“Where are we with our negotiations in Polaris, Mr. Arwood?”
Stedman Arwood struck a match and brought it to the freshly cut cigar, drawing deeply for a few moments. “To be frank, Mr. Darby, those folks just are not interested in our offer. Can’t exactly say as I blame them. After all, they’re dug in pretty heavily, good walls, and those wards of theirs are fit to fry anybody who tries to force their way in. We’re not precisely offering them anything better.”
“We’re offering them survival, Mr. Arwood,” replied Darby over the televox, his normally melodious tenor sounding slightly tinny. “In this part of the continent, that is a better deal than most get.”
“And I don’t disagree, Sir. But it’s not my disagreement which is a cause for concern.”
“They are . . .reluctant to agree?”
“No, sir. They are absolutely intransigent in their disagreement. And they are putting up a very united front. I don’t imagine we’re going to be able to get anybody in the town to see reason.”
“Then we will stop attempting to reason with them,” Darby stated flatly. “Where is your line currently terminating?”
“We’re about twenty miles west of an outpost called Vernal. Progress has been slowed up on account of Mormon bushwhackers. Some of them seem to be holding a grudge over Salt Lake City.”
“Is the slowdown serious?”
Arwood frowned, partially in thought. “Serious enough. I’m going to need replacements for the crews. A lot of them. Those Mormons went and destroyed a lot of workers. More importantly, they got lucky and shot Dr. Kove, burned his lab car.”
“That is most unfortunate to hear. I was somewhat fond of Kove. He worked wonders for me so often.”
“Yes, Sir, he did, and I hate to have to be the one to tell you he’s deceased. But right now, we’re hardly moving. Less than a tenth of a mile per day. The sooner we get a new doctor and replacements out here, the better.”
“How many will you need?”
“Hmmm, about two hundred bodies should suffice, I’d say.”
“Very well. I’ll get them gathered up and sent on their way shortly. With regards to the Mormons who attacked you, were there any prisoners?”
“We did manage to catch a few of them. I was having a chat with one of them when you rang.”
“I shall leave you to it, then. Thank you, Mr. Arwood.”
“A pleasure as always, Mr. Darby.” Arwood broke the connection, then turned back to the prisoner sitting in the high backed chair, broad leather straps securing him in place. He glanced over to the little girl sitting off to one side, similarly secured. Arwood took a puff of the cigar and knelt down, looking at the girl.
“Now, honey, your daddy is being awful stubborn. I just need some questions answered. If you can ask him to tell me what I need to know, then I can see about sending you two on your way.”
“You’re a liar!” the girl spat.
“Not a very nice thing to say,” Arwood replied, his eyes hardening a little. He glanced over at the prisoner. “How about it, Daddy? Got something you feel I need to know?”
“I won’t tell you anything. I will never betray my brothers and sisters. I only hope I live to see God’s righteous punishment delivered to you.”
Arwood stood up, tapped the ash from his cigar, then went over to the prisoner and drew deeply before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “Friend, I think that’s going to be a mite harder for you than you believe.” Arwood pulled the cigar from his mouth, then pushed the glowing cherry into the prisoner’s right eye. The prisoner screamed as his eyeball popped from the sudden rush of heat and pressure, his daughter screaming right alongside him in sympathy. Pulling the cigar away, Arwood took out a small knife and cut away the slightly soggy end, then struck a fresh match and lit it back up. “I’m going to go have myself some lunch. While I’m gone, you might want to keep two things in mind. First, you still have one eye left. Second, your little girl still has both of hers. How long those facts remain true is entirely up to you.”
Stedman Arwood struck a match and brought it to the freshly cut cigar, drawing deeply for a few moments. “To be frank, Mr. Darby, those folks just are not interested in our offer. Can’t exactly say as I blame them. After all, they’re dug in pretty heavily, good walls, and those wards of theirs are fit to fry anybody who tries to force their way in. We’re not precisely offering them anything better.”
“We’re offering them survival, Mr. Arwood,” replied Darby over the televox, his normally melodious tenor sounding slightly tinny. “In this part of the continent, that is a better deal than most get.”
“And I don’t disagree, Sir. But it’s not my disagreement which is a cause for concern.”
“They are . . .reluctant to agree?”
“No, sir. They are absolutely intransigent in their disagreement. And they are putting up a very united front. I don’t imagine we’re going to be able to get anybody in the town to see reason.”
“Then we will stop attempting to reason with them,” Darby stated flatly. “Where is your line currently terminating?”
“We’re about twenty miles west of an outpost called Vernal. Progress has been slowed up on account of Mormon bushwhackers. Some of them seem to be holding a grudge over Salt Lake City.”
“Is the slowdown serious?”
Arwood frowned, partially in thought. “Serious enough. I’m going to need replacements for the crews. A lot of them. Those Mormons went and destroyed a lot of workers. More importantly, they got lucky and shot Dr. Kove, burned his lab car.”
“That is most unfortunate to hear. I was somewhat fond of Kove. He worked wonders for me so often.”
“Yes, Sir, he did, and I hate to have to be the one to tell you he’s deceased. But right now, we’re hardly moving. Less than a tenth of a mile per day. The sooner we get a new doctor and replacements out here, the better.”
“How many will you need?”
“Hmmm, about two hundred bodies should suffice, I’d say.”
“Very well. I’ll get them gathered up and sent on their way shortly. With regards to the Mormons who attacked you, were there any prisoners?”
“We did manage to catch a few of them. I was having a chat with one of them when you rang.”
“I shall leave you to it, then. Thank you, Mr. Arwood.”
“A pleasure as always, Mr. Darby.” Arwood broke the connection, then turned back to the prisoner sitting in the high backed chair, broad leather straps securing him in place. He glanced over to the little girl sitting off to one side, similarly secured. Arwood took a puff of the cigar and knelt down, looking at the girl.
“Now, honey, your daddy is being awful stubborn. I just need some questions answered. If you can ask him to tell me what I need to know, then I can see about sending you two on your way.”
“You’re a liar!” the girl spat.
“Not a very nice thing to say,” Arwood replied, his eyes hardening a little. He glanced over at the prisoner. “How about it, Daddy? Got something you feel I need to know?”
“I won’t tell you anything. I will never betray my brothers and sisters. I only hope I live to see God’s righteous punishment delivered to you.”
Arwood stood up, tapped the ash from his cigar, then went over to the prisoner and drew deeply before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “Friend, I think that’s going to be a mite harder for you than you believe.” Arwood pulled the cigar from his mouth, then pushed the glowing cherry into the prisoner’s right eye. The prisoner screamed as his eyeball popped from the sudden rush of heat and pressure, his daughter screaming right alongside him in sympathy. Pulling the cigar away, Arwood took out a small knife and cut away the slightly soggy end, then struck a fresh match and lit it back up. “I’m going to go have myself some lunch. While I’m gone, you might want to keep two things in mind. First, you still have one eye left. Second, your little girl still has both of hers. How long those facts remain true is entirely up to you.”
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