Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  “You headed out there today?” the sheriff asked.

  “Just as soon as I get a good meal and rest up my horse a spell.”

  Sitting just outside the office was one of Winnemucca’s local ne’er-do-wells, Salem Rice. It was a warm day and Sheriff Russell had the small window at the front of his office open in the hope of catching any breeze that wafted by. Rice considered himself a friend of Harvey Whitcomb and thought about what he had overheard. Whitcomb might give him five dollars for the information that a bounty hunter was on the trail of his nephew Luke. Salem had no connection to Luke Graham, but he certainly could use the five dollars. He hurried to the stable and saddled his worn-out cow pony, and then lit out for Whitcomb’s Lazy W Ranch.

  He rode into the front yard just as the sun reached its zenith in the hot, brassy sky. He spotted Harvey Whitcomb standing by the corral while a young cowboy tried to ride a bucking bronco. Just as Salem reached Whitcomb’s side, the cowboy went sailing, unseated by a mighty fishtail buck from the sweating bronco.

  “Yahoo, Tyler. Ride that slab-sided fleabag, dang his no-good hide.”

  “Howdy, Harvey. That cayuse acts like he don’t ever plan on bein’ rode, don’t he?”

  “Hello, Salem. You’re a long way from home. What brings you all the way out to the Lazy W?”

  “I come upon some information I thought you’d be interested in, Harvey. I was sorta hopin’ it’d be worth five dollars to ya.” Salem scuffed his feet in false embarrassment. “I’m a tad short right now.”

  “You rode a long, hot ways fer five bucks, Salem. Well, give it to me and I’ll decide iffen ya made a good or bad decision.”

  “There’s a bounty hunter in town, lookin’ fer Luke.”

  Whitcomb turned a stern eye on the subservient Salem. “What’s that? A bounty hunter? What’s he want with Luke?”

  “I reckon you’ll have to ask Luke ’bout that, Harvey. I jus’ heerd him tellin’ Sheriff Russell that he was a-comin’ out this way jus’ as soon as he got some chow and rested his hoss. I’d figger on him bein’ here by late afternoon.”

  Whitcomb was no fool. He knew that his boy, Mike, and nephew Luke were running on the wild side. He had hoped that they were staying clear of riding the owlhoot trail. He blamed Luke for Mike’s devilishness and felt Luke urged Mike on, but he still did not want some dirty bounty hunter getting his blood-soiled hands on his dead sister’s only child. “Well, Salem, I reckon you’ve earned yourself a five-dollar reward. Here ya go.” He passed over a five-dollar greenback and watched thoughtfully as the town loafer rode away.

  Whitcomb paused a minute longer to gather his thoughts. He’d sent Luke over toward Spring Creek to see if any cows had dropped any calves that hadn’t been branded yet. He knew the lazy Luke was probably taking it easy under the shade of a cottonwood tree near the creek, but he should not be too difficult to find. Whitcomb called out to the cowboy who was slapping dust off after eating a faceful of corral dirt thanks to the bucking bronco.

  “Tyler, let that jughead cool off awhile. I want you to ride over to Spring Creek and tell Luke I want to see him, pronto. Then you round up any cows and unbranded calves you see and drive ’em back here to the holdin’ pen. I wanna git ’em all branded before we move the herd to the winter range.”

  “Gotcha, boss. You know where Luke is?”

  “Probably sleepin’ in the shade of the biggest cottonwood tree on the creek. Don’t worry, you’ll find him, I reckon. Tell him to git his sorry ass back here mucho pronto, ya savvy?”

  “Unnerstand, Mr. Whitcomb.” The slender cowboy crawled between two planks of the corral and lithely clambered up on a paint horse tied to the top rail. With a wave of his hand he loped his cow pony out of the ranch yard and down the road toward Spring Creek, which crossed the rutted road halfway between the ranch house and the Salt Lake Road, four miles to the south.

  Tyler came to the ford that crossed the creek and turned his pony east, toward a big cottonwood about a quarter of a mile off the roadway. Just as Harvey Whitcomb had predicted, Luke Graham was sprawled out on his back under the shade, his hat pulled over his eyes and snoring like a lumberjack sawing logs. Swinging off his horse, Tyler walked up to the sleeping Luke and nudged him in the side with the toe of his worn boot. “Wake up, Sleepin’ Beauty, Mr. Whitcomb wants you back to the ranch.”

