Chapter 17

The sound of horses outside his office made Pete Blackshaw look up from the papers on his desk and peer out of the none-too-clean widow onto the street. Sure enough, there were horses and men at the rail. He could see two pairs of buckskin-clad legs and four or five horses. As one of the riders swung off his mount Pete recognised him - the man who had come through a few weeks ago and said he could solve his 'Indian problem'.

In a way, Blackshaw had been expecting him. A rider passed through a few days ago with the news that the gang attacking wagons around Ennistown, two days ride away, had themselves been attacked and wiped out. They had been found to be working for the wife of the local quarry owner who had wanted her husband to sell up and move back east.

So Indians hadn't been involved at all.

As Pete had promised the man a five hundred dollar bonus if he got the job done, he had known that it wouldn't be long before he appeared, looking for that payment.

And now he was here and Pete had no intention of paying out, so he got quickly to his feet and moved to the back door to his office. Once outside, he would hide amongst the outbuildings until the man and his companion had given up looking for him.

It wasn't a great plan, but the best that the owner of the haulage company could come up with. The investigator, Jake, wouldn't want to stick around long as his companion was actually an Indian woman and the townspeople wouldn't stand for them hanging around town - or so he hoped.

Reaching the door, he turned the knob and pulled it back towards him. As soon as there was a large enough gap, he stepped forward, looking down at the step to make sure of his footing. His left foot reached the dirt and he looked up to decide which way to turn.

His path was blocked by a gun. The bore looked to be a foot across as he stared straight down the barrel, even though it was actually only a little over half an inch.

The gun was being held by a man on a horse. He was also dressed in buckskins but Pete couldn't say much more as his eyes were drawn to that gaping black hole that was pointed straight at him. He could see other riders behind the one with the gun, but they could have been Indians for all he could tell - to him they were merely blurred figures.

He turned and stumbled back up the step into his office. As he regained his balance, he heard a voice he recognised.

"Ah, Mister Blackshaw. I am so glad I caught you in." He looked up and saw the sardonic face of the man Jake.

He staggered to his chair, a bentwood affair with a curved back and arms that sat behind his desk in the corner of the rectangular office, and slumped in to it. The other man seated himself in a hard, plain chair opposite him.

Jake was amused by Blackshaw's antics. The overweight man looked sweaty and uncomfortable in a shirt buttoned to his neck and a vest, even though it was quite warm in the wooden office. He leaned over the desk towards him.

"I don't know whether you have heard," he said - keeping his voice calm and low, "but I found out who was attacking your wagons up near Ennistown. Would you like me to give you the details?"

"I - er, ah - yes - please," Pete Blackshaw croaked.

So Jake told him about the wagons, and Mister Taylor, and Mister Taylor's wife who had paid to have the wagons attacked. Some of it Pete knew from the traveller, some was new to him. He hadn't known that, far from being involved, the local Indians had supported Jake in his efforts to catch the bandits.

"Oh - ah - good," he said - he still seemed to be having trouble speaking properly.

"You can thank them yourself if you want," Jake continued. "There are four of them outside that door," and he nodded towards the back entrance.

Pete's eyes widened. Was that who had pointed the gun at him?

Jake continued his review of recent events, finishing by explaining that the bandits were dead, the mastermind had been sent back East by her husband, and the matter was closed as far as he was concerned.

"But what about the payroll?" Blackshaw finally got out. "Did you recover it?"

"The bandits were dead so we couldn't ask them," Jake replied. "And anyway, you never asked me to find it - just to find out who was attacking the wagons and to stop them - which we did."

Pete Blackshaw gulped a bit at that. There had been quite a bit of money in that payroll and he had wanted it for himself. No matter that it was Charles Taylor's money, Blackshaw felt he was due it in recompense for the loss of his wagons and men.

When he asked again about it, Jake was short with him. "Take that up with Charles Taylor," he told the sweating man. "He's your customer and so that's his problem - and yours.

"My problem is that you now owe me five hundred dollars for solving the case. That was the arrangement, two hundred up front and five hundred more if we solved it. So now you owe us five hundred dollars."

"How do I know you did what you said?" was the querulous reply.

Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly-rumpled paper. "Here is a letter from Mister Taylor," he stated, "and I have two people with me who were there. Would you like to ask them?"

