Wednesday, September 3…
The foul weather that was plaguing Rob Conners and Allie Summer started out as a chilling wind in River Bend. It began late Wednesday afternoon, September 3, building slowly, but gaining in strength and tempest over the next few days. Dark clouds congregated, rumbled over and past Clearwater Valley, and brought a miserable rain with it on Thursday. But the cold wind that blew also, metaphorically, propelled a diverse confluence of humanity together to the town of River Bend. The weather was haunting, but not nearly so much as some of that humanity which arrived. They came with horror and misery on their minds—a horror and misery they intended to deal out to others. Even a cold north wind is not as chilling as a human heart with murder as its intent.
It was on that Wednesday afternoon that 12 men stopped and made camp about 5 miles southeast of River Bend. The wind was already picking up, but they found shelter and built a couple of fires. The coffee, ham, and beans were warm and tasted good.
“What’s the plan?” Terrell Tolliver asked his older brother as they all were eating. “Surely we don’t need 12 men to kill two women.”
“No, and we aren’t all going into town, either,” Trent replied. “Since we don’t know where either one of those women live, we’re going to have that marshal bring them to us.”
All the men were listening. “Explain, please,” Terrell replied.
“I intend to. Six of us will ride into River Bend, the rest of you stay here. Terrell, you, me, Hank, Ed, Ricky, and Duck will go to town. The rest of you remain at camp and take orders from Gus, but Gus, don’t go anywhere unless you absolutely have to. I want you here when we come out of town.”
“All right,” Gus responded.
“What we’re going to do,” Trent continued, “is a simple hostage exchange. About 1 o’clock, we’ll take over the school at this edge of town. There’ll be a teacher there and several kids. We’ll send one of the older ones after the marshal, and maybe let a few others go, but we’ll hang on to the teacher and 5 or 6 of the brats. When the marshal shows up, we’ll tell him to send us those two women. They better be there by 6 o’clock or we’ll start sending out dead bodies. We’ll take the two women with us to ensure we get out of town alive and that the marshal won’t follow us. We’ll come back here, pick up the rest of the boys, head for the hills, kill the two women and dump their bodies where no one will ever find them, and then go to the Hole-in-the-Wall until the stink blows over. After that, we’ll travel south, maybe New Mexico or Arizona. Get out of this territory for good. I’m tired of this cold weather, anyway.”
The other men all looked at each other. “Do you see any holes in that plan?” Trent asked them.
Terrell spoke up. “I think it will work, Trent, but I’m a little skittish about killing children.”
“Do you think those two women are going to let us do that?”
Terrell made a face that basically said “you’ve got a point there.” Then he looked around and said, “Any objections or suggestions, boys?”
“Why don’t we kill one of the women there, just so the marshal will know we’re serious? Having two women along with us might be a pain.”
Duck Soupe spoke up with a big grin on his face, “Havin’ two women with us might be a whole lot of fun.” Some of the other men snickered.
“There’ll be none of that, Duck” Trent said, “not until the very end. I want that to be the last thing we do before we will both of them.” His jaw tightened. “Especially that Kelly Atkins. She killed Top, and I want her to suffer bad for it. We’ll make her watch us have fun with the other woman and kill her, and then we’ll take our time finishing off Kelly Atkins. I wish we could have done more with Conners and that Ranger, but they’re dead, that’s what matters.”
Gus Ferrara threw a quick glance at Terrell; the younger Tolliver brother knew that Gus was not pleased with the plan. Gus could handle killing—at least killing men. But he had enough Western chivalry in him that raping, torturing, and murdering women made him more than a little squeamish. Terrell wasn’t quite as bloodthirsty as his brother, but he wasn’t quite as delicate as Gus. He wasn’t overly fond of the plan, but he’d go along with it. Maybe he could shorten the duration of the women’s torture and rape. But, regardless, he expected Gus to be gone when he, Trent, and the others returned to camp after the kidnapping.
“I’m lookin’ forward to goin’ to the Hole-in-the-Wall,” Hank Frobisher said. “Ain’t never been there and always wanted to see it.”
