by W. R. Benton
“They do respect a brave man, and I don't doubt what you say is true. What can I get you folks? I'm Barking Dog O'Brien, an offspring of an Irish mountain man and an Omaha squaw. So, while the Omaha are family, they have little use for a breed who turns white man on them. You must have impressed the hell out of that chief, because they don't just give horses away. My friends, what few I have, just call me Dog.”
“My name is John Stoner and the woman is called Susan. They threatened me with a fight, and I was alone, so I more or less told him I'd not die by my lonesome. Seems that impressed some man by the name of Charging Bear, a chief of some kind.”
“He's a war chief, and one mean hard ass. He's also my uncle, so if he gave you this pony, he thinks you're one hell of a tough man. I find him kind to the People, but he has more coups than a turkey has feathers. A compliment from him is rare and honestly given. Wow, and to think he gave you a war pony!”
“Can ya read, Dog?” Lew asked, wanting to stop talking about Charging Bear.
“Yep, fairly well, and do my sums, too.”
Handing the man a list written out in pencil, Lew asked, “Can ya fill this order?”
“I can fill it all, but I don't give no credit to those I don't know.”
“You do take Yankee greenbacks, right?”
“Sure and gold coin, too.”
“You fill the order and I'll see you're properly paid. Ya got any whiskey in this place?”
“Hell, whiskey, ammunition, beans and bacon are my main supplies. I used to have a whore too, but she ran off with a drummer.” Dog spoke and then remembering Susan he added quickly, “I'm sorry ma'am, I don't get many women customers, so my language is bit crude. So, John, do you want your drink by the shot or a bottle?” He turned back to Lew to ask.
“How much for a bottle of rye?”
“Two fifty for good stuff or a dollar a gallon for trader’s stock.”
“Dang, son, why so much for a bottle of good rye?”
“I have to have it delivered, either from Omaha or Kansas City, and that ain't cheap. 'Sides I'm only four bits more than in either of those towns. So, do ya want 'er or not?”
“Yep, a whole bottle. I'll sip some as you gather my goods.”
As he sipped the strong amber colored alcohol, Susan, with Billy on her hip, looked the trading post over. She was surprised to find very little merchandise for women and nothing for kids, except two nasty jars filled with hard candy. She saw barrels of beans, flour, salted meats and whiskey, but not so much as a single bonnet for a woman. The material available was in such rich colors, it almost hurt her eyes. Dog's trading post had bright reds, yellows, pinks, blues and so on, but not a yard of material in a conservative color.
“Them colors got ya stumped?” Dog asked as he brought some packages to the counter.
“They're all so bright.”
“Injuns love bright colors. See, in the old days, before the coming of white men, they only had earth colored dyes, like browns, greens, rust and other pale colors. Now when you see a warrior or maiden dressed up, they'll wear the brightest colors they have.”
“I see.” She shrugged and continued looking the place over.
“Dog, we're gonna camp close to this place, just in case I wake up in the morning and remember something I need. I also want her and the boy to rest a mite.”
“You've got a cute son, John, and a right pretty woman, too.”
“Thank you, but I want you to know one thing. I'm a light sleeper and survived four bloody years of war, so I can scrap with the best of 'em. If anyone shows at my camp tonight, I'll blow their asses away. Got that?”
“I'd never bother you or your family. I was in the war too, Southern unit.” Dog tried to look offended, but Lew figured he'd warned the man enough.
Ignoring Dog's war statement, he replied, “I trust no man, including you, so understand my position on this. Now, how much do I owe you?”
“Six dollars, counting the bottle.”
Lew tossed Dog a golden eagle and said, “Add a pound of horehound and rock candy to the order too.”
“Just a minute and I'll get your change. Two pounds of candy will cost ya a dime.”
When the man left the room, Lew pulled his pistol and cocked the hammer back. When Dog entered and moved behind the counter, he grinned and said, “No wonder Charging Bear gave ya a horse, you are a tough man.”
“I'm just trying to stay alive in a world where everyone wants to kill me.”
