All Men Fear Me (25 page)

Chapter Sixty-six

“Once lead [the American] people into war and they will forget there ever was such a thing as tolerance.”

—Woodrow Wilson, April 1917

Since Scott and Trent were both gone, Scott's eldest son and sometime-deputy, Slim Tucker, responded to the call from the brick plant. Slim hadn't been able to make sense of the tale the excited watchman had told him, so he was unprepared for the chaotic scene in the yard when he arrived.

Slim couldn't identify the trampled corpse on the ground near the rail spur, but the body still hanging from the scaffolding with a surprised expression on its face and its throat cut was definitely the earthly remains of Dutch Leonard.

Slim examined the scene as best he could in the dim lantern light, made some drawings and took some notes, then gave permission to cut down Leonard and send for the undertaker. The boss watchman offered a desk and chair in the machine shop so Slim could interview everyone who had been involved—the three roving guards, a woman, and two young fellows with head wounds.

Slim blinked in the bright electric light when he first entered the machine shop and caught sight of his first cousin by marriage, once removed, tending to a couple of wounded young men seated in chairs in the corner. He didn't know the blond youth with the damp rag pressed to the side of his head, but the boy getting his scalp bandaged was Charlie.

“Alafair?” His tone indicated that he didn't quite believe his own eyes.

She straightened when Slim called her name, a bandage roll in her hand. Her eyes were sunken with fatigue and worry. She also looked exasperated beyond endurance. “Where's your daddy, Slim?”

Slim wasn't about to tell her that his daddy was on a mission to stop her brother from committing treason. He sat down behind the desk. “He'll be back directly. Now, you'd better tell me what the sam hill is going on.”

***

The horizon had lightened and the town was stirring by the time Scott and his deputy finally arrived in Boynton with their prisoner in tow on the mule they had commandeered in the confusion. Scott was looking forward to heading for home and a hot meal as soon as he got Rob Gunn locked in a cell.

He could tell by the expression on Slim's face that it was not to be.

He left Trent at the jailhouse and followed Slim to the brick plant. By the time he found himself standing with Slim, Mr. Ober, and couple of night watchmen, gazing down at the deceased, the sun was well up and the first shift had begun to arrive.

The bodies had been decently laid out on a tarp on the ground near where they had died. Mr. Lee, the undertaker, was standing off to one side, next to his hearse, patiently awaiting the go-ahead to remove the dead. Scott sighed. “Well, I recognize Dutch Leonard, all right, but I don't know this other one. You say he worked for you, Mr. Ober?

Ober looked grim. “He did, I'm sorry to say. He said he could root out whoever was causing the troubles here at the plant. I told him I didn't cotton to violence, but I reckon he had his own agenda.”

Scott gave Ober a mild glance. “Were you so afraid that your hands might get organized that you felt you had to hire a union buster?”

Ober had the good grace to look chagrined. “You don't know what kind of pressure I'm under to get this shipment out, Scott. I can't afford these slowdowns. Mr. Vitric is bound and determined that we don't lose the Army contract.”

Mr. Francis Vitric was Frank Ober's father-in-law, so Scott could well imagine what kind of pressure he was under. Scott picked up the crushed bowler hat that someone had placed next to the remains and studied it thoughtfully. “What was his name?”

“He told me it was Nick Smith. Didn't say where he was from, just that he came in from New Mexico. I don't know if he had any family who need to be notified.”

The men pondered this piece of information in silence for a moment before Scott said, “Well, I doubt if that was his real name. He sure killed Dutch Leonard, though. But was it Dutch who killed Avey and Walker? Or was it this old boy here? I didn't much cotton to Dutch, but I never thought of him as a murderer.”

Ober's brows drew together. “Why would a union buster kill a couple of Council of Defense men? Surely it was Dutch, or one of his I.W.W. cronies. I'll bet money he was the one sabotaging my equipment, anyway.”

Scott was thinking of the man he had locked up in his jailhouse, the I.W.W. agitator who owned a buck knife. “It was a stranger in a bowler hat by the name of Nick Smith who told Trent about an uprising over by Little River and sent us high-tailing out of town tonight.” He made the observation without drawing a conclusion. He turned to his son. “Slim, did you tell Alafair and the two youngsters that they could go home?”

“I took all three of them over to Doc Addison's house, Dad. I expect they're still there. Both the boys had pretty bad conks on the head.”

