The Man from Pinkertons and the Gunrunners

Chapter 8

The owner of the livery stable was nowhere in evidence, but since he had paid in advance, up to and including the coming night, Kyle did not see that he needed to gain anybody’s approval simply to tack up the mare and make off. He hoped that he was wrong in his estimation of the likelihood of the men in the town lynching him as a sop both to their own consciences and as an insurance policy to be set against the time that the US Cavalry arrived in force, seeking a reckoning for their losses, but he did not think so. As he prepared his mount, he toyed with the notion of returning to the room where he had been staying to collect the bag which he had left there, but decided against doing so. There was no percentage in pushing his luck any further. If he was able to leave Pilgrim’s Crossing without being invited to a necktie party, that would be about enough.

There was a canteen attached to his saddle and this Kyle filled from the trough provided for the animals. Then he checked his pistol carefully, making sure that five of the chambers were fully loaded and that none of the balls had chanced to roll out, as sometimes happened if the wadding had not been tamped down properly. He had not cleaned the piece since firing at that man who had provoked a fight with him, but that would have to wait. If ever a man had a finely honed survival instinct, that man was Jethro Kyle and he felt most powerfully that it was time to leave. What he sometimes thought of as his antennae were twitching uneasily, the way that those of an insect do when it detects danger. When he led the mare out of the stable, he saw that his usual sharp senses had not played him false, because a group of men carrying rifles were standing outside and, by the look of it, waiting for him.

‘I hope that you men aren’t looking for trouble,’ said Kyle in as friendly a tone as he could muster, ‘I would o’ thought you’d had enough today in this town to last you for a good, long while.’

This remark was not well received and one of the half-dozen men said grimly, ‘You best not bandy words with us in that way, mister. We’re here to find out what your part in all this has been.’

‘That’s no mystery. I was sent here by the Pinkertons agency to look into the gunrunning which has been going on.’

‘Gunrunning?’ said another of the men, ‘I never heard of such a thing here.’ There were grunts of agreement and it looked as though the line that these fellows were taking was that they and their town had no truck with evil-doers and that until Kyle had turned up, they all of them lived peaceable and God-fearing lives with never a thought of profiting on the back of the various villainous types who used their town as a springboard for their enterprises.

Kyle remembered hearing one time of some German soldier who expressed the view that the best defence was attack. This had always seemed to him like a right smart doctrine when it came to war and, for the matter of that, in time of peace too. He considered that this was the ideal time to practice this sensible strategy, for if things took the wrong turn here, these men would rush him and before he knew it, they would be stringing him up.

‘You people’d do better to look at your own selves,’ said Kyle coldly, ‘Than come chasing after me and trying to lay all the blame at my door. You think I don’t know about the white slavers who spend their money so freely here?’ Until the Reverend Cathcart had mentioned this to him the day before, Kyle had not heard anything of this matter, but from the looks on the faces of those standing before him, he could see that he had hit the gold. He continued, ‘As for gunrunning, it was as plain as a pikestaff to you all that people like that Colonel Stannard were up to no good, but as long as he spent freely, you none of you cared what he did elsewhere. It’s villains like that who put food on your table and what’s more you all know it. Pinkertons know it too, which is why I was sent here. You men might think to stretch my neck, but I tell two things. One is that the whole lot of you are no better than those whited sepulchres you read about in the Bible. And if that don’t worry you none, then I’ll tell you now, Pinkertons will be down here looking for me if I don’t send in a report. You’ll find yourselves with a deal of explaining to do if you kill me.’

There was dead silence after Kyle finished speaking and from what he could make out, it could go either way. They might just rush him and put a rope around his neck because they were so vexed about what had happened this day and also on account of they didn’t like to hear such plain speaking. Then again, he might have shamed them into leaving him be. He said, ‘If you want to know where I’m going now, I’ll tell you. I’m after those men who have brought such bloodshed to your streets. If there was any real men among you, you’d form up a posse and come along of me, but I don’t look for any of you to do that, not for a moment. But if you won’t help, then the least you can do is not hinder me in what I’m about.’

