The Devil's Payroll Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  Barton appeared barely conscious as he stumbled forward before falling against Gabriel, who quickly moved to steady him.

  ‘You’ve got a poor exchange there, I’m afraid. That’s the man who robbed us.’ Harrison fingered the handle of his gun, sorely tempted to shoot.

  ‘Hmm. Revenge is all very well but a man who commits one crime is sometimes wanted for another. Are you sure he’s of no value?’

  ‘He killed a guard escaping from prison. In Tucson his corpse is worth a thousand dollars. Alive he’s worth at least a hundred times that amount.’ Harrison exchanged glances with Maggie who nodded her approval. She probably felt sorry for Gabriel just as much as he did. The man had saved their lives and now he had lost all his goods. Being honest with him and sharing the loot, assuming they ever found it, seemed like the right thing to do.

  Gabriel bundled Barton into the back of the wagon. ‘Very well, friend, you can explain on the way but for now I’d recommend a swift departure.’

  Harrison heaved a sigh of relief as they left the camp and the hostile stares of the Comanches. ‘Swift Eagle seemed to be the man in charge back there.’

  Gabriel nodded. ‘He’s one of their toughest warriors. My guess is they’ve chosen him as a war chief and they’re planning to launch an attack soon, probably against Jacob’s Well.’ ‘

  I guess travellers in these parts really depend on that trading post. I hope it doesn’t get destroyed.’

  ‘It’s difficult to say. If Jacob’s Well could be defended and the attack driven off the Comanches might think again, provided their losses are heavy enough. That could be the end of it. Otherwise, they’ll move on to other towns, maybe even attack Fort Concho. That’s the headquarters of the Tenth Cavalry.’

  ‘Aren’t they the ones the Comanche call Buffalo Soldiers?’

  Gabriel chuckled. ‘Great soldiers; some of them used to be slaves.’

  ‘I fought against Negro regiments during the war. They were incredibly brave, changed my opinion about a lot of things,’ Harrison told him.

  ‘Well, a troop of them was sent over to Jacob’s Well yesterday, so there’s a good chance it can be defended. Anyway, it’s the safest place to be until all this is over. I don’t rate our chances of survival in open country with those Comanches on the warpath.’ Gabriel laughed as Harrison looked around nervously.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry just yet. There was enough whiskey on this wagon to keep them occupied, at least until tomorrow.’ Changing the subject, he asked, ‘So what about this money your friend has?’

  Harrison snorted. ‘He’s no friend of anyone’s, I can assure you of that.’ He proceeded to tell the story of Barton’s capture, subsequent treachery over the hidden money, and Maggie’s involvement. ‘It’s probably best if we keep him tied up until he’s done what he promised and led us to the money,’ he concluded.

  Gabriel glanced into the back of the wagon where Maggie was reluctantly tending Barton’s wounds. ‘He still looks very weak, won’t be trying to go anywhere for a while.’ He fished inside his coat pocket and pulled out a bottle of dark liquid. ‘Besides, this should keep him quiet for a few days.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Laudanum. People can get too fond of it and end up seeing things that aren’t there, but if he isn’t used to it he’ll just sleep.’

  Despite his antipathy towards Barton, Harrison was troubled by the idea of keeping him drugged but told himself the man was getting off lightly after all he had done. He looked back towards Maggie and smiled at the sight of her nursing a man she had every right to wish dead. Somehow, he felt certain that for all her feistiness, hers was a heart that did not harbour the desire for revenge. He did not know why, but he found that thought comforting.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Gabriel as a settlement of adobe and wooden buildings, surrounded by a low wall, came into view. As they drove through Harrison noticed that there was a general store, hotel, saloon bar, livery stables and a church with what appeared to be a small school attached to it.

  ‘I think I’ll take a look around,’ he said, jumping down as the wagon slowed to a halt at the stables. He went first to the general store, conscious of his soiled shirt and dishevelled appearance. Harrison always wore clothes which most men, even if they possessed such items, would consider their ‘Sunday best’ and the storekeeper was surprised when he selected the only suit in stock, a white shirt and a string tie. He added spare clothing, a razor and soap to the pile before using the pump in the back yard to wash and shave. Once dressed in his new clothes he returned to the street and approached Gabriel, who was talking to an army officer, a tall slender man with an erect bearing.