***

Alafair was sitting in Dr. Jasper Addison's parlor with a coffee mug in her hands when Emmanuel Clover came in. Alafair looked up at him with tired eyes, but didn't rise. He was dressed in his usual black suit and white shirt, but Alafair had never before seen him without a tie. “What are you doing here, Mr. Clover?”

“I saw the wagon carrying you and the lads from the hotel window when it came down Main Street.”

“At this hour?”

“I don't sleep well lately, Mrs. Tucker. How are the boys?” His voice was full of concern.

“You heard what happened?”

“Just now. Mr. Tyler, the watchman who drove y'all over here, told me that Dutch Leonard and an accomplice were killed while attempting to perpetrate an act of sabotage at the brick plant. He said that your son and another young man caught them in the act and were badly injured.”

“Doc says they'll both be all right.” She smiled, relieved to be able to say it. “The man who killed Dutch swung a club at Charlie, but just grazed him. He has a pretty ugly cut on his scalp. Henry Blackwood got knocked cold, though, and has a big old dent in his skull. He's awake, but he wasn't making much sense last I heard. His uncle Mr. Bent is in there with him. Doc told me I can take Charlie home directly, but he wants to keep an eye on Henry for a day or so.”

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Tucker. I knew Dutch Leonard was a dangerous agitator, but I had no idea that he would be so low as to attack a boy as young as Charlie.”

Alafair blinked at him. “He didn't. Mr. Tyler didn't tell you everything, did he? Dutch was murdered by the man he was with, the same man who tried to kill Charlie and his friend.” She related the whole story to Clover, and when she was finished, he sat back in his chair, astounded.

“But who is this despicable murderer? Someone bent on revenge for the deaths of my fellow CD officers?”

Alafair was silent for a moment while she considered what to say. She glanced at Mrs. Doc Addison, who was standing in the hall door, listening eagerly. “I don't know who he was or why he killed Dutch, Mr. Clover. But just last evening I was talking to… Someone told me a thing that makes me believe the man I saw trampled to death tonight is the same man who killed Win and Billy Claude, too.”

“Was he someone you knew?”

“No, sir. I never saw him before. He was a plain fellow with no memorable qualities except for a white scar beside his eye and a bowler hat.”

The expression of horror that passed over Clover's face caused Mrs. Doc to rush to his side. “You look like you're fixing to faint, Mr. Clover.”

Clover bent his head over his knees. “May I have a glass of water, Mrs. Addison?”

Alafair leaned toward him when Mrs. Doc was out of earshot. “Mr. Clover, when did you talk to the man in the bowler hat?”

He looked up at her from under his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Did you tell him that you wished Dutch Leonard was dead?”

Clover gasped and paled, but didn't deny it. “He came to me after the riot at the Liberty Sing. What Dutch did was treason. I feared that if no one stopped him, Dutch would bring chaos down on us. I was walking home when someone in just such a hat came up behind me. It was like a dream, Mrs. Tucker. He said all I had to do was nod and he would take care of it. I didn't like to think what he meant. But I nodded.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Dutch had just incited a riot. I was afraid, Mrs. Tucker. I am afraid.”

Alafair put a comforting hand on Clover's arm. “Fear will sure make you do things you're sorry for later. I surely know it.”

Mrs. Doc passed through and handed Clover a glass of water before answering a knock at the door. Scott followed her back into the parlor.

Scott Tucker was closer to sixty than to fifty, balding, with a comfortable belly and crinkly blue eyes. He was normally an unthreatening presence, but his manner when he came to a stop in front of Alafair's chair indicated that he was not in the mood for pleasantries. “Alafair, bodies are piling up like cordwood around here. The story that Slim told me about the goings-on tonight is pretty hard to believe. I think I'd better hear it from you.” He noticed the man in the chair beside her. “Emmanuel? I hope you have a good reason for being here.”

***

Mr. Ober was sorry that so many lives had been lost, but he couldn't help but be relieved that the saboteur was no more, and the Francis Vitric Brick Company could get back to business as usual. The two boxcar loads of building brick had been saved and were on the siding ready to go on the appointed morning. Fort Bliss would receive its shipment on time and Mr. Ober's father-in-law would have no cause for complaint.

He was standing on the loading dock bright and early, dressed in his serge suit, checking his pocket watch, when the messenger walked up the path beside the tracks and asked for him by name.

“I'm Frank Ober. We're expecting an engine any minute now, so I don't have much time. What can I do for you?”