Handing the change to Lew, the breed never considered reaching for the cocked .45 Colt he had under the counter or his sawed off shotgun. This was one man he wanted nothing to do with, not now anyway, but there might come a different time. Instead Dog said, “Y'all enjoy the rest of your day and I'll close at 6 pm, but if you need something later than that, just knock hard.”
“I'll do that.” Lew said.
After a supper of beans and bacon, Lew leaned back against his saddle, lit his pipe, and gave Susan the eye, evaluating her as a woman. She was pretty enough, mood was pleasant most of the time, took excellent care of her son, and seemed to be better educated than most women. He wondered about the education, because few women attended school past a year or two.
“Susan, you talk like a well educated woman most of the time.”
“I've just attended the normal schools a woman from the South attends.”
“I don't think so. You're refined, and that interests me.”
“Oh, really? My pa was a big plantation owner before the war and sent me to school back east to teach me how to act like a lady. My momma died when I was just a baby of an unknown fever, and of course, things were different then, very unlike today. I did learn a great deal.”
“Does your pa still own the plantation?”
“No, pa was a Major General, and died the year the war ended, in battle against the Yankees. In some ways it was for the best, because he'd lost all he'd ever worked for. The plantation had burned to the ground, the slaves were gone, crops lay rotted in the fields, and a good dozen fresh graves were behind the house. In those graves were members of my family, Mr. Stoner, and not outsiders. My only living brother, James, returned home from the war, but pa-pa's money was gone, and back taxes were owed. He eventually sold out to carpetbaggers and was paid pennies on the dollar.”
“It was and still is a common enough story.”
“Times turned rough, so when John W. asked me to marry him, I accepted. No, there was no love involved, only I did respect him. He treated Billy like his own child and not many men would do that with another man's baby. He was a man of honor and integrity, which I respected.”
“And, money?”
“Yes, he had money, more than just a little too. Now, before you think I'm just another greedy woman, I am not. As a matter of fact, once in Omaha I will need to notify his attorney of his death. If given a choice, I'd rather have him alive than a single red cent of his money.”
Lew met her eyes, holding the look for a few minutes, and then said, “I believe you're right about your late husband.”
“I am no leech, but now at least Billy and I will be taken care of in the future. I fully intend to move back east, but to Saint Louis, not Boston. There is something about the big city on the muddy river I found exciting.”
“Too many people there for me. I don't like it much.”
Standing, Susan said, “From your actions, Mr. Stoner, I doubt there are many things in life you do like. I don't think you're capable of being pleased. I feel a lot of anger in your soul, sir, or maybe hatred. Which is it? You know which it is, but only you need to know the answer, not me. My Billy is asleep, so I will join him now. Goodnight, Mr. Stoner.”
Chapter 12
ABOUT thirty minutes later, a troop of cavalry rode to the crest of the hill the three men were waiting on, and a young Lieutenant asked, “Have you seen any Injuns? I'm Second Lieutenant Oscar Woods, West Point class of '69.”
“Ain't seen but one and we kilt his ass
.” Samuel replied, and then sent a long brown stream of tobacco juice to the long stemmed blue-green buffalo grasses.
“Actually, Lieutenant, we fought with a bunch of young Sioux bucks a couple of nights back, and I'd guess we killed between three and five. Since they removed their dead, it's hard to tell, really. I took them for young bucks hoping to steal our mounts and count coup. I have a partner over there that's still riding drunk from an arrow injury they gave him.”
“What tribe did you say, or do you know for sure?” the officer asked.
“Sioux, or at least the one dead man was. I'd guess his age at about fifteen.”
“Hell,” Woods said, “that's no warrior, he was just a boy.”
Sam smiled, knowing tobacco juice was running from the corners of his mouth, and said, “Ya keep thinkin' like that, suh, and ya'll damned shore not live long 'nough to make Cap'in. A young Sioux buck can kill ya as dead as a fully growed one.”
“Aye, he's got a point, sor.” a burly old Irish Sergeant with six stripes said.
“What are your names, gentlemen, and where are you headed?”