“Perfect place to hide for awhile, too,” Ricky Sata pitched in.
The Hole-in-the-Wall was, in effect, a sanctuary for fugitive outlaws. It was deep in the Wyoming territory and not easy to find. But when a man, or a gang, needed to hide out from the law for a while, the Hole-in-the-Wall was the perfect place to go. No lawman would dare enter; a goodly number of outlaws were always there and they could stay indefinitely, as long as they provided for themselves.
“We’ll hang out there for a few weeks,” Trent said. “Any of you ever been to New Mexico or Arizona?”
A man named Ho Chambers spoke up. “I was down there for a little while, Trent. Hotter’n than hell on the front burner, but growing. Railroad’s been coming through and towns have been following. And there’s lots of places in that desert and mountains to hide out. I think it’d be a good move.”
“Any Indian troubles?”
“Naw, they’re all on reservations now, what few of them there is that’s left.”
“Can I go in and take that marshal, Trent?” Lem Unser asked. “We owe him one, and Top was about to bury ‘im when that Atkins woman plugged him.”
“No, Lem, we don’t need to mess with the marshal. If you want to come back some day and get him, that’s your business. But tomorrow we concentrate on the two women.”
“I’d leave that marshal alone, if I was you, Lem,” Gus Ferrara said. “He’s one tough cookie.”
Trent looked at him. “You’ve been here and seen him, Gus. Just how tough is he? Will he give us big problems? He isn’t that good, is he?”
Gus shrugged. “I don’t think so, Trent, but I really don’t know him. He’s new to River Bend, only been there a few months. Big fella, so I wouldn’t want to fight him. Lem found that out. But, frankly, I don’t see what he can do if you get hold of that school. He’s not going to let you kill any of those kids.” He looked at Trent. “But I do think I know him well enough to know that if you do kill any of the children, he won’t let you leave town.”
Trent snorted. “Well, it won’t come to that. Those two women won’t let us kill the kids, either,” he said.
“Not if what we heard about them is true. But your idea about getting out of the territory is a good one. You start killing women, especially one as well loved as Kelly Atkins is, and you’re gonna have a hornet’s nest of Rangers and lawmen after you. She’s the town sweetheart, and River Bend ain’t going to cotton to you killing her.”
“I don’t give a hoot nor holler what River Bend will cotton to,” Trent said, “but it will be a good time to relocate. Any of you boys object to going down south? You’re welcome to go your own way, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I ain’t got no objection to Arryzona, Trent,” Hank said. “S’long as there’s money, booze, and women down there.” The rest of the men chuckled.
“I hear them Mescan women are as pretty as flowers,” Phil Plate said.
“Yeah, while they’re young,” Ricky Sata replied. “But they eat too many tortillas and get as fat as an elephant before they hit 30. But that would suit Hank just fine. A young one would probably give him a heart attack.” That got a laugh, except from Hank, of course, who just grumbled.
“Well, you all think about it, but that’s where I’m headed and if you want to keep riding with the Tolliver gang, that’s where you’ll go, too. Anything else?”
Nobody said anything.
“Then tomorrow’s the day…”
Still Wednesday, September 3…
On the other side of River Bend, sitting in a miserable camp about five miles northwest of town, five men were contemplating their future.
“Hardy, what’re we gonna do onct we get back to River Bend?” Digger asked Hardy Nippo.
Hardy played the offended, though he had wanted to return to River Bend every bit as much as the others. “How should I know? You’s the fellas that wanted to come back. Whattaya think we’re gonna do?”
“I dunno,” Digger grumbled. “Go back to sweepin’ floors and cleaning the stuff outta horse stalls, I guess.”
“Yes, I guess,” Hardy said, with feigned indignation.
“Shore beats bein’ chased by the law fer the rest of our lives,” Rhino said.
“Yeah, but we coulda been ridin’ with the Tollivers and gettin’ rich,” Hardy rejoined.
“I don’t think them Tollivers wanted us to ride with ‘em noway,” Sampson put in. “That Trent Tolliver. He looked kinda mean to me, I think we’re better off stayin’ away from him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Digger, Rhino, and Duke echoed.
