Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  “Another quick sketch later, and the clerk confirmed it was the bearded man I saw talking to the man with the limp that bought the arrows. The same man that helped you unload the wagon. I’ll bet the three of you had quite the conversation while Markham and I were inside comparing notes on everything that had gone wrong with your plans to stop that wagon. Anyway, it was sloppy as hell buying them in Pepper Hill, but I’m guessing you owlhoots never thought in a million years anyone would be on to you. Lord knows Matt trusted you.”

  Butler whistled. “You sure like to run that mouth of yours, don’t you? Leastways you put it to good use last night sucking Markham’s dick an all.”

  McKenna cocked her head to one side. That she had not been expecting. “How would you know what we did?”

  “I saw the spring in his step this morning. He’s suddenly a changed man overnight? That didn’t happen out of the blue. Besides, I’ve seen the way he’s been looking at you ever since you showed up yesterday. It’s easy to guess you threw your legs up in the air for him last night,” He finished with a leering, crooked grin.

  Smug bastard, she thought, but now it was time to throw a wet blanket on his glee. “That’s not the only reason that he was cheerful. He’s happy because he knows this assault on his business is coming to an end. I went back to his house last night and told him everything. He was devastated at first, but then knowing I was going to take you down allowed for him to carry on this morning acting as if he didn’t know you betrayed him.”

  Butler’s eyes narrowed. “Just what is it that you think you know, bitch?”

  "I know that when I was in your room, I noticed something I had seen somewhere before … earlier in the day. Lo and behold, in your dirty, stinking clothes was the same gift everyone in the Corday wedding party had, an embroidered silk handkerchief with the words Carlton and Claire embroidered on it." She watched as the cockiness disappeared from his face, replaced by a look of annoyance as he ran his free hand through his hair and mumbled, "Of all the things …"

  "After that, it all came together. I remembered you saying there weren't women lawmen where you came from in St. Louis and the Cordays are from St. Louis, a place she didn't want to go back to, according to her husband. Then there was her portrait, she looked so familiar, but I couldn't place her. My brother and I are told a lot that people can see we're related because our faces are so similar, especially since we are twins. Now Corday's wife may not be your twin, I imagine, but she is your sister, yes? I was seeing your face in hers when I was looking at the picture."

  The man’s hardened face seemed to hold a grudging measure of respect as he nodded at her. “Yeah, Claire is my sister. We all came out west together years ago when Corday was given his first mine to oversee. We’d had a falling out, though, and hadn’t spoken to each other in a coon’s age. That was until she came to me with their scheme.”

  “So, you’re all in this together,” she stated, but Butler had fallen silent, his lips stretched into a grimace.

  “You must have been so disappointed when Matt sent you and the other man out with the spare wheel expecting to find Belfry dead giving you an excuse to leave the wagon where it could be later destroyed. But I suppose it worked out for you anyway having to leave it there to bring him to the doctor.”

  He remained silent as his eyes took on a shine as he again peered down the canyon. Far off she saw it too, a small dust cloud kicking up, left by riders on their way.

  "I'm through talking!" he snarled. "It's time for you to go too. You're overdue to take a very short walk!" His head jerked in the direction of the crevice. He waved his gun at her, "Now you can hop down and jump on your own, or I can shoot you right here and send your body over the edge when I turn this wagon into so much scrap wood when it goes over the edge."

  McKenna grinned, “You don’t want to shoot me, friend. Not if you want to keep that hand of yours.”

  “What the hell you talking about now, bitch?”

  “Last night, in your room. There were two things I made use of. That pitcher of water on your desk. Took it out and swirled up some mud on the ground. The same mud I used to pack deep in the barrel of that six-shooter you’re holding. You fire that, and you can kiss your fingers goodbye,” Her voice was as calm and as a matter-of-fact as possible, and she could see that threw him. Doubt shadowed his face as he struggled whether to believe her.