A sullen silence followed this little speech and some of the men exchanged what looked to Kyle like sheepish glances with their neighbours. He decided that it was now or never and so he simply walked forward towards the group who were crowding him, leading the mare behind him. If they were going to seize him, then this would be the moment. Nobody laid hands on him though and the mob parted to allow him through. Kyle was ready though to draw his pistol and make a fight of it if any attempt had been made to molest him. There was none though and when once he was clear of the little knot of men he turned and said, ‘I don’t suppose any of you will join me in apprehending those who brought such trouble to your town?’ When nobody spoke, he shook his head in disgust and said, ‘Its just like I thought. You men ought to take shame, every one of you!’ With which parting shot he mounted the mare and set her trotting away from town in the direction which Stannard and his companions had lately gone.

Kyle was not in any kind of hurry to catch up with Stannard. He would sooner by far that this did not happen until nightfall, for several reasons. One of these was that Kyle had not yet settled in his own mind whether or not he would be able with a clear conscience to fire on the colonel and the others without issuing a challenge. In cases of war or hot pursuit, the rattlesnake code did not prohibit attacking a man without making a second or third challenge before each new attack. It was enough that a man knew that he was at odds with another and the onus was firmly upon him in that case to keep his wits about him. It was a tricky case though, for Kyle could not satisfy himself that Stannard actually knew that the two of them were deadly enemies and that Kyle was in pursuit of him. For all that he was a tough and capable man, willing and able to kill whenever need arose, Kyle’s sense of honour could be as delicate as a girl’s at times such as this. In the end, he came to the reluctant conclusion that he would have to make himself known before launching an attack on the men he was riding after.

The landscape was bleak in these parts at this time of year. Doubtless it would come to life a little more when spring arrived, but right now it was a monotonous and fairly lifeless to look at. The best way of describing it would be, decided Kyle, scrubby and flat. There were slight undulations in the land, which meant that although he could see to the horizon, there were dips and rises, so he did not have an unobstructed view of the way ahead. There was no sign of the four men who had left Pilgrim’s Crossing in this direction and he wondered uneasily if they had caught sight of him and were even now preparing an ambush. However, the rises and hollows were so gentle, that he would most likely be able to see ahead of time if anybody was laying in wait. It would ease his mind though when once he could lay eyes upon his quarry.

The track south ran more or less straight across the plain and Kyle had been riding at a slow and steady pace for a good half-hour before he spotted the three horses he was following. Because one of those horses was burdened with two riders, he had assumed that the party would be travelling slowly, but he had greatly underestimated their speed. While he was watching the three horses which must be something like three miles ahead of him, a movement to his left caught Kyle’s eye. It was another group of riders. They seemed to be bunched together and at that distance it was hard to tell exactly how many of them there were, but he guessed no more than ten or twelve. It was tricky to calculate when the two bodies of riders were so far away, but to Kyle, it looked as though the larger party was heading directly at the three horses which he was following. He caught a glimpse of what looked like white on the heads of those making for Stannard and the others and then the entire picture came into focus in Kyle’s mind. This was a bunch of Indians wearing war bonnets and they were heading towards Stannard and the three men accompanying him.

Had it just been Stannard and his two cut-throat companions, then Kyle would have been very much inclined to leave matters to take their course, but there was an innocent man along of them. Pete Johnson had struck him as a decent enough type who was being exploited by Stannard. He could hardly just wait here and watch as those Indians killed the chemist along with the villains with whom he had had the misfortune to become entangled. There was nothing for it, he would have to lend a hand and at least see if he could prevent the death of a blameless man who had been caught up in an affair such as this of which he had no prior knowledge. Kyle squeezed his knees together and touched his spurs to the mare’s flanks. She took the hint and took off at a canter. If he was any judge of such things, if he could maintain this speed, then he would reach Stannard at about the same time as the Indians.

The campaign conducted against the Comanche in these parts by Major-General Sheridan had been widely covered in newspapers and even Kyle, who was far from the most avid reader, had read some accounts of the atrocities committed by the Comanche in New Mexico and Texas. They were reputed to be in the habit of falling upon travellers and isolated homes; scalping their victims and subjecting them to unspeakable tortures. Kyle felt that he could hardly sit by idly and watch something of the kind inflicted upon a man whose only offence had been to be a mite too trusting of his fellow beings.