“I like River Bend,” Duke said. “Never done me no harm. We had lots of fun at the River Bend Saloon, didn’t we, Hardy?” It was a question, not a statement.
“Yeah, I reckon we did,” Hardy said, glad the decision was effectively taken out of his hands.
“But what’re we gonna do if’n that big nigger marshal comes along and asks us about Trent Tolliver killin’ Kelly Atkins?” Digger asked. “He kinda scares me.”
“Aw, that was over a month ago,” Hardy said. “He’s done forgot about it, I’m sure.”
“I don’ know about that, Hardy,” Sampson said. “That Kelly girl, she was almighty popular in town. I bet it’ll be a long time afore she’s forgotten.”
“Mebbe so,” Hardy replied, “but we didn’t have nuthin’ to do with it. Tolliver’s the one who shot her.”
“Yeah, but you pointed her out to him,” Rhino said.
“You gonna tell the marshal that, Rhino?” Hardy asked. “You was sittin’ right by me. Besides, how did I know he was gonna go out there and shoot her? Fer all I know he wanted to ask her for a date.”
“I don’t rightly think that’s what he had in mind, Hardy,” Digger said.
“’Course he didn’t, you pea-brain. But how was I to know that? Anyway, that’s what we’ll tell the marshal if’n he comes by. If I was a bettin’ man, though, I bet we won’t even see him.”
It’s a good thing Hardy Nippo wasn’t a betting man…
“But what if Trent Tolliver comes back to River Bend and finds us? He might be pretty sore that we didn’t rob that bank in I-dee-ho,” Duke said.
“Aw, Trent Tolliver ain’t comin’ back to River Bend,” Hardy replied. “He wouldn’t show his face there again after shootin’ Kelly Atkins. I bet we never see him again.”
It’s a good thing Hardy Nippo wasn’t a betting man…
And it’s still Wednesday, September 3…
A little further east, about 15 miles out of town and also camped out in rather miserable conditions, two more robust souls were ready to descend upon River Bend the next day. Allie and I had actually found decent shelter under the overhang of a small hill, but it was still drizzling and cold. It made her ankle and head ache all the more, but she wasn’t grumbling about it too much. She wasn’t that far away from death yet to start complaining about life. Otherwise, she was doing well. The ankle wasn’t swollen anymore and she could walk on it—with a limp and not too far, but she was getting better day by day. She was wearing moccasins, which helped take some of the pressure off. The wound in her head was almost cleared up now, but I kept an eye on it just in case.
“We’ll get to River Bend tomorrow, won’t we?” she asked me as dusk and clouds darkened the late afternoon day. She had wanted to go farther—well, I had, too—but the campsite we found was too good to pass up. And I could tell she was more tired than she would admit. Falling off 600 foot cliffs can be quite strenuous. At least I assumed so. I’d never done it. I was amazed at her story. We had talked about it, of course, back at Allie’s cave.
“You did what?” I had asked her, the incredulity surely as evident on my face as in my voice.
She shrugged. “I didn’t have much choice, Rob. I was staring at six rifles. It was go forward, into those rifles, or backwards off the cliff. I thought I had a better chance doing the backwards.”
“And you slowed your fall by ramming your knives into the cliff face.” I shook my head in disbelief. Only Allie Summer could do something like that. I would never even have thought of it.
“It wasn’t easy,” she assured me. “I got scraped and scratched and once or twice the knives slipped out when the wall bent away from me. But it worked.” Then she smiled at me. “But it would have all been in vain if you hadn’t come looking for me.”
“Well, you can thank McConnell for that. And then you can thank Ranger or I’d never have found you.” And once again, I marveled at the incomprehensible instincts of four-legged creatures. Ranger somehow knew Allie was still alive, and he knew where she was. And he wasn’t going to leave the area until he knew she was dead. I’d seen the same kind of intuition from many animals before.
Anyway, back to our present campsite and her present question about our imminent return to River Bend.
“Yeah, probably about mid-afternoon.” I looked up as a rumble of thunder growled out of the lowering grey clouds. “Provided the weather doesn’t turn too far south on us.”
