Incident At Confederate Gulch E-Book

Ethan Harker

• Herausgeber: Robert Hale Fiction
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

When 17-year-old Tom Hogan's sister is offered a job at a theatre in the mining town of Diamond City, Montana, he little realizes that his twin is in danger of being drawn into a life of prostitution. When he discovers the truth, the young man sets off to rescue her. But his journey leads him into the underground world of gambling dens and hurdy-gurdy houses. His plans go awry and unwittingly he becomes involved in the break-up of a gang of opium smugglers. He also learns that being a real man means a good deal more than just carrying a gun or winning at a Faro table.

Leseprobe

Incident at Confederate Gulch

When 17-year-old Tom Hogan’s sister is offered a job at a theatre in the mining town of Diamond City, Montana, he little realizes that his twin is in danger of being drawn into a life of prostitution. When he discovers the truth, the young man sets off to rescue her.

But his journey leads him into the underground world of gambling dens and hurdy-gurdy houses. His plans go awry and unwittingly he becomes involved in the break-up of a gang of opium smugglers. He also learns that being a real man means a good deal more than just carrying a gun or winning at a Faro table.

Incident at Confederate Gulch

Ethan Harker

ROBERT HALE

© Ethan Harker 2014

First published in Great Britain 2014

ISBN 978-0-7198-2425-8

The Crowood Press

The Stable Block

Crowood Lane

Ramsbury

Marlborough

Wiltshire SN8 2HR

www.bhwesterns.com

This e-book first published in 2017

Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

The right of Ethan Harker to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 1

It had been a hard winter and a late spring. Only now, at the end of April, had it proved possible to sow seed and there was no certainty that it would come up. This corner of Montana was bleak and inhospitable and if her husband had not been killed in the war, then Melanie Hogan would probably not have been scraping a living here with her seventeen-year-old son and daughter. The family had moved to the little smallholding in 1860, when the twins were nine. It had only ever been meant for a temporary base, until her husband could get something better suited to his talents. But the war came and Jacob was killed and now, three years after the surrender at Appomattox, she and her children were still struggling to survive here.

They were all three of them sitting outside the house when the stranger rode up. He was a smart one all right: plump, florid and with the sharpest suit of clothes you ever saw a man on horseback wearing. He was even sporting a fancy waistcoat. The rider reined in and swept off his hat in a gallant gesture.

‘Ma’am,’ said the stranger, in an educated voice which was pleasant to the ear, ‘Have I the pleasure of addressing the relict of Jacob Hogan?’

‘I’m his widow, if that’s what you are asking,’ said Melanie shortly.

‘I had the privilege of knowing your late husband, ma’am. I promised myself that if ever I was in this neck of the woods, then I would make sure to come by your house.’

‘Won’t you set and take a drink of water?’ said Melanie.

The man dismounted with an easy, flowing grace that was almost feline in its delicacy. He accepted a mug of water and then smiled at the three of them.

‘I had no idea that Jacob’s children would have grown into such fine young folk.’ He turned to Kathleen, who was a raw-boned girl of distinctly homely appearance. ‘Why, you are a regular, rustic beauty! Surely you have already been spotted by somebody wanting you to model clothes or act on the stage?’

The flattery was laid on with a trowel, but was none the less effective for that. The plain girl smiled shyly and even her mother allowed her face to relax a little.

‘Do I take it that nobody has yet offered you any work in this line?’ asked the man, in apparent amazement. He turned to her mother. ‘Why, this is an unlooked-for piece of luck for both of us. By an uncanny coincidence, I am currently seeking elegant young ladies such as your daughter, Mrs Hogan.’

‘What are we talking of here?’ Kathleen’s mother asked, a mite suspiciously.

‘Why, to begin with, acting on the stage at a theatre in which I have an interest. She need not speak; only wear the necessary costumes and stand there decorously. Later, it might lead to work modelling clothes for some of the big stores with which I have dealings. We shall see.’

Melanie Hogan turned to her daughter and said, ‘What do you say to this, Kathleen?’

The girl shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘I don’t mind.’