A few minutes hard riding brought Kyle close enough to the two lots of riders to be quite sure that he had been perfectly accurate in estimation of the danger in which Johnson and the others now found themselves. There were eleven Indians, and they were all tricked out with red and white feathers and all the other paraphernalia which indicated strongly that they were up to mischief of some description. Kyle jabbed his spurs sharply, to encourage his horse to move that little bit faster, because otherwise, he would not get to the scene before it was all over. Even now, he questioned the wisdom of what he was doing, but then he had had no clear idea before he spotted the Comanche, for so he took them, of what course of action he was going to take. At least this had precipitated a decision of sorts.

When he was but half a mile for the men to whose aid he was riding, he saw that they were dismounting, doubtless because they would be able to fire more accurately if they were standing on solid earth, rather than seated on a horse. Stannard and his men seemed to be armed with rifles, which might give them an edge, but although they were taking aim, none of them had yet fired. Perhaps they were not altogether convinced of the hostile intent of the men bearing down upon them. Then hell broke loose, because there came a ragged volley from the Indians, answered by fire from the defenders. At which point, Kyle had joined the melee, his pistol in his hand, firing at whoever crossed his path. As he had so often found during the war, affairs of this kind had a tendency to end almost as soon as they had begun, with nobody sure for a while, who had won. So it was in this present case. Kyle had fired all five chambers of his pistol and had not the least idea how many men he had accounted for, if any. He was aware that the enemy, much depleted, was heading away from the field of battle. It seemed that only five of the band was left and Kyle fully expected them to wheel around and rejoin the battle. After all, they still held the advantage in numbers. It did not happen though and until his dying day, Jethro Kyle could never figure out why those men had ridden off, rather than returning and killing him. Perhaps the resistance had been stiffer than they had expected or maybe they had business elsewhere and this attack had been a casual piece of work which had gone wrong for them.

There was little point in trying to reload his pistol, for it would all be over before he had so much as taken out his powder horn. That was the devil of it with cap and ball weapons such as his. They were beautiful to fire, but reloading them was the hell of a business. But it dawned on him that the Comanche were not coming back and so he looked to the men whom he had been following and saw that all but one looked to have been killed in the skirmish. Three of the men were laying prone, the exception being Colonel Stannard, who was standing with his rifle in his hand, but making no attempt to point it at Kyle. He simply stood there, the weapon drooping, as still as a statue. Then Kyle saw the blood and gore which bespattered the man’s chest and realised that Stannard was like as not mortally wounded. He dismounted and walked cautiously towards his one-time adversary.

Stannard was breathing stertorously and staring down at the ground at his feet. He did not appear to notice Kyle’s approach. Just to be on the safe side, Kyle reached out and grasped the Winchester, plucking it from the colonel’s hands. This seemed to awaken him from a reverie, for Stannard looked up and peered into Kyle’s face. He said slowly, ‘I guessed it was you. You been hounding me since we met.’

Kyle did not reply and the other man said, ‘I’m all shot to pieces. I want to sit, but I think I’ll fall down.’ Kyle moved closer and put his arm around Stannard’s shoulders and helped lower him to the ground. He was surprised that a man who had lost so much of his life’s blood was still able to move and talk at all. Stannard said, ‘I reckon the others are dead.’

After casting a quick glance round, Kyle said, ‘Yes, I reckon so.’

‘I’m not long for this world, ‘less I’m greatly mistaken.’

Kyle said nothing. Looked to him as though it was something of a miracle that Stannard was still in the land of the living at all, let alone speaking rationally and being aware of his situation. The dying man said, ‘Since first I saw you, I’d an inkling you’d be the death of me, you know that?’ Then he screwed up his face in pain.

‘Don’t speak if it pains you,’ said Kyle, ‘Try and save your breath.’

‘Save my breath?’ gasped Stannard, ‘What for? I’ll be dead within the hour, whether I take it easy or talk off the hind leg of a donkey.’

