The Burning Range by Joseph A. West

Author:Joseph A. West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

Chauncey Drake rose from his chair and paced restlessly to the window, his mind reeling.

He stared into the gloom and for a few moments listened to the whisper of the wind and the coyotes yipping close to the farm, hunting stray chickens.

Then, in a moment of awful clarity, Drake understood, or at least began to understand, what had happened.

Could it be that President Harrison had called in favors and asked John D. Rockefeller, even the German Karl Benz, to set up the Fat Man, with Pinkerton help? But had they all failed because they’d badly underestimated the man’s cunning and ruthlessness?

The Fat Man had never met with Rockefeller and Benz, never did anything by word or deed to incriminate himself. Drake himself had been part of his strategy to shift blame if anything went wrong.

But, worried that Rockefeller was distancing himself from the deal, the Fat Man realized that a fortune was slipping through his fingers. Desperate, he was gambling all on one last throw of the dice—an attack on Green Meadow.

Rockefeller was unaware of the Fat Man’s plan, and so was President Harrison. As a result, hundreds of people were about to die . . . for oil that didn’t exist.

The more Drake considered it, the more he was sure he’d hit on the reason for the phantom oil. The Fat Man was an enemy of the state, but they could not bring him down by legal means.

Setting him up so he could trip himself and fall seemed like a reasonable option.

“It’s the government, I tell ye, Chauncey,” Gust said. “They never get anything right in Washington.”

Drake nodded, then turned and looked at Gust. “There are only a few people who know about the Fat Man’s planned attack, and three of them are right here in this room.”

“And what does that tell us?” Gust said.

“It tells us we’re the only ones who can stop it.”

“Chauncey, you owe Green Meadow nothing, the way it treated you,” Nancy said.

“A town isn’t just buildings and businesses, Nancy. It’s people—the men, women, and children who live in it. I can’t turn my back on them and still consider myself a man.”

“No, you can’t, Chauncey, not hardly,” Gust said, nodding. “I’m with you there.”

“Chauncey, you haven’t slept and you’re weak from loss of blood,” Nancy said. “You can’t go up against fifty gunmen. You’ll just get yourself killed, like all the rest.”

She dropped her eyes, her lashes lying like black fans on her cheekbones. “We met only today, but . . . there’s something.” She looked at Drake. “I care about you.”

Nancy turned and ran into the bedroom, slamming the creaking door behind her.

“She’s taken a shine to you, boy.” Gust grinned.

“I like her too,” Drake said.

Gust sat back in his chair and found his pipe. “Ah, well,” he said, “I’m an advising man, but I’m too old to advise you on love stuff.”

Drake rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and chin.

“Silas, do you have a razor? If I’m about to meet my Maker, I want to stand before Him clean-shaven.

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