Kathleen’s brother Tom did not rightly take to the visitor the way his mother and sister did, but so effusive was the fellow that even Melanie Hogan, not noted for being easily gulled, warmed to him after a space. By the time he left it was agreed that he would furnish Kathleen with a set of new clothes and provide her with a ticket from Cooper’s Creek, the nearest town, to the impressively named Diamond City, where his theatre was located.

Incredible to relate, so dazzled were they by Mr Ezekiel Granger and his smooth ways that it was not until some time after he had left that any of them recollected that he had not mentioned just what his association with Jacob Hogan had been.

Five weeks later, and a month after Kathleen had gone off to Diamond City, Tom and his ma had still received no word from her; not even to inform them of her safe arrival. Because his mother was growing uneasy Tom offered to walk into Cooper’s Creek and find out what was what. Perhaps he would hear some word of Mr Granger there.

Now they say that truth is stranger than fiction and this was certainly the case the day that Tom Hogan fetched up in Cooper’s Creek after a five-mile walk from his home, because almost the first words he heard being spoken by two men on the sidewalk touched upon his enquiries.

‘Those poor young fools,’ said one man to another as Tom came nigh to them. ‘A new set of clothes and they’ll believe any sort of foolishness.’

‘Serve ’em right, say I,’ said his companion. ‘They’re no better than they ought to be, some of them country girls. If they stayed at home, doing what is needful there, they would not be getting themselves into such trouble.’ He spat a stream of tobacco juice into the roadway.

At the words a new set of clothes a chill hand of fear clutched Tom’s heart and he felt emboldened to go up to the men and speak without being introduced.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he began. ‘Did I hear something about a new set of clothes?’

‘You might have done,’ said the man. ‘If, that is, you were listening in on a private conversation. Why, what’s it to you, boy?’

‘Why, only this. A flashy kind of fellow calling himself Granger came by our place over a month since. Said he knew my pa, who is dead. Then he offered my sister work in some theatre and she went off. We have not heard since and I am afeared that some harm has befallen her.’

The two men looked at the boy compassionately and seemed a little embarrassed. At length, the man who had spoken to him said, ‘Well, some harm might have befallen her, but not perhaps what you mean by the word. There was a man in this here town, trying to get girls to go up to Diamond City to work in places that are, well, not right nice. Some of the fathers round here did not take to him and so he stopped his recruiting in town and went round some farms and such. Mayhap your sister is one of those he persuaded. I’m sorry, son.’ He turned away from Tom and began a conversation with his friend which was clearly designed to signal to the boy that they did not wish to talk further to him.

Tom was at a loss to know what step he should take next, then he remembered the old man in the general store, Mr Paxton, and decided to go and consult him. He went to the store, which by a mercy was empty and set the case out as it seemed to him.

Old Mr Paxton shook his head sorrowfully and sighed. ‘Truth is, young Tom, I think your sister took a wrong turn when she listened to that smooth-talking scoundrel. He tried to get some of the girls from town to go off with him, but their pas got right contentious about it and if he had not stopped, I don’t know but that he might have been tarred and feathered or worse. Look ahere now, I have one of the handbills he was after giving out.’ Mr Paxton delved beneath his counter for a few seconds and then pulled out a sheet of paper, upon which was printed the following:

DIAMOND CITY

WANTED: FIFTY WAITER GIRLS!!!

High Wages, Easy Work

Pay in Gold Promptly Every Week

Must Appear in Short Clothes or no

Engagement!

GOOD STEPPERS

Make Yourself Some Money

FUN GALORE!! FINE CLOTHING!!

Nothing Untoward Which Could Tend

To Affect a Lady’s Sensibilities Allowed at

THE LUCKY STRIKE HOUSE

‘I don’t understand this at all, Mr Paxton,’ said Tom. ‘This Granger fellow represented himself to be an old friend of my father’s. We thought he was a respectable gentleman, but this. . . .’

‘I’ll tell you the way of it,’ said Mr Paxton gently. ‘We apprehend that this man asked round about the names and circumstances of families living out of town. He then turned up where there were young girls with a lot of cock-and-bull stories and lured a number of girls off by buying them clothes and such. I’m sorry to hear that Kathleen was one of them. If it’s any consolation to you, I can say that if he appears in this area again it will be more than tarring and feathering that he’ll get.’

‘But what am I to do?’

‘I don’t know, son, I’m sure.’

