Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  “Howdy, boys,” Vern greeted the three. “Gettin’ a head start on today’s drinkin’?”

  “Nope,” Mike answered. “We was talkin’ about the skunk that brought in Luke Graham. He kilt him as sure as I’m sittin’ here, damn cold-blooded murderer.”

  “Yu’re right about that, Mike,” Vern answered, seizing an opportunity. “I was jus’ talkin’ with the sheriff. He’s pretty certain the bounty hunter who brought him in did it, but he ain’t got no proof. It’s a pure shame, since Luke was chained to the wagon he was in and couldn’t defend hisself or nothin’.”

  Mike seemed to have overlooked the fact that Vern had ordered Luke’s dispatch with just as little regard for Luke’s chances only days earlier. “Well, we’re gonna make it right. Brazos and me will be takin’ him down tonight, iffen he don’t light out afore then. We’d’ a done it last night but I was too filled up with rotgut to help Brazos out.”

  “A good idea, Mike. I’m proud of you boys for bein’ so loyal to poor ole Luke. Still, this Keller is a stone-cold killer. Lebo, if you and some of yur friends will lend a hand, I’ll put a hunnerd dollars in the pot, share and share alike. And another hunnerd to the man who gits Keller.”

  Lebo’s ugly face broke into a wide grin. “By Gawd, I’ll take some of that action. Me and some of my friends have a score to settle with that jasper anyhow.”

  Vern and Charlie sat down. “Well then, let’s git ourselves a plan,” Vern declared, a confident smirk on his face.

  After completing their preparations, Vern and Charlie rode out of Reno. They had not gone a half mile when Vern pulled up and turned to face Call. “Charlie, ya need to ramrod this thing through to the finish. Sneak back into town after dark and hide yurself someplace where you can see what’s happenin’ and maybe get yurself a shot at Keller. We don’t need him helpin’ out O’Brian this close to winnin’.”

  “All right, boss. I’ll see ya tomorry.”

  Meanwhile, Marty ambled over to O’Brian’s office after a hearty breakfast and three cups of fresh, hot coffee at the hotel restaurant. He had mulled over O’Brian’s offer, made his decision, and now hoped it was the right one for him. Colleen O’Brian met him at the front door of the office and directed Marty to the stage barn, where her father and Carson were busy supervising the painting of the new stage that Malcolm had purchased from Wells Fargo in Sacramento. They were changing its colors from yellow and Malcolm’s livery colors of brown to black and red.

  “Howdy, Marty,” Malcolm greeted as he walked into the barn. Carson quickly added his greetings, smiling broadly at his hero.

  “Morning,” Marty answered. “Mr. O’Brian, I reckon I’ll take you up on your offer, with three conditions.”

  “Let’s hear ’em.”

  “One, you’ll have to defer to me on all things about security. I call the shots. Two, we don’t gamble lives against schedules or money. Three, once I start, we don’t quit until it’s over. No getting cold feet if it comes to a point where people start to die.”

  “Those conditions seem fair enough. What do you think, Carson?”

  “Seem perfectly sensible to me, Uncle Malcolm. Only thing is, I want to be Marty’s assistant.”

  “No way, Carson,” Marty objected. “We’re talking about a chance of serious gunplay here. People on our side stand a good chance of being badly hurt or killed. I don’t want your blood on my conscience.”

  “I reckon you’ll find you have plenty to do right around here, son. Marty’s right. Don’t step in over your head, right off the git-go.”

  Carson was disappointed, but he wisely shut up. There would be another chance to press his case later on. Marty and Malcolm walked out of the barn and over to the corral, where each man rested one foot on the bottom rail of the fence, while watching the mules mill around the enclosure as they continued to talk.

  “What do ya want to do first?” Malcolm asked.

  “I think I’d like to ride the routes with you. See where the holdups occurred, what sort of places the outlaws have been working their skullduggery from.”

  “We can do that. Carson told me about the threat against you last night. What do you aim to do about that?”