Hearing the truth set out so bluntly by a man on the verge of death was rare and despite everything, Kyle felt an unwilling admiration for somebody who could face his end so. Now that it had come to this pass, he was impelled to show some compassion for a man who faced the imminent dissolution of his own body with such firmness. Kyle said, ‘Is there anything I can get you? A drink of water?’

‘No, I’ll do well enough as I am. Tell me why you’ve been pursuing me.’

‘I work for Pinkertons. It’s what I’m paid to do.’

A faint smile appeared on Stannard’s lips and he said, ‘It’s just as I thought all along, there’s more to you than meets the eye. Well, I’m sorry to cheat you of your prey.’

Kyle shook his head and said, ‘I’m sorry you’re dying.’

‘It can’t be helped.’ replied Colonel Stannard, as casually as though they had been talking about some trifling loss at the gaming-table. Then his frame shook with a sudden spasm and he gritted his teeth. After he coughed slightly, there was a gleam of crimson on his lips and a drop of blood inched its way down his chin. Then, without any fuss or bother, he closed his eyes and died as Kyle watched him.

There was silence for a minute as Kyle mentally offered up a prayer for the dead man. Then he said out loud, by way of eulogy, ‘Well, you may have done bad things, but you surely met your end like a man. I reckon I hope to face death as well as you did when my own time comes, Colonel.’ Having delivered himself of which sentiment, he stood and began preparing to leave. The was, it seemed to him, little point in trying to bury the various corpses scattered around. It struck Kyle that this was certainly a bloody day; he could remember none more violent since the end of the war, but none of it had been his doing.

After untacking the surviving horses, Kyle sent them on their way by slapping their rumps. Although it seemed uncomfortably close to looting, he went through the packs of the dead men and found that they had a meagre store of food, although more than he himself had had the foresight to bring. This, he carried along with him. There was no time for prayers or ceremony, for where there was one band of marauding Comanche warriors, there was likely to be another and it was. He feared, very much a case of leaving the dead to bury the dead. This decision having been made, there was naught to delay his departure and so he mounted up and rode off south. The best place for him to head for was, as he read the case, Fort La Cruce. At the very least, he would be able to apprise them of what had been happening to the consignment of Gatlings which they were expecting. Kyle had no real idea how far it was to the fort and he’d a notion that he wouldn’t get there before nightfall. Was it thirty miles the man in the store had told him? Or was that just the old man’s guess? Anyway, he’d best make as much shift in that direction before the sun set as he could. The closer he was to La Cruce, the less likely he was to meet stray braves who might be on the rampage.

After some hours hard riding, there was no sign of the fort and since the sun was now sinking below the horizon to his right, Kyle thought it prudent to halt for the day. It would never do to lame the mare in the dark; he’d no particular desire to be stranded in this wilderness, not with hostiles on the prowl. For that same reason, although the night was cold, he thought it wise to refrain from building a fire and thus drawing attention to his whereabouts. He’d a small quantity of salted beef, cheese and stale bread, with which he had to make do for his evening meal.

Before turning in for the night, Kyle kneeled beneath the stars and addressed the Lord in the following way, ‘Lord, with your help I got through this day, though there’s many as did not. Still, that’s how it is sometimes. It’s not always the best men who live. Like it says in scripture, the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong. Anyways, thank you for all your help this day and I hope to reach the fort tomorrow. Amen’

It was not the most comfortable night that Kyle had ever spent, but on the other hand, nor was it the worst. He had slept crouched upright, huddled into a ball to preserve his warmth. He was glad when the sun rose and he could be on his way.

It was around midday when he came into view of the stockade that was Fort La Cruce. He had not expected to be received with open arms and smiles of welcomes and was not therefore disappointed to be greeted with suspicion and hints that he had himself had a hand in the dreadful sequence of events which he related, first to the adjutant and then, after that officer had fully appreciated the gravity of what he was hearing, the commanding officer himself. Major Lennox was not an especially agreeable man at the best of times and when he was informed that sixteen members of the US Cavalry had been gunned down by irregular forces, he was sorely tempted to shoot the messenger who brought such unwelcome news. Throughout Kyle’s account, he kept interrupting as though he were the prosecuting counsel in a court case, saying things such as, ‘Are you asking us to believe…?’ and ‘So you are claiming that…’ It was all that Kyle could do to keep his temper, for he had only come down here to let these people know what had become of their Gatlings, as matter of courtesy.