  Graham jumped in startled surprise, then angrily swiped a hand at the offending boot. “Damn you, Tyler. I oughta stomp yur head in. I was havin’ a fine dream and you go and ruin it. What the hell do ya want?”

  “Your uncle wants you back at the house, pronto. He sounded like he meant business to me. If I was you, I’d skedaddle on back there.”

  Graham worried a thumbnail for a moment. “I wonder what’s up. Well, I guess I’d better saddle up.” He quickly put the saddle on his bay and trotted away, without saying anything more to Tyler, who watched him go with a disgusted frown on his boyish face. He patted the nose of his cow pony. “A worthless skunk, if you ask me, hoss. I guess we’d best git to roundin’ up any cows we can find. It’s gonna take the rest of the afternoon and I shore don’t want to miss supper. Cookie’s making stew and corn bread.”

  Luke rode into his uncle’s front yard just as Whitcomb stepped out of the front door. “Ya wanted to see me, Uncle Harv?”

  “Luke, what’d you and Mike git into over to Reno?”

  “Nothin’, Uncle Harv. Honest. Nothin’ a’tall.” “Then why the hell is a bounty hunter headed this way with a paper for you?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Harv. It must be a mistake. How’d you know one’s a-comin’ out here?”

  “Salem Rice was loafin’ outside the sheriff’s office and heard him talkin’ to Sheriff Russell. Salem beat a quick path out here so’s I’d git the word and pay him five bucks’ reward.” Whitcomb fixed a stern glare at Luke. “You done somethin’ stupid, ain’t ya, son? Ya might as well tell me, I’m gonna git the full report as soon as the lawman arrives anyway.”

  “I swear, Uncle Harv. It’s gotta be a mistake. They musta got me confused with some other jasper.”

  “Ya plan to wait this fella out and turn yourself in to him?”

  “No way, Uncle Harv. Most of them bounty hunters are stone-cold killers. I’m headed fer California, just as soon as I can pack my plunder and git some vittles fer the trail.”

  “Okay by me, boy. Just don’t come back around here until you git this thing straightened out, unnerstand?”

  “Fine by me. You’ll try and put him off my tail, won’t ya?”

  “I’ll do what I can, but you best put some long hours on the trail. These men are like bulldogs once they git after a man fer money. Don’t mess around, just put plenty of miles twixt here and you, pronto.”

  “Don’t you fret, Uncle, I’m gonna do jus’ that. Let me git some grub from Cookie and grab my stuff. I’ll be long gone in half an hour.”

  Luke was as good as his word and rode his pony away from his uncle’s ranch in half an hour, using the trail out the back pasture that was a roundabout way back to the road to Reno. The only thing was, he did not trust his uncle to put the bounty hunter on the wrong trail, so he was going to cut north and east to see the little Mex gal who worked in the cantina at Tuscarora, then drop down to Elko and then south to Arizona Territory. He’d hide out there until the heat died down and he could ease over into California by way of the Fremont Trail. The prospect of seeing Lupe again made him smile in anticipation. He was whistling a tuneless melody as he rode away from his uncle’s ranch for the last time.

  Chapter 6

  Flushed out of Hiding

  The sun was halfway down its afternoon slide to darkness as Marty turned off the Salt Lake road and headed north following the marked wagon trail to the ranch of Harvey Whitcomb. He mulled over what he would find at the end of his ride. Speaking softly to Pacer, he outlined his options. Somehow, talking to the faithful horse helped him to resolve his dilemmas.

  “I doubt if we’re gonna be
able to just ride in and take Graham out with us, old hoss. His uncle may think blood’s thicker than obeying the law. We’d best talk about there being some doubt as to his guilt and urge Whitcomb to send the boy back to clear things up. At least that may give us half a chance on getting outa the place alive, once we state our intentions. You agree?”

  Pacer continued to plod along across the powdery, gray-black dust that seemed to cover everything in northern Nevada. The land was gently rolling, leading toward snowcapped mountains many miles to the north. Grass was sparse, although a green swath of short-grass grew in a valley to his right, irrigated by a winding stream that cut through the middle of the valley. Marty estimated he was still two miles from the green row of cottonwoods, which traced the cool water that flowed from the far mountains. He licked his dry lips in anticipation. “A cool drink will taste mighty good, won’t it, Pacer? Come on, let’s get a move on.”