It took Allie a moment to catch my metaphorical meaning, but she did. Horrid weather could dampen our pace, and pardon the soggy pun. “Well, I need to get there and send a telegram to McConnell. From what you said, he apparently wants to know where I am.” Allie wasn’t above a little sarcasm, if the readers needed me to inform them of that. “Where in Idaho did he go?”
I opened my mouth and started to speak, then stopped, realizing I didn’t know. “If he told me, I don’t remember. That’s been over two weeks ago. He may be back in Port Station by now.”
Allie was a little skeptical. Depending upon his destination in Idaho, there was a good chance he was still there. “I don’t know,” she said, “sometimes a trial can stretch on a few days.” Then she shrugged. “I’ll just wire HQ in Port Station. They’ll know where he is.” Then she looked at me closely. “Are you going to help me go after the two remaining Tollivers? I think you might have a vested interest in doing so.”
It didn’t take me much thought or time to respond, “No.”
She seemed a little surprised at my answer. “Why not?”
I poured myself a cup of coffee, which tasted awfully good in the weather we were enduring. “Number one, it’s not my job, Allie, I’m not a lawman, and I don’t want to be one. If Kelly is alive and will marry me, I’m not going to risk my life chasing Tollivers. There’s no telling how long it would take to find them. And it wouldn’t be fair to Kelly. Plus, I need to be with her. What if he showed up in River Bend while out was out looking for him with you?” Then I gave her a wry smile. “Of course, if Kelly won’t marry me, for whatever reason, I’d have no reason to stay in Clearwater Valley.”
Allie pondered all that for a moment, then slowly nodded her head. “You said, ‘number one.’ Is there a number two?”
I took a sip of my coffee and looked at her. “Yeah. Number two. If Tolliver has already been back to River Bend and killed Kelly…I won’t go with you because I won’t need your help or anybody else’s. There won’t be a place on this earth that he will be able to hide from me. And I’ll keep hunting him till I find him.” I took another sip of coffee. “I’ll dump his body on your front porch to save you the trouble of hunting him.”
Allie smiled at that. “He hasn’t been back to River Bend, Rob. There’s simply no way he could know that Kelly isn’t dead…”
It’s a good thing Hardy Nippo wasn’t a betting man…
And Wednesday, September 3, in the target of all this, the town of River Bend…
Marshal Ben Baker had his tan calfskin coat pulled up over his neck as he stood outside his office, leaning against a supporting post. He did that occasionally, when he wasn’t too busy. He liked to look over the town he had become so fond of, but he also thought it was a good idea if the people saw him, knew he was on the job, but more than that, knew they could find him if they needed him. Ben had bounced from job to job since the end of the War Between the States, but he had never been a lawman. He had taken to it like a fish to water; it was his “calling,” he knew that from the first day he had started with the Rangers. He just didn’t want the traveling that McConnell would, and did, insist upon. So, when the opening came up in River Bend, and the people offered him the position, he jumped at it. And he hadn’t regretted it in the least.
But on this day, Ben’s mind wasn’t focused on the town of River Bend—at least, not directly. It was what he feared was about to happen in River Bend that occupied his thinking. As noted, the weather that Rob Conners and Allie Summer had endured—and were enduring—was moving into Clearwater Valley. It hadn’t started raining yet, but the clouds and wind were there and the smell of precipitation was in the air. Rain would happen, though only the government knew when.
The foul weather didn’t help Ben’s mood much.
His deputy, Turley Edwards, had talked with Ben a little while earlier. Turley had noticed that Ben seemed a little distracted and asked him about it.
“I just…have a feeling, Turley. Like impending doom about to descend upon us. I guess that’s redundant, but that’s how I feel. This wind is blowing something nasty in our direction. Don’t ask me how I know that, I just do.”
Turley had no idea what Ben was talking about. The deputy was in his mid-20s, tall and gangly, and competent enough in his duties, but not yet an accomplished lawman. “Everything is ok now, Marshal. The town’s peaceful and quiet. I know you lost your best buddy, though. Maybe that has something to do with the way you feel.”
