The Stranger from Abilene

Chapter 25

“The saber, sharpened to a razor’s edge, is the solution to our Indian problem,” Parker Southwell said.

“As you say, dear,” his wife said.

“Do you think Lo would dare set foot off the reservations assigned to him if he knew ten thousand sabers awaited him?”

“I think not,” Lee Southwell said, picking at her food. She had heard all this many times before.

She and her husband sat at opposite ends of the long table that occupied almost the entire dining room. Two black servants stood by to serve them, heads bowed as had been the custom of the old South.

“It is well known that the gallant Custer, on the bloody field of the Bighorn, cried out in extremis, ‘Oh, for an ’undred sabers!’”

“I’m sure he did,” Lee Southwell said.

Her husband spoke around a mouthful of roast beef. “I wrote to President Harrison and told him—I said, ‘There’s only one way to gain the respect and obedience of the Indian. Apply the edge of the saber and apply it often. Apply it till it’s bloody from tip to hilt.’”

“I know you did, dear,” Lee said.

“The man’s a bleeding heart, a damned Injun lover. He didn’t even answer me.”

“His loss, dear.”

“Yes, and this great nation’s loss.”

The evening was hot, the candlelit room was stifling, and there was no breeze to offer relief. Sweat trickled between Lee’s breasts and down her thighs, and the heavy silk dress she wore stuck to her back.

She worried about Shad out there somewhere in the darkness. Clayton was a desperate, ruthless man and she hoped Shad had not ridden into danger.

Southwell motioned with his fork. “The roast beef is not to your liking?”

“I’m just not hungry tonight and I have a slight headache,” Lee said. She laid her knife and fork on the plate.

“Hester, remove Mrs. Southwell’s plate.”

Southwell looked at his wife, his thin face distorted by candle flames. “Would you care for something else, my dear?”

“Yes, a glass of bourbon.”

“A glass of bourbon, Hester,” Southwell said to the black woman.

“Do we have any ice left?” Lee said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hester said.

“Then bourbon with plenty of ice.”

Lee had just been served her drink when a servant stepped into the room.

“Mr. Vestal just rode in, Mr. Southwell,” the man said.

“Tell him to report to me right away,” Southwell said.

“Yes, sir.”

Lee’s heart sang. Shad was back. He was alive.

Vestal, tall, handsome, with a sweeping mustache and yellow hair falling over his shoulders, stepped into the room a couple of minutes later and Southwell waved him into a chair.

“Well, is he dead?”

“I’m sure of it,” Vestal said.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“The Apaches have him.”

“Apaches! What the hell are you talking about, man?”

Vestal glanced at Lee, then told Southwell about his capture of Clayton and the attack by the Indians.

“You two leave the room,” Southwell said to the black couple.

He waited until they were gone, and turned to Vestal. “That was this morning. Where have you been all day?”

“Well, after a spell I tracked them, thinking they’d shoot Clayton right away. They didn’t. They rode into an arroyo. I waited around for a few minutes, then left.”

“They tortured him to death, probably,” Southwell said.

“That would be my guess.”

“A deserved fate for a singularly unpleasant man,” Lee said.

“Park, those Apaches were on the warpath,” Vestal said, ignoring the woman. “And there could be more of them. I warned you, we’re culling them too close, too often.”

Southwell shot a quick glance at his wife, then said, “Shut your trap.”

Vestal smiled. “Don’t you think she knows?”

He looked at Lee. “Cattle prices are low, money is tight. Where do you think the ruby necklace you’re wearing came from?”

“Vestal, I warn you—”

“Oh, shut up, Park,” Lee said. “I know what you’re doing to the Apaches, and I don’t care. Did you really think the deaths of a few savages would offend my sensibilities?”

“I was trying to shield you, my dear,” Southwell said. “Harvesting Apaches is a dirty business.”

Lee lifted the glittering necklace from between her breasts and put it to her nose. “I can’t smell any dirt,” she said.

Vestal laughed, but when he turned to Southwell again, he was serious. “I think we should end the cull for a while.”

Southwell shook his head. “Impossible. I have a hunting party out in the Sans Bois now, and a refrigerator car will arrive at the spur tomorrow night.”

“Who’s leading them?”

“Baldy Benton—him and Luke Witherspoon.”

“I’ll go after them, call them back.”

“No! Do you want to take a look at my accounts ledger? We need the money, Shad.”

He looked from Vestal to Lee, breathtakingly beautiful in the soft light that erased the hard lines around her eyes and corners of her mouth.

“The cull goes on,” he said. “Until there are no Apaches left to harvest.”