  They were almost to the stream when Marty spotted the rider hazing six cows toward the rutted, dirt road he was following. The cowboy was far enough away to allow Marty time to get a refreshing drink and let Pacer swallow a few mouthfuls before he tied him to a shady spot under one of the trees next to the creek. “I’ll let you have some more once you cool down a mite, Pacer, my friend.”

  The cowboy expertly hazed the cows and their calves to a shallow spot where they could bury their noses in the cool water. He lithely swung off his horse and grabbed a quick drink for himself. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he gave Marty a friendly grin. “Howdy, stranger. A hot day to be out and about. You headed for the Lazy W Ranch?”

  “Afternoon. Yep, I reckon so. You work for Harvey Whitcomb?”

  “That I do. Name’s Tyler Percel.”

  “Pleased to meetcha, Tyler. I’m Marty Keller. I’m hoping to find Luke Graham when I get to the ranch.”

  “Well, I suppose you’ll do that. I sent him there not three hours ago. Whatcha want with Luke anyways?”

  Marty made a quick decision. “Luke’s got himself in big trouble, Tyler. I’m out here to arrest him. You okay with that?”

  Tyler wiped the inside brim of his stained hat while he digested the statement. “I reckon so. I ride fer Mr. Whitcomb, not his no-account nephew. Anyways, I’m pretty certain the no-good horse’s ass stole thirty dollars from me the last time he lit out. If Luke’s crossed the line, I say let him take his medicine fer it.”

  “It’s bad news, Tyler. Luke killed a man and robbed a stage.”

  “Sounds like the no-account buzzard. I’m sorry fer Mr. Whitcomb, though. His boy, Mike, run off with Luke last year, ’bout this time. I shore hope he weren’t a part of the goin’s-on.”

  “Far as I know, Luke’s the only one with a paper out on him. Well, I’d best get on over to the ranch and see if I can convince Mr. Whitcomb to let me have Luke without any trouble.”

  “Harvey Whitcomb’s a fair and honest man, Mr. Keller. I reckon he’ll do the right thing. I shore hate it fer his sake, though.”

  Marty took his leave and rode on until he topped a low rise and spotted the main ranch house and several barns and outbuildings at the bottom of the slope. A stocky man with snow-white hair sat in a rocker on the front stoop, eyeing his approach. Marty headed Pacer directly toward the porch, until he was directly in front of the man rocking.

  “Howdy. Mr. Whitcomb?”

  “That’s me. And you’re?”

  “Name’s Keller. Deputy sheriff from Reno. I’m lookin’ for Luke Graham. He anywhere hereabouts?”

  “May I ask why you’re lookin’ fer my nephew?”

  “I’ve got a warrant for him, Mr. Whitcomb. Murder and stage robbery.”

  Whitcomb lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head. “Damn that boy. He’s sure enough gone and done it now.”

  “I’m not certain the charge is cut-and-dried, Mr. Whitcomb. That’s why I hope you’ll tell him to come on in with me and get it straightened out.”

  Whitcomb looked back up at Marty, defiance showing on his worn face. “He ain’t here, Deputy. He lit a shuck fer Salt Lake this morning. Said he was gonna visit some friends there and then go on to Omaha and see his kin there. Sorry.”

  “He still riding the bay?”

  “Yep. Luke’s had that hoss since he was in school. He won’t go far without the animal under him, I reckon.”

  “Well, I’d best get back on the trail. Thank you, Mr. Whitcomb. If Luke shows up here again, urge him to head back to Reno and turn himself in. Save himself a lot of grief.”

  “I’ll do it, Deputy. But I don’t expect to see the boy agin, to be honest.” Whitcomb hesitated, and then looked up at Marty, naked worry evident on his face. “Any other men listed on yur warrant?”

  “Nope, just Luke.”

  Whitcomb nodded, relief flooding his countenance. “Good enough. Try and take Luke alive, will ya?”

  “I always try, Mr. Whitcomb. The choice is theirs.”

  Marty rode out of the yard and ascended the small rise. At the top he looked over his shoulder toward the ranch. Whitcomb had not moved, nor taken his eyes off Marty’s back. “Looks like Whitcomb’s giving the boy a running start, Pacer. Said he’s been gone half a day and we know it’s more likely just a couple of hours. I wonder if someone let him know I was headed his way.”

  He ran into Tyler a mile down the road, still pushing the cattle toward the ranch house.

  “Howdy, Tyler.”