The man was muscular, sweat-stained, and covered with coal dust. He removed the bandana from his neck and wiped his face. “My engineer sent me up here to tell you that he can't get up the spur. The trestle over that little creek yonder has collapsed. I had a gander at it and it sure weren't no accident. Somebody spent a goodly time digging and sawing those bridge supports. The track went down with it. Looks like the St. Louis-San Francisco line won't be hauling any bricks for you for a long spell.”

Chapter Sixty-seven

“Backbone of Draft Rebellion Believed Broken”

—
Tulsa Daily World
, August 5, 1917

Scott looked up from the papers on his desk when Alafair and Shaw came into the office late the next morning. “Well, hey. Y'all here to visit Robin before I haul him off to Muskogee?”

Alafair heaved a great sigh in lieu of an answer.

“How's Charlie?”

“In trouble,” Shaw answered. “But I reckon he'll live to tell the tale.”

Scott lifted a wanted poster off the desk and handed it to Alafair. “Does this old cuss look familiar?”

Alafair peered at the poster. “Well, he isn't wearing a bowler hat, but I reckon that's the same fellow that tried to kill my boy. He's got them creepy eyes and that little scar.”

Shaw took the paper from her and began to read. “Nicholas Zrska. That's an odd moniker. Says here he's wanted in California and in Colorado for murder.”

Scott nodded. “Yesterday I wired the U.S. Marshal's office in Oklahoma City for more information on him. Zrska was involved in the killing of those five Wobblies who tried to organize the loggers up in Washington State last year. But that's not what got him in trouble. Seems he knifed the man who hired him to police the dockworkers in San Pedro, and is suspected of killing a supervisor at the steel mill in Pueblo, Colorado. He didn't play favorites when it came to murder.”

“So he wasn't the devil after all,” Alafair said, half to herself.

Shaw glanced over the list of Nick's crimes. “I don't know if I'd say that, honey.”

“Did you talk to Mr. Khouri's father?” Alafair asked Scott. “I hope he's not in hot water.” She had told Scott about Nick's encounters with Grandfather Khouri and Emmanuel Clover had admitted his own. She hadn't mentioned her conversation with Rose Lovelock. Her mother-in-law Sally had pointed out that Rose was long gone. Besides, the woman had enough troubles.

“I did talk to him,” Scott said. “I don't arrest folks for wishing harm to their enemies. But after what him and Emmanuel told me I'm convinced that it was Zrska who murdered Win and Billy Claude, not Dutch. Nor was Robin involved, either. Not in the killings, at least. Ober still thinks that Dutch was the saboteur at the plant, and it is true that he was I.W.W., same as Robin. Ober figures that Dutch and Zrska had undermined the train trestle together before they made their way into the plant bent on some other mischief.”

“You don't really think Robin had anything to do with sabotage, do you?”

“I don't, Alafair. But that's not for me to judge.”

Alafair didn't look happy, but she said, “I know it. Can I see him now?”

Scott nodded toward the door to the cells. “Go ahead on.”

She disappeared and Shaw sat down in one of the chairs under the window. “You ain't going in?” Scott asked him.

“I'll give her a minute.”

“It was good of you to bring her in to town to visit with him before I haul him off.”

The corner of Shaw's mouth twisted up in an ironic smile. “I ain't letting her out of my sight again for a long spell, Scott. There is no telling what she might get up to.”

Scott chuckled. “Good luck to you.”

Shaw stood up, reconsidered, and sat back down. “Scott, Robin is a misguided pain in the neck, but he is not a traitor. Besides, he's family. Do you really have to turn him over to the marshal in the morning?”

“I'd just as soon not, but there must have been a hundred posse men who heard his anti-war rant. He was in cahoots with the draft rioters, there's no denying that. The insurgents are being rounded up all over the state, and for the moment the U.S. Marshal's Office is holding most of them in the federal jails in Holdenville and Muskogee. I don't have any choice but to take Robin in.”

Shaw leaned forward in his chair, an earnest expression on his face. “I ain't a socialist, Scott. Far from it. It is not the business of government to take a man's property or skills that he worked hard to gain and give them to someone else without even asking. But there's many a man I respect who believes that party line, to one degree or another. There are so many socialists in Oklahoma they can't all be put in jail! The majority rules in this country, but don't the minority have rights, as well?”

Scott regarded his cousin for a moment before answering. “They used to. I guess we're about to see if they still do.”