Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  Malcolm O’Brian was working on his accounting ledger when his daughter stomped into the office, swishing her long hair back from her face without breaking stride, straight to his scarred, wooden desk.

  Malcolm puffed on his pipe, as much a ploy to give her time to relax as to steel himself for the obviously bad news. “No luck, I take it, huh?”

  Colleen tapped her foot against the wooden floor, her arms folded across her waist. “That moneygrubbin’ weasel Malone—all I got was some huffing and puffing about responsibility to his stockholders and other customers. All the business we’ve given him too. It makes me so mad I could spit nails right through a barn door.”

  “Settle down, honey. I didn’t expect anything else. We’re on the ragged edge and everybody in town knows it. These holdups and destruction of our rolling stock would have driven most lines under already. However”—he held up a letter with a work-hardened right hand—“I got some good news in the mail. Uncle Joe will loan me ten thousand dollars against twenty percent of the business. It’ll be here within a week.”

  Meg collapsed into a broken-down chair next to the old desk, relief washing over her face like a flood of sunshine. “Oh, Pa. That’s wonderful. God bless Uncle Joe.” She stood up, a fresh look of optimism on her face.

  “One other thing. Uncle Joe wants to send his wife’s nephew, a young man named Carson Block, out here to work. I suppose that he thinks this Carson can sort of watch out for his interests. I said I had no problem with it. Do you?”

  “Whatever you say, Pa. Just what we need, though, some dude from back East to mess things up. Well, I guess I’d better tell Roy to get the relief team hitched up. Squint should be pulling in with the four o’clock stage any minute now.”

  Malcolm pulled a silver pocket watch from his vest. “As a matter of fact, he’s already ten minutes late. I sure hope he didn’t run into any trouble coming over Graveyard Pass.”

  “Pa, don’t you start calling Roberts Pass that awful name. It’s bad enough that half the folks in town are callin’ it that.”

  “Ya can’t blame ’em, honey. That’s exactly what it looks like to every man, woman, or child that passes by them wrecks down at the bottom of Roberts Mountain. I sure hope we’ve seen the last of whoever was doin’ that. It’s been two weeks since the last holdup.”

  “Pray to God you’re right. But why would they stop? The law hasn’t seen fit to catch even one of them. I declare, I sometimes wonder if Sheriff Schrader isn’t hoping we’ll fail to meet the contract with the silver combine.”

  “I can’t believe that, Collie, honey. He’s tried, even though his responsibility ends at the edge of town. If we only had a county marshal, he’d be the one to really get involved in our problem.”

  “I wonder when the county board is going to appoint another man to replace Marshal Digby.”

  “Probably just as soon as the governor finds someone crazy enough to take it. Why risk getting plugged in the back some dark night, like Digby, for fifty dollars a month when you can make twice that in the silver mines?”

  “Be that as it may,” Colleen asserted, “we need some help, especially if these holdups and stage destructions start up again.”

  “Well, honey,” Malcolm replied, “keep your fingers crossed they don’t. We’re too close to losing everything we’ve worked so hard for as it is. A few months of peace will do wonders for our profit margin.” He glanced out the window. “I wonder where Squint is. He’s never been this late before.”

  Colleen walked to the front door and swung it open for a better view down the street, toward the steep hills to the east and north of Carson City. “Oh, Pop. You don’t suppose it’s starting again?”

  “Now, now, daughter. No need to get all riled up afore we know that anything’s amiss. Squint may have had some equipment problems, we don’t know. All we can do is be patient until he shows up.” Despite Malcolm’s soothing words, his eyes were filled with concern as he sneaked a quick peek at his open pocket watch propped up next to the pile of unpaid bills.

  Scarcely had Colleen resumed her seat when they both leaped up as a skinny boy burst into the office. Gasping for air between words, the young boy finally got his message out. “Mr. O’Brian, come quick. Two men has ole Squint on a litter down to the doctor’s office. They said to tell ya that he’s shot up bad and the stage is wrecked.”