  “You’re bluffing!”

  “Pull the trigger and find out.”

  The man's eyes frantically cast themselves to look down the road. The approaching riders were still too far away even to be seen, just their dust cloud. In desperation, he swung the gun away from her and turned it around, attempting to peer down the barrel. McKenna didn't lose a second yanking out her Colt and training it on the man. He swung the gun around, but it shook in his hand.

  “Go ahead, fire. Lose your hand, and then I’ll put you out of your misery when I shoot you, and I can promise you … my weapon will fire!”

  She watched his eyes dart from her to down the canyon, and she shook her head, gritting her teeth, "I know those are going to be your partners in crime heading this way, so don't think I'm going to let you stall until they get there. Now, what's it going to be?"

  McKenna could see the hope in his eyes that he still probably thought he could delay her long enough until it was going to be just her against him and his crew of saboteurs, but it was time to disabuse him of his belief. She rapped the knuckles of her free hand on the bench seat and a second later the long, cold steel of a rifle barrel poked out from the canopy behind them and pressed itself against the base of Butler’s skull. A sudden look of terror mingled with an expression of resignation told her he knew when he was beaten.

  CHAPTER 38

  FORT CREIGHTON

  On the crest of the hill where McBride had just brought the piano-laden wagon to a stop, Riker sat surveying the scene at the fort below as the warm morning sunlight spilled down around them. There were even fewer men now than when he’d been here a few days ago with his sister. The gates to Fort Creighton were wide open still, and he could see several wagons being loaded. He said a silent prayer that he wasn’t too late. He remembered a time when he’d visited with Abraham years ago, and they’d sat around a fire engaged in endless conversation. Mister Lincoln, of course, had done most of the talking as was his nature, but that had always suited Riker. He had always preferred being more of a listener, soaking up knowledge when he could. On this day he was remembering what the man had said when it came to plans.

  Nash, a plan should be like a young man planning to ask the woman of his dreams to the ball. Always have a backup you can squire to the dance if she declines your invitation. She might not be as pretty or as glamorous, but at least you’ll be on the dancefloor and not watching from the side.

  The problem before him right now was that he didn't have a backup dance partner otherwise known as a plan "B" if his plan "A" didn't work out. Sighing, he climbed into the back of the wagon. If "A" did indeed fall through, he would have to think of something on the fly. The piano made a creaking sound as Riker opened the hinged top and reached down to retrieve his saddlebag that he had placed inside before leaving town. It was now time to become the Military part of the Marshals at Large. As he dressed he looked down at the fort and couldn’t help feeling a touch a smugness when he saw a firebreak had now been dug around the entire perimeter of Fort Creighton.

  A few minutes later, their wagon rolled through the open gates. Straightening of backs and curt salutes were snapped off toward Riker as he passed by the soldiers responding to his rank insignia identifying him as a major on the uniform that he had just changed into on the hilltop. Pointing towards the officers’ quarters, he sat back as McBride rolled the wagon to a stop. Riker hadn’t managed to even climb down off the wagon before the door was flying open and Col. Christie came stomping out all fire and brimstone as expected.

  "You Vellaneau from Fort McCallister? You're not supposed to be here for a
nother two days to take the shipment back to Arizona!" the man blustered as he came to a stop in front of Riker. Being the shorter of the two men, Christie had to lift his head to meet his eyes. Riker had to work overtime to keep his mouth pressed into a straight line as the officer's eyebrows arched in recognition.

  "No, I'm not this officer Vellaneau, but I can see you remember me," Riker said smoothly as he shot his arm up in a salute. Mechanically, Christie returned the salute as his face became flush.

  "But you-you're that saddle bum from the other day. The one traveling with the dove who doesn't know a woman's place is to be seen and not heard." As much as he loved McKenna, this was one time he was glad that she was not here. He knew what was to come next would be difficult enough without Mickey throwing kerosene on the fire.