“Maybe,” Ben had replied, but that wasn’t what was eating him. His quick, intelligent, perceptive mind knew there was something else, something much more ominous than the death of Rob Conners.
So, Ben stood leaning against the post, nodding at an occasional greeting, but paying no mind otherwise. He thought back briefly over his life. He was in his early 30s now, born to slave parents in the pre-war South. He had never quite gotten the story correct. He thought he was the son of his owner, but that wasn’t true. His father’s father had been white, the captain of a Yankee clipper that was still hauling slaves to America from Africa, even after Congress had outlawed the slave trade in 1808. His parents had both been slaves, but Ben never knew his real father because he had been sold before his son had came of age, so Ben somehow came to the false conclusion that his father had been Jonathan Baker, the proprietor of the plantation. And his mother never told him otherwise. She was sold to another plantation when Ben was seven. That had pained the boy greatly, and he had never seen her since. So, given all the mystery surrounding his birth, Ben believed Baker had sired him. The big Marshal’s looks didn’t disparage that mistaken belief. Ben was just under 6 feet tall, but solidly built, muscular and strong. He had gotten some of his white grandfather’s features; he was lighter skinned than the typical African, and his handsome face had lost some of the characteristics of his ancestral homeland. He did have the short, kinky hair. Perhaps his most outstanding feature, though, was his keen, intelligent dark eyes. They could be piercing in their intelligence. Jonathan Baker had recognized, early on, that there was something special in Ben, so he taught the boy to read and write and Ben had never lost his love for learning. He was freed after the war, of course, and left to his own devices, even though he was only 11 years old. Or 10. Or 12. Ben didn’t actually know, for sure, how old he was, but he didn’t lose any sleep over it.
He had done what jobs he could to make ends meet. He eventually gravitated up north, thinking he would be treated better up there, but he wasn’t. The labor force in the North didn’t want ex-slaves taking their jobs at cheaper wages; there had actually been riots in the North for that very reason when Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. So, since Ben couldn’t find any stability on the eastern side of the Mississippi River, he did what many ex-slaves did—he headed west. New Mexico was his first destination, and he learned ranching—and medicine—there, but the local populace eventually wearied of the color of his skin, so he moved farther north. He was the town barber in Windy when he met Rob Conners; those events are related in River Bend. The subsequent happenings, ending in Ben being appointed town marshal of River Bend, were recounted briefly earlier in the story. Ben liked law work, but preferred the local position of marshal to the work of the Rangers.
And nothing that had come up yet had been beyond his ability to handle. The riff-raff in town learned very quickly that Ben wouldn’t take any guff off anybody. The first person to call him “nigger” to his face ended up with two less front teeth and from then on, it was “Marshal Baker.” But for all his intelligence and abilities, Ben was fairly new at the job, and knew he had limitations. And the gut feeling he had right now lent him to believe that he was about to be faced with a circumstance beyond those limitations.
He shook his head, hearing the wind moan through the eaves of the building. It makes no sense, there’s no rational reason for it, Turley’s right. Everything is going fine. I’m a lawman, I’m supposed to believe in evidence, facts, information, not some sensation in my gut. Maybe it’s the hamburger I had for dinner last night…
But Ben knew better than that. The feeling he had had two days earlier wouldn’t go away. He had that “lawman’s intuition” that he knew every good law officer had. He was glad he had it. But then, right now, he wished it would leave him alone.
He’s coming back…to kill two Kellys…
But when?...
And what am I going to do to prevent it? CAN I prevent it? I HAVE to prevent it…And that thought made the big Negro shiver. He had never lacked confidence in anything he had done before.
But he knew his limitations. And he feared the Tolliver gang might be beyond them.
And, once again, for more times that he could count in the past month, Ben’s thoughts turned to that grave in River Bend Cemetery where the body of Rob Conners supposedly lay…
The two Kellys that Ben was so worried about didn’t have the lawman’s gut instincts. While they both realized the possibility that Trent Tolliver would return to River Bend, neither gave it much thought or let it influence their lives. Somebody wanting to kill them still didn’t quite compute to either young lady; it just wasn’t the kind of life they were involved in. And so denial set in, along with the pressing matters of daily life.