  Malcolm and Colleen hurried side by side to Dr. Waldren’s office at the far end of Main Street, the youngster trailing close behind. Both were clearly shaken by the news and neither chose to speak as they hurried past other pedestrians on the wooden boardwalk.

  When they arrived at the doctor’s combined home and office, the two men had already carried the unconscious Squint into the doctor’s treatment room. They stood awkwardly on the front stoop, discussing what course of action they should next consider.

  “You fellas found Squint Richards, did ya?” Malcolm queried.

  “Yep,” Hank replied. “Me and Lem come upon him at the summit of Roberts Pass, right where all them stagecoaches are dashed to pieces at the bottom of the cliff.”

  “You bet,” Lem chipped in. “We almost didn’t see him. He was just a-hangin’ over the edge of the drop by a little ole piñon, just about ready to slide over the edge. I went over the cliff and fetched him back up. All he had twixt him and eternity was my lasso around his waist.” Lem rubbed his grimy hands on his demin pants, somewhat self-consciously. “Yep, Hank lowered me over till I got ole Squint by the arms. Then he dragged us up the slope with his hoss. I was plenty scared, lemme tell ya.”

  Malcolm shook both men’s hands and spoke gratefully. “That was mighty fine of the both of you fellas. Did you happen to see what happened?”

  “Naw, I guess the stage was held up and pushed over the edge. Squint musta been throwed over afterwards, or else he fell off the stage as it were goin’ over. Nobody was around when me and Hank got there.”

  “You boys spot Dave Gunther? He was supposed to be riding shotgun fer Squint.”

  Both men shook their heads simultaneously. “Nope,” Hank answered. “We jus’ found ole Squint and figgered we’d better git him back here to the doc’s as quick as we could. He had a hole in him the size of a silver dollar and was bleeding like a stuck hawg. We didn’t go down to where the stage was wrecked, but we didn’t see nobody from up at the top, did we, Lem?”

  Malcolm nodded. “You probably did the right thing. If Dave went over the cliff in the stage, he’d never have survived the drop anyway. Would you two wait here until I check on ole Squint and then go to Sheriff Schrader with me and tell him what you know?”

  “Sure,” Hank answered. “We was headed to Silver City, but now there’s no way we can git there today.”

  “When we’re done with the sheriff, I’d like for you to go with me out by the river trail. I want to check the wreckage and see if we can find Dave. I’ll give each of you ten dollars for your troubles.”

  “Fair ’nough,” Hank answered. “We’ll give ya a hand, won’t we, Lem?”

  “You betcha.”

  Malcolm turned to his daughter. “Colleen, why don’t you go on back to the office? If there were any passengers on Squint’s run, some of their kin may show up lookin’ for ’em and you’ll have to tell them what has happened.”

  “Pray to God there weren’t any,” Colleen answered. “There’s not been many passengers since all these robberies started.”

  “I doubt if there were any, since I told Squint not to say when he was leavin’ Virginia City, and most customers wouldn’t want to stand around waiting until he decided to go. I sure hope there weren’t any. That’s all we need now. Anyway, go on. As soon as I get these two fine fellas over to the sheriff, I’ll come to the office and tell you how Squint is.”

  Malcolm watched his daughter hurry off and then entered the doctor’s office. The sweet, biting odor of chloroform permeated the air. The doctor came out of the treatment room, wiping his hands on a small towel, stained red wit
h blood. His glasses were pushed up on his bald head and a frown framed his dark brown eyes.

  “Howdy, Doc. How’s Squint?”

  “Shot up good and proper, Mal. Also got a busted leg. Looks like the stage wheel ran over him.”

  “He gonna make it?”

  “I think so. The bullet seems to have bounced off a rib, and sliced open his side, but it apparently didn’t puncture his lung. If he doesn’t get an infection, I’d say his chances are pretty good.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Nope, I’ve got him under the chloroform. I’ve got to sew him up and get him bandaged. He’ll sleep for the rest of the night, I reckon. You can talk to him in the morning, not before. You might as well tell Sheriff Schrader the same, so he won’t be coming around late tonight.”

