It was a tricky manoeuvre, but Saddler succeeded in tucking the reins between his knees and then raising his own rifle to his shoulder. He fired at the horses and was gratified to see one of the riders fall, as his horse turned a somersault.
‘Aim at the horses,’ he told Jake, who responded by saying cheerfully,
‘Don’t teach your grandma to suck eggs, Saddler. Me and Tyler know our work.’ There was evidently something in this, because he and his brother, working in concert, brought down a couple of riders. The remaining eight men moved further away. There had been no answering fire, which gave Saddler hope that the Indians didn’t have firearms. The arrow that had struck the stage was a lucky shot; it must have been at the outer limits of the range, especially from a galloping horse.
It was a stand-off, or what some would call an impasse. The Indians could not approach any closer to the stage without the risk of being shot, but there was no way of shaking them off. A man galloping on horseback will always be faster than four horses pulling a heavy wagon behind them. Already, Saddler could sense that his own horses were beginning to flag and were in need of slowing down. Eventually, they would have to stop to rest and then they would really be in trouble. There were only eight men on their tail now, but what if more arrived? Things were, from all that Saddler was able to collect, looking pretty desperate for them.
When he heard shots from some way away, clearly not being fired by Tyler or Jake, Saddler’s spirits fell. He took it as read that this meant either that the Indians riding alongside them, or some of their allies hidden ahead, had guns. In such a case they were done for. However, when he looked over to the riders he was astonished to see that another was down and that only seven remained in their band. Whoever had been firing had been aiming not at them but at their attackers.
The track along which they were thundering was heading down to a little valley. Scattered along the floor of this valley were heaps of boulders and scree. From the side of one of these boulders Saddler saw a puff of smoke emerge; a second later he heard the crack of a shot. As they came to the foot of the slope and began to run along the level ground of the valley floor, Saddler saw two figures ahead of him: a man and a woman. Both were waving their arms frantically, indicating that he should stop.
The shooting had discouraged the riders who had been harrying them. They were hanging back now, not so confident as they had seemed earlier. Saddler brought the stage to a halt and turned round to see what was happening. Just as though he could look into their heads and see what they were thinking, Saddler knew the calculations that were now taking place. There were seven of them, armed only with bows and knives. On this side though, were four men, all armed with rifles. It would be madness for the Indians to continue prosecuting the assault and, sure enough, they lit out, back the way they had come. Which doesn’t mean to say, thought Saddler to himself, that they will not be back with their friends, some of whom might very well have guns.
Another man came out from the rocks to join the man and woman, who were standing there with looks of the greatest relief on their faces. Saddler and Jake Jackson jumped down to see who they had to thank for help in driving off the Indians. Abigail and Tyler also climbed out to see what was going on.
The man who had waved them down looked to be about forty, as did the woman at his side. The other man was much younger, about half their age and turned out to be their son. The three of them spoke with a drawl that Saddler couldn’t quite place. They certainly didn’t come from any of the neighbouring states.
‘I’m Leroy Clarke and this here’s my wife Rose and my boy Pierre. We’re mighty glad to see you folks.’
‘Where you from, Mr Clarke?’ asked Saddler and received the surprising answer that the family hailed from Montana.
‘That’s a fair walk from here,’ remarked Saddler, curious. ‘How’d you fetch up in this neck o’ the woods?’
‘Come to homestead,’ said Clarke. ‘Loaded up a wagon and come down here to start a farm.’
‘Homestead?’ asked Saddler. ‘What’re you talking about? This is Indian land, given ’em by treaty.’
‘Yeah,’ said the man, a little embarrassed from what Saddler could see. ‘If you served in the army you might get a quarter section in some new territory like Nebraska, but the rest of us have to do what we can. We weren’t harming anybody here, there’s plenty o’ room. We just built us a little soddie and then set to ploughing.’
Saddler shook his head and made an exasperated sound in his throat.
‘You can’t just settle on somebody’s land like that. It’s men like you as has got everything stirred up round here. No wonder the Indians are riled, seeing people like you steal their land.’
Leroy Clarke didn’t appear to be the slightest bit put out at having his conduct denounced in this way. He spat to one side and said, ‘Well, it makes no odds now. We been driven out last night. Been walking ever since, wondering how far we was goin’ to get before those savages caught up with us. You boys are angels of mercy and that’s a fact.’
‘You want us to rescue you?’ asked Saddler. ‘Yeah, you people make the trouble and then look to others to pull your chestnuts out o’ the fire. I don’t think so.’
Even as he said this, Saddler had privately decided that the more of them in a group, the better. Five men with rifles could prove a formidable deterrent to any attacks; certainly better odds than just the three of them, as it had been earlier. He didn’t intend to let the fellow think, though, that he had a right to come on board the stage. Let him plead!
‘Hell’s afire,’ said Clarke. ‘You can’t mean to leave us here? What’s wrong with you boys?’
The Jackson brothers had been doing some very similar figuring to Saddler’s, and so he was not surprised when Tyler and Jake led him off for a private conference.
