“You get all the blood out of the house, Moses?”

“Sure did. She’s as clean as a whistle.”

Clayton waited awhile, then eased into his questions.

“Moses, you’ve lived in Bighorn Point for a long time, huh?”

“Sure have. Man and boy, I bin there, ’cept I went up the trail a couple of times.”

“How well do you know Ben St. John?”

Clayton watched as shutters closed in Anderson’s eyes.

“Not much. He don’t like colored folks.”

Clayton continued to look into Anderson’s face without speaking.

Uneasy now, the black man said, “Folks here’bouts say he’s a mean one. Foreclosing on people and takin’ their property, thowin’ them out on the street, an’ all. But he goes to church and sits in a pew with him and his wife’s name on a little brass plate and what he’s done don’t seem to trouble his conscience none.”

A man standing by one of the wagons yelled, “Moses, we’re all through here.”

“Be right with you,” Anderson said.

“St. John ever kill a man?” Clayton said.

The black man shook his head. “Not that I ever heard.” He looked over at the wagons that were ready to pull out. “I gotta go now, Mr. Clayton.”

“Wait, Moses. Is he faithful to his wife?”

The man stared into space. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve got something to tell me, Moses, and I want to hear it. The more I learn about St. John, the better.”