  “I’ll do that, Ralph. But if Squint wakes up or takes a turn for the worse, you fetch me right away, will you?”

  “I’ll do that, Malcolm. Go on now. I got me some work to do.”

  Malcolm returned to the two prospectors outside. “Doc says Squint’ll be out until tomorrow. You two come on with me. We’ll let Sheriff Schrader know what happened. Then we’ll head out to the pass by way of the river road. We might get lucky and find poor ole Dave still among the living.”

  “Not iffen he went over the cliff in that stage. It was plumb smashed to pieces, weren’t it, Lem?”

  “You said it, Hank.”

  The two men reported what they knew to the Carson City sheriff, who duly noted the main points in a small notebook. “Ya say ya didn’t see nobody or the teams when ya got to the top of the pass?”

  “Nope, Sheriff. It was just like we said. No sign of nobody.” Hank bit off a chew of twist tobacco, offering a bite to the others, all of whom refused. “Me and Lem didn’t go down the Virginnie City side, we was too intent on gittin’ Squint back here to the doctor, but we shore didn’t see hide nor hair of nobody.”

  Sheriff Schrader looked resignedly at O’Brian. “They had to go back toward Virginia City, Mal. I suspect they cut off the main road long afore they got there. No tellin’ where your mule team ended up.” He paused. “I’ll bet a week’s wages they’ll be at the bottom of one of the silver mines afore the week is out, though.”

  “Anything you can do for me, Otto?”

  Schrader shook his head. “Mal, you know my authority ends at the city limits. I’ll send in a report to the territorial attorney general, and ask him to send us a county marshal. It’ll probably get as much attention as my last request.”

  Fuming, O’Brian smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Come on, fellas. Let’s get on out to the bottom of that cliff below Roberts Pass and see if we can find Dave. We’re not accomplishin’ anything here.”

  “Sorry, Mal,” the sheriff called to the angry stage owner’s back as he led the others out of the office.

  The three men rode along the trail that followed Runoff Creek at the bottom of Jefferson Mountain. It was getting close to sundown before they arrived at the base of the steep cliff, where the destroyed stage lay among the wreckage of earlier crashes.

  Malcolm tied his horse and the extra mount that he had borrowed from the livery to a tree limb and surveyed the wreckage, strewn about a good-sized outcropping on a level portion of the cliff about thirty feet above the trial. The slope was steep, but not impossible to ascend on foot, so the three men scrambled their way to the flat and walked over to the latest wreckage. The wheels were gone and the coach body was split open, almost completely torn in two from the impact of the fall from the road high above them.

  Lem poked his head inside the stage body. “Ain’t no one here. A bunch of blood all over the floor and seat, though.”

  “Damn,” Malcolm groused. “Spread out. Dave may be around here somewhere. Dave, Dave,” he shouted, “you hear me?”

  “He ain’t hearing you, Mr. O’Brian,” Hank answered from behind a pile of debris that was once a fine Concord stagecoach. “He’s a-lyin’ over here, stone-cold dead.”

  Malcolm hurried to Hank’s side. It was Dave, ejected by the crash to fall in a pitiful heap beside the debris. O’Brian rolled the body over on its back. “Shot through the heart, damn them. At least he didn’t have to ride the stage off the cliff whilst alive.”

  Malcolm looked up at Hank and Lem standing over him, looking in awe at the dead man. “Give me a hand, boys. Let’s get Dave up on the horse and take him on back to Carson City. I gotta go tell his poor wife what happened to him.”

  It was well past sundown before the three men and their grisly cargo arrived at Carson City. Mal delivered Dave’s body to the undertaker’s on Second Street and paid off Lem and Hank. “You fellas did me a good service and I’m mighty grateful. You ever need a favor, come find me.” He passed over the ten silver dollars he had promised the two and watched as they headed for the bright lights of the nearest saloon.