Kelly Kramer had a couple of days off. Oscar Word was having a new stove put into the Gold Dust Café and it would take a couple of days to get everything situated, so Kelly didn’t have to work on Wednesday and Thursday. Another new friend of hers, Faye Cunningham, had invited her to spend the two days at the Cunningham ranch, which was in Clearwater Valley, about 6 miles from town. Kelly was thrilled to get out away for a couple of days, so she left early Wednesday morning and didn’t return until late Thursday evening.
The fates move in strange ways….
The other Kelly was busy at the Atkins ranch. Not only did she have her regular chores to perform, but her father was out of town so she had to take on the extra tasks he would normally perform.
“We had four calves this year, Kelly,” Fred, her father, had told her, though she knew it, of course. “I’m going to take 12 of our herd to the railhead at Franklin and see what I can get for them. We need to thin out a little.”
The Atkins had a quarter section of land near the base of a hill southwest of town. They had some good grass and water and usually ran about 20 cattle—which might have been stretching it a little on their size ranch. But the grass had always been good enough to sustain that number, though with the natural growth every year, Fred culled the herd, usually in late summer as he was doing now. Four calves was more than they usually got each year, so rather than the usual 10, Fred was going to sell 12. He might get $500, depending upon beef prices. He’d then buy a few local cows just to get his numbers back up, but he’d pull a profit. That, along with the domestic animals they had and the garden Kelly grew, kept the Atkins healthy and wise, if not altogether wealthy. But they were happy.
The railhead in Franklin was to the southeast and Fred would probably be gone for about three weeks. He left on the first of September. Kelly wasn’t concerned; as noted, it was a yearly trek Fred made. But she did stay extra busy during those three weeks, so, on this Wednesday, September 3, thoughts of Trent Tolliver were far from her mind.
Thoughts of Rob Conners, however, weren’t.
Being busy helped, but being alone didn’t. And as she was feeding chickens, pigs, and goats, and then tending to her garden, she fought to hold back tears. And then tried to berate herself for it.
Kelly, he’s gone, for good, get over it. He didn’t care about you or he never would have left in the first place…
What was he doing so close to town then?
Well, he wasn’t coming to see you, that’s for sure. I’ll bet he was coming to see Kelly Kramer….
But Kelly K had said that Rob hadn’t known she was coming to River Bend…
The thought that Rob might have been coming to see her pained Kelly A all the more. If he HAD been coming to see me…She shook the thought off—she had to. It was almost unbearable to her to think that Rob was coming for her, and then had gotten killed within a few miles of town. She just wouldn’t let herself think that.
No, he was just passing through. I’ll bet he was on the way to Port Station to see Allie Summer…
I’ll bet that’s where his ugly horse went…
A tear rolled down Kelly’s cheek. It still wasn’t working.
On this Wednesday, Kelly made the five mile trip into River Bend; she needed some chicken feed. She had told herself she wasn’t going to go to the cemetery, but she did. Ben’s visit—where he had rather rudely removed her flowers from the grave with his foot—had been just two days earlier. Kelly was a little distraught to see the scattered, though nearly dead, flowers. She picked them up and replaced them, wondering who would do such a thing. I guess not everybody in town liked Rob…She knelt beside the grave, trying not to cry, willing herself not to cry. I’ve got to get over him…I will…maybe Dave…But it would take time. Especially with the thought, that she couldn’t shake, that he might have been coming back to River Bend for her. The letter…With a rather twisted sort of logic, she told herself that by being strong at Rob’s grave would help her overcome him more quickly. At least, that was her justification for her continued trips to his graveside.
For the umpteenth time in the last month, Why did you leave, Rob? Why? We could have been so happy together…so happy…so happy…
The tears came…and didn’t stop for 30 minutes.
She finally arose and left the cemetery, trying to think ahead. Friday night…Dave…like Kelly said, I’ve got to try…I will…Rob would want me to…
Fighting her heart was a problem Kelly Atkins was facing with some degree of severity.
But it was fixing to be the least of her problems.