Pete Blackshaw nodded so, as he read the letter, Jake went to the front door, opened it and spoke with somebody outside.

Looking up as more people entered the room, Pete's eyes widened. There was the Indian woman he had met before as well as a smaller woman who was holding a gun that seemed to be as long as she was - the gun which had been pointed at him so recently behind the office. And then there were three Indian braves in breech-clouts, buckskin leggings and vests - all with rifles in their hands. They looked stern and the office was getting crowded.

"You met Sue last time," Jake told him by way of introduction. "This is Grey Cloud - she was out back earlier. And these are Pale Horse, chief of the Shoshone, and his men Red Hand and Small Dog. Sue and Grey Cloud were with me when we killed the bandits."

Quite quickly, Pete Blackshaw decided to accept Jake's version of events. Mister Taylor's letter had confirmed what he had said, and there was no way he was going to argue with an office-full of armed Indians.

"I - er - don't have that much cash here in the office," he stalled one last time.

"That's all right," Jake reassured him. "We will walk to the bank with you while you fetch it." With that, he moved back to allow room for the worried-looking owner to get to the door.

The teller of the town bank looked up as the door opened. He recognised Pete Blackshaw as one of the town's businessmen, though he didn't particularly like him. He was followed in by a man dressed all in buckskins who had a gun belt around his waist with a revolver on his left hand side, angled forward, and a large knife on his right.

A girl followed him, carrying a large rifle, and then three armed Indians. He had never seen any Indians before and now there were three - no, four as the girl was one too - here in the bank. Was it a raid?

The buckskin-clad white man spoke first. "Mister Blackshaw here wants to make a withdrawal," he said, pushing the businessman forward.

The teller looked at the local man, then at the armed group behind him.

"Yes, I'd like to - er - take five hundred dollars from my account," the clearly-scared man stuttered.

Bending towards him, the teller quietly asked, "Are you being robbed, Mister Blackshaw?"

"No, I - er - owe this man five hundred dollars," was the unsteady reply.

Looking him in the eye, and seeing nothing to make him think otherwise, the teller turned to get the money. He went into the back office and returned a short while later with a canvas bag that was clearly a little weighty. He was followed by the manager, coming to see for himself the odd sight of Indians in his bank.

Pete Blackshaw was still clearly uneasy, but he looked more like a man being made to pay a debt than one who was being robbed. And if it was a robbery, why be so precise with the amount?

He took the money bag and immediately passed it over to the buckskin-clad man behind him.

"Thank you," said the stranger, who turned to the teller. "Do you have paper and a pen so I can give Mister Blackshaw a receipt? We don't want people to think he was robbed, do we?"

The teller produced a small sheet of paper, a pen and an inkwell. The stranger wrote out a short note, seeming to be quite comfortable with using a pen, and signed it. He slid it over to the teller. "Will you witness that please?"

The teller read what the stranger had written, while the manager peered over his shoulder.

"Received from Mr. P. Blackshaw the sum of $500 for services rendered in Ennistown. Signed: Jake Williams." That must be who the stranger was. The teller signed and wrote his name.

"There you are Mister Williams," he said. "Jake Williams? Weren't you the man who... ?"

"Yes, yes," Jake interrupted him. "I was, last year..."

The bank manager stepped back from leaning over his teller. He had an idea who this man was now and he didn't want to mess with him.

"Thank you Mister Blackshaw. It was a pleasure doing business with you," Jake said, handling him the signed receipt. With that, he turned and left the bank, followed by Grey Cloud, Pale Horse and his men.

Once outside, they quickly walked back to the office where Sue was guarding all of the horses. The nine looked like a small herd but they were all quickly gathered up and then the party rode up the main street, back past the bank and stopped in front of the general store. There, the horses were tied up again and everyone piled into the store.

This time it was the store owner who was taken aback to find his premises full of Indians. Little did he know that for four of them it was only their second time inside a white man's building - the first had been at the bank a few minutes earlier. Then, the seriousness of the situation took their minds off it but now they were free to look around. They took in the wooden floor, the weatherproof walls and roof, the well-fitting door and the windows with glass in them. It gave them pause for thought, although there was no way that a building like this could fit in with their semi-nomadic lifestyle.