  “Howdy, Mr. Keller. I didn’t figger to see ya so soon.”

  “Whitcomb said Luke was off to Salt Lake and then on east. I guess I just missed him.” Marty paused and offered Tyler one of his small cigars, lighting both from a sulfur match he struck by whipping it across the leg of his cord pants.

  “Too bad. Ya missin’ him, I mean.” Tyler glanced around, ensuring that nobody was observing their discussion. “Iffen ya was to ask me, I’d say no way is Luke headed to Salt Lake. He shore didn’t ride past here, which he would do iffen he was gonna take the road to Salt Lake. ’Sides, he hates them Lambs of God with a passion. He’s more likely headed fer Californnie. But iffen I was to really guess, I’d bet he heads over to Tuscarora first, to visit a spell with Lupe, one of Juan Morales’ whores. Luke thinks Lupe has her cap set on him. I think it’s more likely his purse, but it ain’t none of my business, either way. From there, he can drop down and catch the train at the way station at Elko and ride on out to Californnie in style. Probably on my money.”

  “How would a fellow find this Tuscarora, if he was of a mind to look there?”

  “Follow Spring Creek there until ya come across the road, about twenty miles or so. Then head northeast until ya git there. There ain’t nothin’ else around there but Tuscarora, so you’ll find it easy enough.” Tyler flipped the butt of his cigar into the dust at his horse’s feet. “Of course, I shore would deny ever havin’ this here conversation with ya, iffen ya don’t mind. Well, I suppose I’d best get these slab-sided mavericks on down to the ranch afore suppertime. Be seein’ ya, Mr. Keller.”

  “Thank you, Tyler. Take care.”

  Marty followed Tyler’s instructions. If Graham had made a run straight for Salt Lake City, he still would not be trailing far behind. The winding creek led north and east and he finally came upon a rutted roadway that led due north. Not long after he headed up the road, he came upon a faded road sign proclaiming, TUSCARORA, 30 MILES.

  “Looks like we’re headed the right direction, Pacer, old pal. The thing is, shall we ride after dark, or make ourselves a camp? What’s that? Ride on? Whatever you say, big fella. Giddyup, then, let’s get there as quickly as we can.”

  Marty had not traveled two more miles before he cut a fresh trail headed the same direction as he was. “Wonder if these are Graham’s tracks we’re followin’, Pacer, old pal. Step lively, hoss. We wanna get to Tuscarora before he gets settled in too tight to dig out.”

  Luke Graham rode into the once booming town as the sun slipped behind the Santa Rosa Mountains to the west. He put his tire
d pony in the local livery and hustled over to the cantina where Lupe worked. She ran into his arms as soon as she saw him, showering him with kisses of welcome.

  “It’s beeen so long, Lukie, baby. I thought you had forgotten Lupe.”

  “No way, sweetie pie. I’ve been working over by Carson City. Just got back, and came right here to see my little Lupe.”

  “You come upstairs with me?”

  “In a minute, baby. First, I need a beer and a few hands of poker, so I can give you what you really deserve.” With the little whore snuggled into his side, Luke moved to a table where several rough, worn, dirt-encrusted miners were playing cards. His card skill was such that the poor miners scarcely had a chance against him, and he had taken them for twenty dollars in as many minutes. Then he bought a bottle of tequila and escorted Lupe up to the tiny bedroom on the second floor, where she toiled on her back for her daily bread. They quickly settled under the sweat-stained, soiled linens, where he proceeded to have his pleasure with both the woman and the bottle. Time passed quickly for the busy pair of star-crossed lovers.

  Even though Pacer did pick up the pace, Marty did not ride into the decaying mining town of Tuscarora until after nine p.m. Most of the shops were closed, only the town’s three saloons still open for business. Marty stopped at the first he came to and walked through scarred batwing doors into the smoky saloon. It was nearly wall-to-wall with drinkers and gamblers.

  The bar was crudely constructed from raw wooden planks fashioned together on sturdy legs sawn from the trunk of a three-foot-diameter pine tree. Marty ordered a short beer and snapped a fifty-cent piece on the rough surface. “Looks like you’re pretty busy tonight.”

  The barkeep, round in face and body, plucked the coin and dropped it into a gallon can sitting on a shelf back of the bar. “Yep, most nights we stay busy. With the mines peterin’ out, we’re ’bout all there’s left to do in Tuscarora. You want change or will you be needin’ another?”