  “All I can do is go on, Malcolm. I can’t let anyone put the bluff on me. If they try anything, I’ll respond appropriately.”

  “You’re right of course. Still, I’d walk a mite softly tonight. It sure sounded like the yahoo was intent on makin’ good his threat.”

  “No matter what his plan is, I’ll be ready,” Marty assured O’Brian. “Do you think we can start looking at the routes tomorrow?”

  “Sure can. I’ll have the stage ready at eight o’clock.”

  “I was thinking we would just ride horses.”

  “Let’s take the stage. You’ll be able to see what it’s like for a driver then.”

  “All right. Let’s do it. Who’s doing the drivin’?”

  “I guess I could ask Squint if he’s ready to drive. He’s my best driver and may want to get back in harness after his being hurt so bad.”

  “Good enough. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to familiarize myself with the layout of the town. Just in case.”

  Marty took his leave and moseyed around Carson City the rest of the day, seeking the most likely locations for ambush, spots where assailants might run to if flushed out, and routes to and from key points in the town. By the time supper rolled around, Marty felt he was reasonably comfortable with his knowledge of the town.

  He ate a light supper, not wanting to fill his gut in case of a stomach wound. He lingered at the café just down the street from the sheriff’s office until the sun was dipping behind the mountains to the west. Fingers of red and gold spread across the heavens as the sunset washed the low-lying, fluffy clouds in the evening sky.

  Marty puffed an after-dinner cigar as he waited for the cover of darkness. Finally, hitching up his gun belt, he began a slow walk toward Jack’s Bar, where he guessed his antagonists were building up their courage to face him.

  As he approached Third Street, Squint scooted out of the shadows of an alley next to the saddle and tack shop. Marty almost jerked out his pistols at the unexpected movement but had enough self-control not to draw down on the grizzled stage driver.

  “Marty,” Squint said softly, “there’s three men waitin’ fer ya twixt Fifth and Sixth streets. Two on the east side, and one in the alley on the west side. A fella named Red Mike and Brazos are hangin’ out by Jack’s place, waiting on you to show up. It ’pears they’re gonna brace ya in the street and let the hideouts shoot ya in the back.”

  “Thanks, Squint. Can you get the two on the east off my back?”

  “That’s my plan. I’m headed fer the roof of Marcy’s Millinery Shop. It’s got a flat roof and a parapet, just made fer shootin’ down on the street. And Carson is coverin’ the fella in the westside alley from the doorway of the feed store, directly across the street.”

  “Damn it, Squint. I didn’t want the boy involved in this.”

  “He insisted on helpin’ ya, and I reckon he’s got sand enough fer these skunks.”

  It was too late for Mary to protest any further. “I’ll give you five minutes, Squint. Then I’m headed right to ’em. First sign you have that hideout is aiming at me, cut him down. I hope you told Carson the same thing.”

  “Shore did. Don’t worry, we got yur back.” Squint slipped away while Marty waited in the shadows.

  After the allotted time had passed, Marty continued his walk, moving quickly from shadow to shadow until he was within a hundred feet of the brightly lit opening to Jack’s Bar. Then he stepped off the wooden sidewalk to the edge of the street. He stopped just as he was about to enter a pool of light from the dry goods store and saw the two men watching his progress from the boardwalk in front of the saloon doorway.

  “You fellas looking for me?” he boldly called out.

  The two dark figures immediately stepped away from the wall of the saloon and into the street.
“That you, Man Killer?” of the men shouted at Marty. “Step outa the shadows so’s we can see yur face when we plug ya.”

  “Why should I make it easy for you vermin? You want me, come and get me.”

  Suddenly a rifle blasted a throaty roar from the roof of the millinery shop where Squint was positioned, followed almost immediately by three pistol shots from the doorway to Marty’s immediate left. His backups were in action. Marty drew his pistol and blazed away at the two targets in front of him, while they crouched and returned fire at him.