All three gave fictitious names, and then Dutch said, “We're carpenters, or were. We were making good money with the railroad, but got tired of paying hell town prices and livin' like animals. Them towns at the end of the lines are pure-dee hell on a man and his coin.”
“We've visited a few.” Lieutenant Woods said and then asked, “And, where are you headed?”
“Kansas City for me.” Bill said, and then gave a drunken grin.
“Chicago for me,” Dutch said and added, “so I'll catch a train out of Kansas City heading east. It'll be nice to be home with the misses for a spell.”
When Woods looked at Samuel, the man said, “Saint Louis, and I ain't never comin' back up heah again. Ain't shit heah but railroad tracks and pissed off Injuns. I've had me fill of both.”
“You're correct on both counts.” Woods said, and then turning to his Sergeant said, “Form the men up, Sergeant Major, and let's continue our mission. That stage will be along tomorrow, early morning, and I want to insure it gets to Kansas City safely.”
Shaking his head, knowing the shave-tail officer had said too much, the Sergeant turned, and yelled, “Form up in a column of two's and try to look like soldiers for me, ladies, and not a bunch of ladies out for a Sunday stroll. Now, move! Trooper Smith, at least get your horse facin' in the right direction, lad!”
Minutes later the army was gone and Dutch said, “The stage is right on time and Lieutenant Woods just confirmed that fact. We'll ride for about ten more miles, spend the night and ambush the stage coach in the morning when it comes through.”
The next morning, after a quick breakfast of sow belly, biscuits, and coffee, they rolled a cigarette or smoked a pipe as they discussed the robbery. They had seen no one since the army troops the day before and even the night had been quiet.
“The stage will stay on the main road running from Kansas City to Omaha. There is a slight valley between two rolling hills where I intend to wait for them. It's less than a mile from here. Now, this valley ain't real wide, maybe two hundred feet between the two crests, which means they'll not see us until we make ourselves seen. A dry stream bed is in the lowest spot of the valley.” Dutch said.
“How do we know when it's comin' iffen we're all three in the low spot?” Sam asked.
“Simple, only two of us will be in the dry stream bed and you'll be near the top with my binoculars. When you see the stage approaching, just run down the hill and tell us.”
“Oh,” Bill said, “you've got this all figured out, but what about the people on the stage?”
“Nobody is to get hurt unless they pull a gun on us. If that happens, try to keep from hurting any of the others. I expect some passengers, only we'll only rob men. Women don't carry much and it ain't right to rob a woman.”
Giving a goofy grin, Sam said, “My worthless momma would argue with ya over robbin' period. She'd tell ya it ain't right to rob no men either. Thou shalt not steal, she'd say.”
Laughing, Dutch said, “That's why you ride with me and not your momma.” He stood and added, “Let's get mounted and move to the spot.”
Glancing up at the clear blue sky, Bill said, “I still hurt and I'll be sippin' whiskey as we wait, but it's surely a good day for a stage holdup.”
The ride to the spot for the robbery was short and soon all were in position. Sam was on the hill watching for the stage, Bill was sipping his panther piss, and Dutch was cleaning his finger nails with an old pocketknife.
Their wait was a short one and soon Sam come running down the hill to beat the band, “It's a-comin' and at a walk, so it'll not be here for a spell!”
Dutch said, “Sam, you get on the other side of the trail, and Bill, take one more big chug of whiskey and then put it away until after the job. I'll order the stage to stop and once the driver does, we’ll have him throw down the strongbox, and then have the passengers get out.”
“Okay with me.” Samuel said, and crossed the wagon wheel rutted trail. He hunkered down in the dry stream bed, a bandanna over his lower face and a sawed off shotgun in his hands.
Looking at Bill and his condition, Dutch said, “You stay here and hold the horses. I think Sam and I can holdup the stage. You're in no shape to even be here, not hurt like you are.”
“I'll make out just fine, and don't you worry none about me. I'll still be here when they bury the two of you.”
“If we blotch this robbery, you damned sure might be. Now, hush, I hear 'em coming.”