  ‘This is Lieutenant Schmidt; he’s in command here.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Lieutenant, I’m John Harrison.’

  The officer nodded curtly. ‘Gabriel here was telling me about your encounter with the Indians. How many of them were there, do you think?’ He spoke in a clipped tone with a pronounced German accent.

  ‘It was difficult to tell; at least a hundred, I’d say.’ Schmidt shook his head impatiently. ‘I’ve less than fifty of this rabble to fight them with,’ he said, gesturing towards the black-skinned soldiers who were helping to reinforce the walls.

  ‘I think you’ll find they acquit themselves well in battle, Lieutenant,’ remarked Harrison stiffly.

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough. I hope for all our sakes that you’re right.’ Schmidt turned away to bark orders at his men while Harrison and Gabriel headed for the stables, where Maggie was continuing to tend Barton in the wagon.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Gabriel, peering anxiously at the bound, huddled figure.

  ‘He’s sleeping a lot. What was that stuff you gave him earlier?’ she enquired.

  Harrison cut in. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t do him any harm, but he won’t be getting up to any of his tricks.’ Then he added, ‘If we’re not careful, he’ll take the wagon and be off again.’

  Maggie sighed. ‘I know that well enough, but he’s still human, whatever he may have done. We couldn’t have left him to be tortured to death anyway, never mind the money.’

  Harrison felt bound to agree. He was glad there were people like Maggie to remind him of how much goodness there was in the world, something he forgot at times. ‘I’ll be in the saloon if anyone needs me,’ he said as he left.

  After a decent meal, followed by a haze of whiskey, he collapsed into a fitful sleep at the hotel, punctuated by the dreams which had haunted his nights for the past ten years.

  Harrison bathed as the sun rose, then went downstairs for breakfast. ‘It seems very quiet here,’ he said as the maid poured him some coffee.

  The girl looked around nervously. ‘They say the Comanches are comin’. A lot of folks just upped and left. I’m not sure if I should stay here myself.’

  ‘You’ll be safer here than in the open country. We can build barricades, there are soldiers to protect us and every man who’s got a gun will fight.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, mister. I’ve never been so scared.’

  ‘There’s no shame in being afraid, but at least you’re not alone here,’ Harrison told her.

  Outside the atmosphere was tense. The walls were lined with soldiers, each armed with a Winchester ’73 repeating rifle. Harrison approached Schmidt, who was peering through a telescope for signs of the enemy approaching.

  ‘Excuse me, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’ asked Schmidt without turning around.

  ‘I was wondering if I might have a rifle.’

  The telescope was snapped shut as the officer turned to face him. ‘Don’t you have one of your own?’

  ‘I had one of those revolving rifles but it was stolen when I was on the way here, along with my horse and other things.’

  Schmidt nodded slowly. ‘Ah yes, your friend Gabriel told me yesterday. Very well. I hope you’re a good shot, Harrison.’ He turned to a burly black sergeant standing near him.
‘Johnson, get this man a rifle and ammunition.’ The man saluted smartly and went off at the double, returning moments later with a Winchester and some bullets.

  Harrison loaded hurriedly and took his place at a gap in the wall alongside another civilian. It was the storekeeper, a sombre-looking man in owlish spectacles. The two exchanged silent nods of greeting as they settled down to take aim.

  At that moment a cloud of dust appeared in the distance, accompanied by a high-pitched war cry. The bugle sounded and Schmidt ordered them to take aim. The cloud moved closer and soon both men and horses were clearly visible. As they came within range the order was made and a volley of gunfire erupted from the walls. Harrison aimed at a warrior who rode high in the saddle of a white horse, brandishing a lance. He squeezed the trigger and saw him fall back as if flung to the ground by an invisible giant. Others were also falling as many of the shots hit home.