  “Well, sir, I never got to properly introduce myself last time we met. But what’s past is past. I’m here on business,” he said as he watched Christie’s aide-de-camp Captain Ullery walk up and stand beside his commanding officer.

  Christie looked at Riker with eyes that were little more than slits. “Business you say, Major? And just what would that be?”

  “I’m happy to hear the McCallister contingent hasn’t arrived to pick up the contents of your armory. Yesterday when I was trying to come up with a solution of how to close down a problem the words hit me. Close down and then I remember Creighton was being shuttered and weapons would be available. I’m requisitioning a supply of guns and an appropriate amount of ammunition to go along with them.”

  The silence was so profound that the sound of a pin dropping would have been somewhere on the level of the boom of thunder directly overhead in a violent storm. The two Fort Creighton officers turned and looked at each other in astonishment before turning back to Riker.

  “Major Riker, you’ve got a pair of elephant balls to walk in here and think that we are going to turn the contents of our armory over to you. Either that or you’re plumb loco. I don’t know which, but our guns are not going anywhere with you!”

  “Colonel Christie, I don’t wish this to be difficult, but I just came from a town where my friend Mr. McBride here,” he motioned to the sea captain sitting calmly on the wagon bench smoking his ivory pipe. The Scotsman threw the officers a wave, but they ignored him. “and his fellow townspeople have fallen prey to a man and his cronies who have set themselves up dictators and rule with an iron fist by way of a small army of hired gunslingers. The chief tyrant has all but declared martial law and stripped the citizenry of their right to bear arms. I aim to re-arm the citizens and take back the town.”

  Riker noticed the closest men within earshot who were loading up the fort’s remaining food stores to be reassigned to another fort deliberately slowed their work, so they could hear the exchange taking place. A livid Christie, he doubted, would have noticed the Virgin Mary suddenly descending from the skies as his face turned multiple shades of red. Ullery stood stock still with his hands clasped behind his back, but his eyes kept nervously darting towards Christie.

  "Mister I don't know who you think you are, but I suggest you turn and hightail it out of here before I throw you in the stockade over there. You come in here impersonating an officer, having gotten a uniform from God knows where, and tell me you are going to take our weapons slated to be transferred to another fort so that you can lead some crusade in the Sierra Nevada?"

  “Even if you really are an officer, there is a chain of command you would have to go up to expect us to turn our guns over to you,” Ullery said, tensely.

  Riker was done. Things were regressing, not going forward, if Colonel. Christine now didn’t even believe that he was indeed an officer. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out the circular badge with the star shape centered within it. He held it out so that Christie and Ullery could get a good look at it.

  "Gentlemen, this badge identifies me as a Military Marshal at Large. Every commanding officer, this side of the Mississippi has been briefed on our existence. Accordingly, you would know that this badge comes with certain powers, one of which is to request supplies and that extends to your guns without deference to the chain of command."

  "The hell are you talking about?" Christie sputtered as Ullery held out his hand and asked if he could see the badge. Saying nothing, Riker slipped it into his grasp.

  “My God, I never thought I would actually meet one of you.”

  “There’s not many, and not that it matters I suppose, but I was the first.”

  Ullery whistled. "The first, the one they call Lincoln's Lawman?" As Riker took the badge back from the captain, he nodded. Ullery then turned to his superior officer.

  "Sir, years ago we did get a dispatch advising us about these special marshals. At the time you dismissed it saying such a program would never last. I was inclined to believe you, having never met one up until today. Sir, this man is Simon pure, the real thing, we have to do as he says."

  “Poppycock!” This is pure poppycock!” Christie raged as he furiously rubbed his handlebar mustache. “This is still my command until this fort is officially decommissioned! I’m the last word around here!”

  “Sir, I will ask you one more time for your cooperation. Refuse and that stockade will just as easily accommodate you.” From the tight-lipped grins of the rank and file soldiers around them, Riker easily read just what kind of commander Christie was. His attention was drawn back at the sound of the colonel unsnapping the flap over his service revolver.