‘Can I have this handbill,’ asked Tom Hogan, ‘To show my ma, like?’

‘Yes, yes, you take it away.’

All the way home Tom kept turning over in his mind what was to be done and the only thing he could come up with was that he would have to go to this Diamond City and bring Kathleen home.

It took some time to bring his mother to an appreciation of the danger into which her beloved daughter had fallen, but when once she understood the peril Melanie Hogan was most agreeable to Tom’s going across the state to find his sister and bring her home. There was no cash money to be found for railroads or stages, so he would have to walk, and hitch rides on wagons and carts when he was able.

‘If you can let me have some food, Ma,’ said the boy, ‘then that will keep me going for a time. I will take my rifle with me. I mind that there may be hazards on the road of which I know naught. Still and all, the thing must be done. It is not to be thought of to leave Kathleen in such places. And I shall speak a word or two to that Granger fellow if once I catch up with him.’

It might be mentioned in passing that Tom Hogan was a crack shot with his pa’s rifle and could bring down pretty well anything that crawled or ran on the earth or flew in the sky.

The next day at dawn Tom set off along the road east, which headed towards Confederate Gulch and Diamond City. He knew nothing of these locations, save that gold had been found there in recent years and word was that they now rivalled the California goldfields of 1849. He had his rifle slung over his shoulder, a canteen of water, flask of powder and a bag of vittles, put together by his mother.

It was a fine enough day in late spring and, had it not been for the serious nature of his journey, Tom Hogan might have been smiling with the pleasure of being freed from the back-breaking toil of the farm. Lord knew how his ma would manage without either of her strong children, but there it was. He was lucky enough to be able to beg lifts from a succession of farm wagons and so on, making good time on the whole.

The day was nearly done and he was thinking about finding a haystack in which to spend the night, when trouble came looking for Tom. In those first few years after the end of the War between the States, there were any number of shiftless men who took up as road agents or what is known in England as ‘highwaymen’. They robbed lone travellers of their money and anything else that might be worth stealing. Tom knew nothing of such things and did not know what the play was when two young men about ten years older than him, rode up, while he was trudging along the road on foot, and demanded that he hand over his money.

‘Money?’ said Tom in surprise, ‘I ain’t got a cent to my name. Anyways, even had I money, I don’t see that I would be giving it to you.’

‘No?’ said one of the men. ‘You have a big mouth on you, boy.’

Tom Hogan did not care for the way that this conversation was proceeding and he had begun to unsling his rifle from his back, when both men drew and cocked their pistols.

‘You make any move and you are as good as dead,’ the man who first had spoken to him said with great assurance. ‘Just you let fall that rifle on the road there. Touch the trigger or even look as though you will and it is all up with you.’

Very slowly, because he had the notion that these were men who meant what they said, Tom let the rifle slip to the ground.

‘Now you step right away from it, you hear what I tell you?’ said the other of the two men, who had not yet spoken. Tom moved back a few paces and the man dismounted. Then everything happened right fast. Tom dived for the rifle, which was, by the by, loaded, intending to get the drop on the two men. As he reached down for it the man who had got off his horse swung his pistol into the side of Tom’s head. The blow made him feel sick and giddy, but he was a game one and kept scrabbling for his rifle. The man pistol-whipped him into submission and when he came to, Tom was lying in the road, bloodied and without a possession in the world. So vexed had the men been at his unexpected resistance that they had even taken his bag of food, canteen of water and flask of powder. It was nearly dusk and here he was with not a thing in the world, other than the very clothes upon his back.

There were boys of that age who would have despaired and given up altogether at this point, but Tom Hogan was not one of them. He picked himself up from the road, dusted his self down, checked that his injuries amounted to no more than a sore head and a few cuts, and then set off in the same direction as he had been travelling when the road agents waylaid him. He was a game one all right.

It was almost entirely dark, when Tom saw the lighted window of a log cabin ahead of him. He wondered if the occupant of such a lonely habitation would take kindly to a vagabond knocking at the door and begging a crust of bread and a swig of water. There was only one way to find out, so he trudged along until he reached the little hut, for it was in truth nothing more, and then rapped smartly upon the door.

A voice from within cried, ‘Who’s there? Stand to now, unless you want a minie ball through you!’