  As the Comanches advanced he noticed that some of them wore trophies from previous battles. One was clad in a colonel’s jacket and a stovepipe hat. Harrison fired again and watched with grim satisfaction as the bullet reached its target. Just then an arrow whizzed past his ear. The Comanches were excellent horsemen and were able to lean over the flanks of their mounts to protect themselves as they fired their weapons, although few of them had rifles. Soon the troops were coming under attack from well aimed arrows and lances. Soldiers cried out as they were hit and fell back from the wall. Stretcher bearers hurriedly took them to the church, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital.

  The bugle sounded again and Schmidt led a cavalry charge of the troops he had been keeping in reserve to engage the enemy at close quarters. Dust was thrown up as a mêlée of thrusting, stabbing and shooting ensued. The Comanches fell back at first but then attacked with renewed force. The men at the wall retreated as they continued to fire at the warriors who were breaking through in an effort to surround them. Harrison heard a sharp cry above the gunfire and turned to see the storekeeper fall sideways, an arrow protruding from between his shoulder blades. He swung around sharply and fired at the war-painted warrior responsible, who was now aiming at him. The man’s hands flew up to his face as he tumbled from his horse.

  There were Comanches riding along the dusty street, clubbing soldiers with tomahawks, firing revolvers and shooting arrows all around them. The men of the Tenth Cavalry fought back, turning from the wall to fight the enemy hand to hand. Harrison put his rifle aside and whipped both guns from their holsters. Crossing the street, he fired into the throng, dodging the rearing hoofs as more Comanches fell dying from their horses.

  Suddenly Sergeant Johnson was at his side, yelling above the noise of battle. ‘Can you cover me while I get across to the store? I got an idea!’ Harrison nodded and fired at any warrior who had Johnson in his range as the cavalryman sprinted across to his destination. Moments later he emerged with a box of firecrackers, one of which he had already lit and flung under the hoofs of a warrior’s horse. The creature bucked and reared as its owner struggled to stay on its back, making him an easy target for Harrison. Crouching in a doorway, Johnson lit more of the firecrackers and soon more than a dozen terrified horses were bolting and throwing their owners to the ground. Those still alive were quickly shot or bayoneted.

  The Comanches started to fall back now, but a new threat emerged as some agile warriors climbed on to the rooftops. From there they fired at the soldiers below with rifles they had seized from the dead, while others set buildings alight. Harrison rounded up a few of the younger men and they clambered up after the Indians from a backyard behind the stables.

  Advancing up a sloping roof, they emerged behind a Comanche who heard their approach and swung round with his Winchester just as Harrison fired. He fell back, clutching his chest before tumbling into a water trough below with a loud splash. Waving his gun, Harrison urged the men to spread out as they leaped on to neighbouring buildings. He landed on the lower roof of the church and looked up to see a Comanche in a leather waistcoat shooting from the bell tower. He rolled sideways as the man fired at him, but his returning shot hit the rifle so that it tumbled uselessly from the shooter’s hands. The Comanche leaned out to throw a knife and Harrison’s second shot hit him squarely between the eyes.

  He turned back to view the chaotic scene below. There were men engaged in vicious combat, the street was littered with bloodstained corpses and several buildings were now ablaze. Beyond the walls, the cavalry continued to hold off the remaining Comanches who had not managed to break through, but it was far from over yet. Harrison’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar figure, one of the tallest among the Comanches, who shouted and waved as he tried to rally his followers. It was Swift Eagle, riding a magnificent black stallion. Harrison leaped down just as the war chief galloped below and the two men hit the ground in a grappling heap. Swift Eagle rolled beneath him, flung him to one side and came at him with a knife as Harrison jumped to his feet. He managed to seize the Comanche’s wrist in time to deflect the blow, then lashed out with his boot to send his opponent sprawling in the dirt. Swift Eagle sprang up like a tiger, but Harrison’s gun was in his hand. He fired just as another warrior came between them on horseback before tumbling to the ground. Then the Comanche was gone.