Jake went over to the counter and asked for lead and powder. While this was fetched, Jake explained to Pale Horse what he was doing.

Once the storekeeper reappeared with a bag of lead ingots and two bags of finest grade black powder, Jake first haggled with him over the price and then paid him using a few of the coins he had just obtained at the bank. He then told Pale Horse that he had just bought "ledd" and two "bagz ov pow-derr" and showed him the number and look of the coins he had used. He told the storekeeper that Pale Horse might be back in the future to buy more and, now that the price was set, if he tried to cheat the Indians he could be in for a painful experience.

Asking to see what guns were available, Jake was directed to a rack. There were a few poor-quality pistols but also two nice rifles.

"I have some goods I want to sell," Jake told the store keeper as he looked the guns over.

"Oh? Wha'd'yer have?" was the interested reply.

"Four saddles and four pairs of used boots," was the reply. "And I could do with having a new pair of boots made."

"Go down to the livery stable," the store keeper told him. "Old Joe has a shack just behind it. He is the best leather worker in these parts and he should be able to do you a deal."

Having nothing directly to offer in exchange, it then became a case of driving the best bargain for the two rifles, complete with bullet moulds.

Before he could pay, Sue reappeared with a few items. She had some more soap, two pairs of white men's underclothing in a small size, some socks - again small, and some sticks of sweet candy. Smiling, Jake paid for everything.

They trooped out of the building with the two girls carrying the purchases. As he cleared the door, Jake sensed rather than saw a movement to his left. Without thinking, he pushed the girls who were following him back into the three Indians who were still in the store entrance and at the same time rolled forward and off the edge of the walkway. There was a loud bang, the sound of a close-passing bullet and a thud as that same bullet hit a building further down the street.

Sue went for her revolver and pulled it clear of its holster. Grey Cloud was trying to stop from falling over and was dropping the things she was carrying and the three braves, hampered by the girls in front of them, were attempting to get a clear field of fire for their rifles.

But they were all too slow. Jake's gun was in his hand before he even hit the ground. Stopping himself rolling by bending his knee, he took aim at the figure shrouded in powder smoke and pulled the trigger.

The figure of Pete Blackshaw flew backwards out of the smoke cloud and lay unmoving on the wooden sidewalk. Approaching the body carefully, Jake kicked the fallen pistol away before bending to check on the shot man's condition.

He needn't have been so careful. Blackshaw was dead with a hole in his face just to the left of his nose as Jake looked at him.

Standing up, he looked around. Already, townspeople were gathering and they looked at the dead man who they knew, they looked at the Indians who were now out of the store and holding their guns determinedly, and they were already drawing the wrong conclusions. As murmuring started and fidgeting began, Jake cocked his pistol again and shouted: "Hold!

"This man took a shot at me so I shot back. Did anybody see it?"

"I did," it was the bank manger who spoke. "I saw Pete go back to his office when he left the bank and come marching back holding a gun. I thought something was bound to happen so I came to see what.

"He waited until you came out of the store," this to Jake, "and then he fired. He must have only just missed you."

"I heard the shot go past so it must have been close," Jake admitted, "which is why I didn't waste any time in shooting back."

"So what happens now?" a voice in the crowd demanded.

"We bury him I suppose," was Jake's unfeeling reply. "Did he have any family?"

"He lived at the other end of town. I think there's a girl there but we don't see much of her," the same voice continued. "Does she inherit his stuff now?"

"He tried to shoot Djaik," Sue stated. "Djaik shot him. So all of his property now Djaik's."

"That's not the way we do things..."another of the townspeople began.

"It's the way we do things," Sue interrupted him.

The people of the town looked at the dead body, and at Jake who had shot so quickly, and at Sue with her gun out, and at Pale Horse and his men who were fingering their rifles as though they badly wanted to kill someone, and decided that perhaps, on this occasion, the Indian way was the best way.

So Pete Blackshaw's body was carted off to the town cemetery. Jake told the bank manager that he didn't want a haulage business and that if the employees wanted to run it themselves that was fine with him. But he did ask how much money was left in the bank. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't much after the $500 had been taken out a short while earlier but the bank manager said that Jake could have it in the morning if he came to collect it. There would be paperwork to do declaring Blackshaw deceased and Jake as his 'next of kin'.