‘Come on, man,’ said Tyler, ‘you got to see where we would do well with another pair of guns on our side.’
‘Sure,’ said Saddler. ‘I just wanted that bastard to sweat. It’s men like him who have queered the pitch for all of us who work the territories.’
When they went back to the stage it was to find that Abigail was making friends with Rose Clarke, who was surprised to find a child of such tender years travelling with a trio of roughnecks like Saddler and the Jacksons. Abigail had been a little vague about the precise circumstances, but had told the woman enough for her to be able work out that the child was no blood relative to any of the the three men.
‘Well, if we’re goin’, then we best make tracks as soon as we are able,’ said Saddler. ‘Abigail, come with me a minute. I have a few words to say to you.’
When they were out of earshot of the others, Abigail said anxiously, ‘You’re not mad at me, are you Mr Saddler?’
‘Mad at you? No, nothing of the sort. I just wondered how you was bearing up, is all.’
‘Oh, pretty well. That Tyler is a right funny man. He cheers me up no end.’
It was on the tip of Saddler’s tongue to warn the girl not to grow too friendly with the Jacksons, but he decided against it. Tyler and Jake might be a right pair of devils in most ways, but Saddler felt that they would not harm a little girl. He even fancied that they themselves were growing fond of the child.
He contented himself with observing, ‘Although I say it as shouldn’t, you do know that they’re a couple of rogues, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Abigail. ‘I think I guessed that.’
There was some little debate about the best way of arranging the new passengers. In the end, it was decided that Abigail and Mrs Clarke would naturally ride inside and that two of the men should also be inside, one either side. That would mean three men outside, which would mean that two could be on the lookout constantly for signs of danger.
Although he was markedly gruff with Leroy Clarke, Saddler was actually quite pleased to have the extra firepower. Of course, it would make for slower travelling with three extra bodies on board, but even without them, the stage would not realistically be able to outrun fresh galloping horses carrying only one rider. Their security lay not in speed, but strength.
Jake Jackson took it into his head to ride on the roof facing backwards, and so for the first part of the journey Saddler was stuck with Leroy Clarke sitting next to him. Having quickly established that the man knew nothing of driving a coach-and-four, and would therefore be unable to take a turn and give him a break, Saddler thought that at the least he might provide some diversion in the way of conversation.
‘So what were you all doing up in Montana, meaning afore you came down here?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said Clarke, ‘a bit of this, a bit of that.’
‘No, I can’t say as I do know. What do you mean?’
‘I never could settle at one line of work. Always trying something new. How long you been working for Wells Fargo?’
The sudden and unexpected question took Saddler entirely by surprise.
‘Wells Fargo?’ he said. ‘What d’you mean?’
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that he had made a false step. After all, he was driving a Wells Fargo coach. It must have looked odd to Clarke that he was taken aback by being asked about the company. He looked sidelong at the man, who had a cunning and satisfied look on his face. There was silence for a piece and then Leroy Clarke said,
‘I suspicioned there was something cockeyed about this. You ain’t working for Wells Fargo any more than I am. What about your friends, they in the same case?’
‘For a man who has been given a free ride,’ said Saddler, ‘you got a most unusual way of showin’ your gratitude. What’s it to you who I work for?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all. Just shooting the breeze.’
There was an uncomfortable silence, which neither man was inclined to break. Saddler wondered what this fellow had been doing in Montana and why he had uprooted his family and brought them down to squat here in the Choctaw nation. There was something more than a little evasive about Leroy Clarke, and Saddler did not trust him one bit. When he sneaked another sideways glance at the man he fancied that his face wore a gloating and satisfied expression, as though he had found an unexpected advantage somewhere and was feeling pleased with himself.
The afternoon passed without any further excitement. From time to time, they passed individuals on the road; some on foot and others riding. All were Indians and none seemed to be in an aggressive frame of mind, but were simply going about their normal business. If there was a general uprising in the territories, there were still those who were not a party to it.
About halfway through the afternoon the two men in the coach swapped places with the two outside. This left Tyler sitting next to Saddler and young Pierre on the roof. Saddler chatted in a desultory fashion with Tyler Jackson, attempting from time to time to draw Pierre Clarke into the conversation, but he was a taciturn and uncommunicative youth. At one point, Tyler nudged him and when he turned, gave him an expressive look and raised his eyebrows interrogatively. Saddler interpreted this to mean, What do you make of them folk? He could not have formed a satisfactory answer to this question, even had it been spoken out loud. Truth was, he thought there was something not quite right about Leroy Clarke, but he was damned if he knew what it could be.
They pulled off the road for the night at the top of a rise of land. They and their coach could be seen for miles, but they in turn would be able to see anybody coming from far off. Saddler invited Abigail to help him gather wood for a fire. When they were clear of the stage and the other people, he said to the child,
‘What do you make to those new passengers of ours? I would value your opinion.’