Horses were heard moving, along with the creaking and moaning of the springs on the stagecoach, and the gentle speech of some of the passengers inside. It was right that instant when the first two horses in the train stepped over the hill and were seen. Seconds later, the driver and man riding shotgun were seen sharing the hard wooden seat atop the stage. The man holding the shotgun looked to be asleep, but the driver was awake, and he scanned the countryside before he leaned over to spit a long stream of brown tobacco juice to the trail.
When the first two horses stepped into the stream bed, Dutch stood and said, “That'll be far enough. Stop, and do the job now!”
The man holding the shotgun had been asleep, or maybe he was just naturally a stupid sonofabitch, because he suddenly stood and cocked both barrels of the big 10 gauge Greener. There sounded a loud distinct blast of a shotgun, from the other side of the coach, and the man riding shotgun was knocked from his seat, screaming as he fell to the hard ground.
At the sound of the blast, Dutch watched most of the blast take the man in the upper chest and head. Rufescent blood, chunks of white bone, and gore flew from the man just before his screaming started and he fell from the stage. He'd also seen the driver struck by pellets and he'd yelled, but then raised his hands, blood streaming down his face.
“This is a holdup, so everyone stay where you are and nobody move. Follow our orders and none of you will get hurt. You, driver, toss down the strongbox, but first drop that big Sharps rifle from beside you.”
The rifle fell to the sand and then the driver fought with the weight of the box, tipped it on the side of the stage, and let it fall. It struck the sand with a dull thud. Checking his bandanna, Dutch then moved to the box and shot the lock off with his Colt .45. Squatting, he opened the heavy iron container; he smiled, and removed four bags of coin and paper money. He then looked the other documents over and tossed them aside, except for some bonds and bank drafts. Those he stuck in his coat pocket.
“Now, everyone out of the coach. Let me warn you, if you have a gun, toss it out the window before you get out. If you climb down with a gun in your hand, you'll be talking to Jesus in a second or two. Now, let's hurry, we don't have all day.”
Two .45's were tossed out the window, followed by a small derringer, similar to what a gambler or woman might carry. The door opened and out stepped a man dressed in a frock coat, followed by a dandy, then a very attractive blonde, and th
en a cowboy wearing a white duster. Lastly, a plump middle-aged woman dressed very well and holding an umbrella got out to stand at the end of the others.
Pulling his hat and holding it upside down, Dutch said, “Gentlemen, dig deep, and place your money and valuables in my hat. That means all of your coins, wallets, stick-pins, rings, watches or other items of worth go into my hat. Ladies, Jesse James does not rob women, so you are both as safe as if at home.”
The man who'd been shot from the driver’s seat lay screaming and his shotgun was not to be seen. The driver now stood beside the bleeding man.
“You, driver, check your wounded man. Frank, you move over here and cover 'em both. Either one moves too fast, send 'em both to hell.”
“I hear ya, Jesse.” Sam replied, knowing Dutch wanted the James Gang to be blamed for this robbery.
Sam moved around and stood holding his shotgun on the two.
The younger woman gave Dutch a big deep smile when he neared her and she winked as he felt the man beside her, the dandy, dropping items into his hat. He knew right off she was a tease by the way her eyes met his. Her gaze suggested she wanted much more than to be robbed. It was when she seductively ran her tongue over her sensuous full lips that he averted his look and got back to business at hand. But, not before he shivered.
He reached up and pulled a diamond tie-tack from the dandy and moved to the man with the frock coat.
“I must say, I find this most exciting.” the man said as he dropped a gold watch and wallet in the overturned hat.
“Shut up, and toss all the jewelry I see you wearin' in the hat, too.” Dutch said.
All went well until he got to the cowboy, who said, “I ain't got but a single double eagle and no job, so I won't get no more where that coin came from. When I spend this, that's all she wrote.”
Dutch patted the cowboy down, found nothing on him, except a half pint of rye whiskey, a short twist of chewing tobacco, and a small pocketknife. He said, “Keep your coin and drink, cowboy, you need it more than I do.”
“My man needs some whiskey for his pain.” the driver said suddenly.