  This wasn't the first time that Riker had encountered someone challenging the authority of his elite division of the government that only a select few were even aware existed. But here on this warm spring morning was the first time a fellow officer had drawn on him in disbelief of his credentials. As the gun swung upward and leveled out, Riker's sweeping arm was a blur as he snatched the weapon right out Christie's hand, turned it around on the astounded officer before casually, opening the cylinder and letting the ammunition drop to the ground then flipping it over his shoulder. When Christie recovered from his shock and awe, he dug his heels in the dirt and launched himself towards Riker.

  The man was stocky, and his bulk slowed him down, making it easy for Riker to sidestep the charge. Flying past him, Christie collided with the wheel of McBride's wagon and was knocked backward to the ground. Riker was dumbfounded when the man shot back up and made another charge at him. The man's hand clamped onto the fabric of Riker's tunic and they pirouetted madly around as Christie used his strength to hurl Riker to the ground.

  Riker rolled once before coming to rest on his stomach in the dust. Just as he was rolling over, Christie completed stalking over to him and dropping on his knees. The colonel drew his fist back in the air and let it fly, snapping Riker’s head to one side.

  Shaking his head, Riker looked up at him, "I hope that was your best shot, friend because that was your first and your last one." His left hand shot up grasping Col. Christie by the throat. As he gritted his teeth and began to squeeze, Christie's eyes began to bulge. Somewhere to the side, he could hear Ullery shouting for both men to stand down, but Riker knew that wouldn't be necessary as he was about to end their little bout of hand to hand combat. His right fist shot up impacting squarely in the center of the man's forehead. Christie sailed backward, crumpling to the ground on his back, his eyes fluttering shut into unconsciousness.

  One of the spectators cheered and as Ullery approached and held out his hand to help Riker up, he shouted, "Sergeant Cardwell, you're on report! Expect to be assigned duty digging latrines along the way when we clear out here at the end of the week on our way to our next posting by Sacramento!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” the contrite man shouted as Riker was pulled to his feet and did his best to dust off his uniform. “My sister, McKenna, made a big deal about laundering this for me to have it ready for when I needed it next. I think I can expect a proper tongue lashing when she sees it.”

  “You boys call that fighting? You should have seen the knock-down drag-out between
me and Captain Abner Collins on the deck of my old ship the Molly McGee. Bloodied the hell out of each other but we still managed to make it down to the Glasgow Tally Ho Tavern to settle our differences over a pint!” the old sea dog snickered as Riker raised an eyebrow.

  “Just a pint?”

  McBride never had a chance to answer as the sound of Captain Ullery feigning a cough drew their attention.

  Ullery had struck Riker as a serious-looking man when he’d first met him, and his appearance now only bolstered that conviction. The man’s frown was as long as a country mile.

  “Sir, I know that badge has a lot of power behind it with a wide degree of latitude, but I never thought I would see two West Pointers brawl their way into engaging in conduct unbecoming of an officer.”

  Riker straightened his hat and gave Ullery a sharp look. "Colonel Christie there might have come out of West Point, but I earned my rank the hard way on the field of battle in places like Antietam and Gettysburg, doing my part to help stop Pickett's Charge. Forget about a shirt. I gave the flesh off my own back."

  Seemingly chastised, Ullery ordered two of the men to bring Christie into his quarters and deposit him on the bed. He then turned to Riker and saluted,

  “About those guns, sir!”

  “Have your men load them and the ammo up inside the piano. We spent the better part of yesterday hollowing that thing out. It’s just a shell. It’s our ticket to getting the weapons back into the town. I told the men there we were going to become a vigilante force, but closer to the truth is I’m going to be tapping my authority as a federal marshal to deputize the lot of them, and then we are going to clean up Dalton’s Creek.”