Kyle was of course cunning enough not to reveal that he had been an eyewitness to the theft and concealment of the missing weaponry, for he had a shrewd idea that any testimony of his which placed him at the scene of the massacre at San Angelo Pass might place him in jeopardy. There would surely be the thought that he had actually participated in actions which he described. Instead, he mentioned that one of the men had confided in him that the guns had been hidden in a cave near to the site of the ambush.

In the end, the major accepted that Kyle was who he claimed to be and was not a bandit masquerading as agent of Pinkertons. He invited him to stay at the fort for a spell, until he had recovered his strength, an offer which was grateful received. Kyle felt that he had had about enough excitement in the last few days to last him a good long while.

Kyle stayed only a night and the better part of the following morning at Fort La Cruce, before heading back towards civilisation. He knew that he had not precisely followed his instructions to the letter, as they touched upon gathering of information and not becoming involved, but then again he’d a notion that the actions which he had taken would very likely mean that Pilgrim’s Crossing would not be quite the same place in the future. Those living there had been given a good, practical demonstration of the ill-effects likely to result for their town if they let gunrunners and white slavers operate their trades nearby. And all that they had so far seen there was likely to be as nothing compared to what the army was likely to do or say when they descended upon the town to retrieve the corpses of those slain in the recent fighting. No, if there was one practical consequence of his actions, it had been that at least one town in those territories would no longer be a haven for wrongdoers, which was a comforting thought.

By the time he got back to Colorado, to report on his mission, Kyle found that the chain of events which he had initiated had become the theme of general conversation across much of the nation. It could hardly be expected that the killing of sixteen members of the armed forces of the United States in time of peace would pass wholly unremarked, but Kyle was astonished to see the lurid headlines about how the rebellion in Mexico against President Juarez had spilled over the border until it had caused the death of American citizens. From all that he was able to apprehend, this had greatly strengthened the position in Washington of those who wished to support Juarez. Since it seemed that President Grant was chief of this party, Kyle supposed that his actions in and around Pilgrim’s Crossing might be looked upon favourably. He certainly hoped so, because to say that he had exceeded his instructions would be to understate the case to a considerable degree. He need not have experienced the least anxiety on this point though.

Jed Stoner evinced enormous surprise to see Kyle walk into his office; surprise mingled with anger. He said, ‘That’s your idea of gathering information, without taking an action? Lord a mercy, I’d hate to see how you conduct yourself when you are called upon to act!’ Then, seeing Kyle’s dismayed face, Jed Stoner burst into laughter, saying, ‘Why, you booby, I was only joshing with you. You certainly done something there and no mistake. I tell you, the wire from Chicago must be red-hot with all the enquiries the head office have been making of you. Far as I can make out, some soldier in Texas has told the boss that you’re the fellow as has put the lid on gunrunning in that part of the country for a while. Don’t rightly know what you did, but everybody’s singing your praises. They want you in Chicago at once.’

‘You mean I’m not to do any more work here?’

‘Not a bit of it. Come on, you best gather up your things and get ready to leave.’

Kyle rubbed his chin in a meditative way and said slowly, ‘You know, I could surely do with a little rest and maybe some straightforward dealings for a space. You ain’t got any warrants or subpoenas need serving or nothing of the sort?’

‘Listen, I got strict instructions from Chicago to hoof you on the first east-bound train and there’s an end to it. From what those telegrams said, I shouldn’t wonder if the old man himself doesn’t want to speak to you about the job you done. There now, that’s not good enough reason to stir yourself? Let’s the two of us get down to the depot and see what we can do.’