  Harrison looked around and spied his quarry sprinting towards the stables. His heart thudded against his chest as he thought of Maggie minding the wagon and the team of horses. He ran after Swift Eagle and went inside. Then he froze for a moment. There was only silence and the smell of hay, no sign of Maggie, the wagon or the Comanche. Suddenly, there was a war cry and a stamping of hoofs as Swift Eagle emerged from the shadows on a chestnut mare. Harrison was taken by surprise and fired blindly, wounding the animal in the flank. It reared in pain as the rider tumbled backwards on to the ground, where he lay stunned. Harrison quickly placed his foot on Swift Eagle’s chest as the horse bolted for the door. ‘Going somewhere?’ he enquired casually as he pointed his gun at him.

  At that moment Johnson entered the stable with two of his men following close behind. The Comanche was quickly hauled to his feet, bound and hustled away, eyes blazing.

  ‘I’m glad you had the sense not to shoot,’ Johnson told him. ‘We can hold him as a hostage over at Fort Concho, get his people to make peace that way.’

  The two men stepped outside to find that the noise of battle had died down and the remaining Comanches were in retreat. However, the church was now ablaze and buckets of water were being passed along a line of soldiers and civilians to try to put out the flames. The dead were covered with blankets and taken away for burial by stretcher bearers. It was a horrific scene but Harrison had witnessed far worse in the past.

  ‘I was looking for the people I was with but I can’t see any sign of them,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t they tell you they was leavin’? The sergeant appeared puzzled and Harrison was now even more concerned.

  ‘Did you see them go?’

  ‘Yeah, this mornin’ before all hell broke loose. As I remember it the lady was sittin’ up front with Doctor Gabriel, as he calls hisself. She didn’t look none too pleased, I can tell you that much, and there was a mean-lookin’ fella with a scar on his face between ’em. Looked like they were headed towards the border.’

  Harrison nodded grimly. Now it all made sense. Gabriel thought that while the Comanches were busy attacking Jacob’s Well he would not be at risk out in the open and had decided to double-cross him for a bigger share of the money, or perhaps all of it. Surely Maggie would not agree to such a plan? She must have been taken along by force, presumably to prevent her from warning him.

  ‘Where’s Lieutenant Schmidt?’ he demanded.

  Johnson pointed towards the wall. ‘He’s just back from drivin’ off them Comanches.’

  ‘I’ve got to talk to him. Would you mind coming along?’

  ‘Sure, if it’ll help.’

  Schmidt was dismounting as they approached. ‘I’ve just been informed that you captured the l
eader of those savages. Well done, Harrison.’

  ‘Sergeant Johnson also helped, Lieutenant. In fact, it was his quick thinking with the firecrackers that really saved the day.’

  Schmidt grunted in response. He was not an officer given to praising his men. ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

  ‘The lady I arrived with has been kidnapped by Gabriel. I think she’s in great danger.’

  Schmidt smiled mirthlessly. ‘I was not aware that you had such a taste for melodrama, Harrison or that you were sentimental about women. Has it not occurred to you that she may have gone willingly? Go after her if you must, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  Harrison fought down his rising anger. ‘No, Lieutenant, I’m sure that what you say is untrue. Mrs Sloane is a grieving widow and would not have gone off with a man she hardly knows, certainly not without talking to me first.’

  ‘It may be as you say,’ acknowledged Schmidt grudgingly, ‘but it’s not my affair. I can’t send my men chasing through the desert after ladies in distress.’

  Harrison drew in a deep breath and let it out. He had made up his mind. ‘Can you send them after a hundred thousand dollars stolen from an army payroll and the murdering thief who knows where it’s hidden?’

  He had Schmidt’s full attention now. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Harrison briefly told him about Barton, Maggie, the stolen money and how Gabriel had become involved.

  Schmidt was breathing heavily now. Grabbing Harrison’s lapel, he leaned forward and demanded, ‘This Barton, does he have a scar on his face?’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘I gave him that scar.’ Schmidt released his grip before continuing. ‘Five years ago I was a captain escorting a payroll wagon when we were attacked. We killed most of them but one escaped with a strongbox full of money. I cut him with my sword before he got away. I heard later that he’d been caught, but the money was never found. There weren’t enough men on the job and someone had to take the blame.’