Flattered at having her views solicited in this way, Abigail thought before answering carefully,
‘Mrs Clarke seems an agreeable lady. She said they had to leave where they were living in Montana because people told a lot of lies about her husband. She and her son are a little scared of him, I think.’
‘What about him? What’s your feeling?’
‘I don’t trust him. He is cunning and looks shifty.’
Saddler laughed. ‘Thank you, child. I’m obliged to you for that. Strikes me as you and me both have the same angle on that fellow.’
Something which Saddler noted, and later confirmed that the Jacksons had also become aware of, was that while giving practically nothing away about his own past life, Leroy Clarke appeared to be possessed of an inexhaustible desire to hear about their exploits in the Indian Territory. Cheerful and open as the Jackson brothers were normally, something about Clarke’s casual enquiries set their teeth on edge and they told him nothing.
Rose Clarke filled in any awkward silences with her chatter about life in Montana, although it was still not plain just what she and her family had been doing there. At one time they had done some farming, then again, they had lived in a town for a spell. By the time everybody turned in Saddler had come to his own conclusion about Leroy Clarke, though even he could not have guessed it all.
The Jackson brothers knew this part of the country better than Saddler, so the next morning he asked their advice. According to them they were only two days’ ride to Kansas by fast horse, which might equate to three or four if they stuck with the stage. This brought the conversation neatly round to what Saddler had been thinking. He and the Jacksons had walked away from the others and were just chatting in the most amiable and inconsequential fashion; leastways, that was what it would have looked like to anybody watching. In fact, the Jacksons too were growing uneasy about Clarke.
Tyler said, ‘You ever meet a man who gives you the shivers, same as a snake does? That’s how I feel about that fellow.’
‘Me too,’ said Jake. ‘There’s somethin’ wrong about him.’
Saddler said, ‘I tell you now what I think. I think he’s a one who makes his livin’ by finding lawbreakers and handin’ them in.’
‘You mean a bounty hunter?’ asked Jake. ‘I can’t see him in that character.’
‘No, you damn fool,’ said Saddler, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, ‘He ain’t of that brand, I’ll grant you. No, I mean an informer. You know the type. They report their neighbours for making a little moonshine one day. Then they hear that somebody has been stealing and tell of him too. Maybe they hang round saloons and pick up gossip. A man can scrape a living so on handouts from the sheriff and sometimes bigger reward money.’
‘That’s it for a bet, Saddler. You got the matter figured out right. You think he’s hoping to turn us in for that stagecoach?’
‘Sure he is. He knows damned well that we ain’t drivin’ no Wells Fargo service. More than that, he has us pegged for villains. He thinks that there’ll be a reward on each of us.’
‘So what’s to do?’ asked Jake. ‘You think as we should just leave ’em out here?’
‘It’d ease my mind greatly to be rid of him,’ said Saddler, ‘but it wouldn’t sit right to dump a woman in the middle of nowhere with an Indian rising and all. Is there some way station or road house near here?’
The brothers thought about this; then Tyler said, ‘There’s a man runs a little drinking spot and also trades with the Indians. Mind, goin’ by what we saw of the last such place, I can’t say if he’s still there. Anywise, it will be maybe ten miles along the road from here.’
When they started off, Saddler desired Leroy Clarke to sit alongside him as he drove. He wanted to be sure that he wasn’t misjudging the man and to give Clarke the opportunity to make a more favourable impression than he had yet managed to do. Rather than that, not ten minutes after they set out, Clarke confirmed just exactly what Saddler had suspected all along. They bowled along at a fair pace, although a little more sedately than when there was only the four of them for the horses to pull.
Clarke had evidently grown weary of waiting for the others to reveal something of themselves, because he began to probe and pry. He said,
‘So how come you know those other boys? You’re friends or what?’
‘Somethin’ of the sort,’ said Saddler noncommittally.
‘Ah hell, you can tell me,’ said Clarke. ‘I’m no tattletale. I mind you and them’s on the scout. Am I right?’
Saddler ducked his head in a bashful way, like a man whose big secret has been found out. ‘Why’d you think so?’ he asked.
‘Stands out a mile,’ Clarke cried triumphantly, pleased with himself for extracting what he saw as an admission. ‘Hell, it’s nothing to me. I knew when we moved down here that these parts are full of bushwhackers and bandits. You can trust me, I ain’t about to tell on you all.’
‘You’re too sharp for me and that’s a fact,’ Saddler said. ‘You have a knack for knowing about such things.’
‘Practice is all,’ said Leroy Clark, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that he would have done better to keep quiet. He was confirmed in this view when, without giving any notice of what he was about to do, Saddler took one hand from the reins, reached across and plucked Clarke’s pistol from the holster at his hip.
‘Hey,’ Clarke said angrily, ‘What the hell are you doing? You just give me that right back.’
Instead, Saddler cocked the piece with his thumb and pointed it straight at Leroy Clarke.
Another Basil Brush chapter ending there. Well done, Mr Simon.