So it was that within two hours of that conversation with Jed Stoner, Kyle found himself seated in a railroad train which was thundering its way north, to connect with another train heading straight east towards Chicago. It was no doubt flattering to find that he was being summonsed at once to head office, but the last few days had been tiring and Kyle could really have used a week or so to rest and gather his thoughts together. Still, however rapidly had things been happening lately, it was something to know that he was not in bad odour with headquarters and that everybody there appeared to feel that he had acquitted himself well.

It was the damnedest thing, and he had noticed the same phenomenon when he was in the army, that direct disobedience of orders was always held to be the worst sin a man could commit in any large organisation, but let such mutiny lead to a favourable outcome and those at the top of the tree began talking instead of ‘showing initiative’ and ‘great resourcefulness’. It was just so in the present instance, because he had been specifically and directly warned against actually doing anything and yet had dived into action at once. By the grace of God, everything had turned out well enough and so now they were seemingly saying that he had been right to ignore his orders. Kyle shook his head in bewilderment. It was all very puzzling.

When once he reached Chicago, it seemed to Kyle that what he was most in need of was a bath and a shave. He looked like a man who had just taken part in a long and exhausting cattle drive, rather than a Pinkertons agent. Still and all, he had been told that he should report first of all to head office and that was what he did. When the train pulled into the depot it lacked a few minutes to midday and he was thinking more of coffee and a bite to eat than anything else. He risked the delay of having a coffee from a stall in the depot, before making his way to headquarters.

Kyle was hurried straight up to the boss’s office and was welcomed in. Alan Pinkerton was seated behind his desk, but to Kyle’s amazement the old man stood up, came round the desk and shook his hand vigorously. Such a thing had never happened before and he was a little taken aback. At times when he allowed his emotions to show, that is to say when he was particularly angry or especially pleased, Alan Pinkerton’s accent and manner reverted to that of the Scottish working man whom he had been in his youth. He said, ‘Weel noo, aren’t ye the boy? Looks t’me like ye’ve singlehanded cleaned up that wee corner o’ the border, all by yesel’.’

‘I did what I could sir,’ replied Kyle, ‘I hope as I didn’t overstep the mark.’

‘O’erstep the mark? Aye ye did that alright laddie, but all’s weel as ends weel. I’ve had a wire from Washington, ye know? They say as what happened in that wee toon, Pilgrim’s Crossing was it? Let me see noo.’ Pinkerton turned and ferreted about on the papers on his desk. When he found what he was looking for, he brandished it in front of Kyle and continued, ‘Let’s see what it says, ah, here we are. Likely to furnish a salutary example to other towns tempted to allow themselves to be used as refuges for the lawless and disaffected. That’s fine language for ye, isn’t it noo?’

‘I’m glad I could be of use, sir.’

Alan Pinkerton shot him a shrewd look. He said, ‘You’re what they call a dark horse, you know that laddie boy? Anyway, ye’ve done us proud. You can take it easy for a week. But don’t get too used to idleness. For something else has come up.’

Kyle waited, confident that the old man would tell him about the matter in his own good time, and so it proved. Pinkerton said, ‘They say that you never curse or use bad language, is that the fact of it?’

‘I guess so.’

‘I hear too that you’re not one for taking the Lord’s name in vain.’

‘I was raised by a good Christian woman. She taught me to avoid such goings on.’

‘And I’m told you never fiddle your figures.’

‘You pay me fair, I give you a fair day’s work. I don’t look for either of us to cheat each other.’

Alan Pinkerton stared for a few seconds at the younger man, pleased beyond measure that it had been he and he alone who had recruited this fellow and spotted his potential. ‘Well then,’ he said, ‘You might be the very one to guard a party of sisters setting up a school, a mission school, ye ken, away over in the Indian Nations.’

‘Nuns, do you mean? I ain’t Catholic.’

‘No matter of that. I’ve been asked to give special help to these ladies, somebody in Washington has an interest in them. Well, that’s all. Be sure to be back here in seven days and you’ll get your instructions. Away wi ye noo, I’ve work to do.’

So it was that Jethro Kyle realised that his stock was still rising at the Pinkertons Agency and that the boss was still inclined to view him as some kind of protégé of his. What business he was expected to have with a bunch of nuns though was wholly obscure; doubtless he would learn about it all in the fullness of time.