  Sighing in resignation and knowing full well just how unpleasant the next few hours were going to be, he turned his horse toward the freight office. Colleen would be needed with Dave’s wife; the poor woman had delivered a little girl only months earlier, and she was sickly. He wondered how much he could safely spare from the cash his brother was wiring him, to give to the poor widow. She would need some, which was certain. Dave never would have taken the guard’s job if he hadn’t been in desperate need of some hard cash. Malcolm mentally crossed his fingers that Squint had not signed for any money to be delivered to the Carson City Bank. If so, that would have to be replaced from the ten thousand he had coming as well.

  After Dave’s wife finally fell into an exhausted sleep, Malcolm and Colleen walked back toward their living quarters above the freight office. Colleen spoke first. “Poor Mrs. Gunther. She was crying like her poor heart was broken forever. I certainly am grateful that her preacher and some of the ladies from her church were so prompt in coming to her side. I was about to break down myself and I only met Dave one time, the day we hired him.”

  “Well, come on, hon, let’s get some supper and then go tell Sheriff Schrader that we found Dave and he’s now got murder to add to robbery and wanton destruction of our rolling stock.”

  “It’s a waste of our time, Pa. He won’t help us and you know it.”

  “Probably not. But it can’t hurt. Then we’ll just have to wait and see if ole Squint can tell us anything.”

  The next morning, Malcolm was at Doc Waldren’s office as soon as he saw the busy doctor hang out his OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign.

  “Howdy, Ralph. How’s Squint doin’?”

  “Morning, Malcolm. He had a pretty good night. I’ve already dressed his wound this morning and it doesn’t look like there’s any infection setting in. I think he’ll make it. You tell Sheriff Schrader about the holdup?”

  “Yeah. It won’t do me much good, though. As long as there’s no county marshal and the governor’s so busy tryin’ to get his reelection campaign up and running, I’m out of luck. Schrader did say he’d put a warrant out on the holdup for me if I would guarantee some reward money.”

  “Good idea. It might help you catch the outlaws who did this terrible thing.”

  Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll do it, Doc. Well, I’d better see Squint. Okay?”

  “Sure. He’s awake but he might be a little groggy. Just don’t get him too agitated.”

  Squint was lying on his back, a large bandage around his right shoulder and side. He looked up as Malcolm stopped at the side of the bed.

  “Hello, ole-timer. How you feelin’?”

  “Like I was rode hard and put away wet, boss. How’s Dave?”

  “The skunks killed him, Squint. The only reason they didn’t kill you was some prospectors came upon you right after the robbery occurred and pulled you back up the cliff to safety and got you here to Doc Waldren’s before you bled out.”

  “Poor Dave. Them bassards didn’t give him a chance. Me either, fer that matter. By the way, Boss, the invoice of what I was a-carryin’ is in my shirt
pocket.”

  “Any money?”

  “Jus’ over two thousand, from the Lucky Strike Saloon in Virginnie City. Some letters and such, but nothin’ as valuable as the money. They got it, I reckon?”

  “Damn, damn. Yep, they did. Destroyed the stage and stole the mules as well.”

  “Them rotten skunks. I knowed one of the robbers, boss.”

  “You did?”

  Squint painfully nodded his head. “Yep, played cards with him a time or two. Name was Luke Grimes, or was it Graham? Graham, I think. I knowed it was him ’cause he carried a fancy pistol holster with some silver Mexican conches on it. I don’t reckon thar’s another holster like it within a thousand miles a’ here.”

  “Well, that’s a bit of luck for our side. Sheriff Schrader say’s he’ll put out some wanted posters. Maybe someone’ll get Luke and we can find out who’s behind all this. It’s time we had a little good fortune.”

  “There was at least two others, but I couldn’t see their faces as they was a-wearin’ masks. They shot Dave right off and got me as I was comin’ around the lead mule to see what was a-goin’ on.”

  “One name is better than none. You take it easy, Squint. I’ve got me a plan, if we can jus’ get someone to catch this Luke Graham. I’m gonna send the sheriff over to talk to you, Squint. Give him a description of Graham as best you can. I’m gonna go and see about getting us a replacement stagecoach from the Butterfield folks in San Francisco. You hurry up and get well, ole-timer. I’m gonna need you afore this is all over.”