  One dark form sprawled backward, while the other took one final shot and sprinted into the darkness of the alley where Squint had said a back shooter was hidden. Marty thumbed off a final shot from his .44 at the fleeing man and then cautiously moved toward the silent form in the street. It was Brazos, laying faceup in the dust, sporting a third eye right between his original two.

  Marty turned toward a movement. It was Carson walking toward the alley across the street, a smoking six-gun in his hand. “You okay, Carson?” Marty called out.

  “Yeah. I think I hit the fellow hiding in the ally. I saw a glint of light from his rifle as he aimed at your back. I can still see the rifle where he dropped it.”

  “Be careful, it may be a trap. I’m gonna check the alley across the street. Squint said that two men were in there.”

  “Gotcha,” Carson answered, then continued on, his weapon at the ready.

  Marty eased up to the dark alley, his senses on full alert. He heard the ragged breathing, but did not see the downed assailant until he stepped into the blackness and his eyes adjusted. One man sat with his legs outstretched, wedged between a water barrel and the wall of the building, holding a hand tight against his other arm.

  Marty stepped close and put the barrel of his pistol against the man’s cheek. “How bad you hit?”

  The man let out a low moan. “Busted my arm and it’s bleedin’ like a stuck hawg. I dasen’t let go of it fer an instant.”

  “Stay still and I’ll send the doc around. Where’d your buddy run off to?”

  “I don’t know. Hurry up the doc, will ya? I’m beginnin’ to hurt awful bad.”

  “You’re not getting any attention until you tell me where the two men ran off to. Take your time, you’re the one that’s bleeding to death, not me.”

  Squint and Carson ran up to Marty. “I got one, didn’t I?” Squint questioned. “Good. Carson plugged his dead square. That leaves two, I reckon.”

  The wounded man groaned again, then gasped out, “We was planning to meet a fella at the church, when this was all done.”

  “Which one?” Squint queried.

  “The Mex church, down at the end of Fifth Street. Now git me the doc, I’m hurtin’ bad.”

  Carson took a close look at the downed man.

  “This is one of the four we had the fight with the other day, Marty.”

  “You runnin’ with Lebo Ledbetter?”

  “Yeah. Lebo said we’d git to share a hunnerd bucks iffen we got ya.”

  “Who paid you that?”

  “I don’t know. Lebo never said. It musta been the guy waiting fer us at the church. He’s supposed to have the money. He’s a pal of Lebo’s and Red Mike’s.”

  Marty pursed his lips. Somebody wanted him dead pretty badly. Was it just for Luke Graham or perhaps for helping the O’Brians? He stood and directed. “Carson, you run get the doctor and then guard this jasper. We may want to ask him some more questions after we take care of the two left.”

  “Can’t I come with you?”

  “Nope, you’ve gotta watch this fellow. He may be able to tell us more, later. Go on now. If you see the sheriff, tell him we’re trying to corner the rest at the Mexican Church at the end of Fifth Street.”

  Marty inserted fresh cartridges into the cylinder of his pistol. “Come on, Squint. We have us some rats to flush.”

  Chapter 14

  A Man-Sized Rat Hunt

  Marty and Squint carefully eased down the darkened alley. Marty glanced back at Squint, trailing a few feet behind him, his rifle at the ready. “Squint, you have a pistol?”

  “Naw, this here Winchester is all the firepower I can handle. Never got comfortable with them there six-guns nohow.”

  At the far end of the alley, Marty slowly eased his head out until he could see across the street. He saw nobody, although several of the rough houses along the street still had the glow of lamps spilling out of windows. “Squint, which way to the church?”

  Squint pointed to Marty’s left. “Thattaway, to the end of the block. The street dead-ends at the church.”

  Farther on down the street, the stucco building that was the church stood in massive silence, its walls reflecting a muted gray in the silvery light of the half-moon shining overhead. Marty saw no sign of anyone waiting for them, but it was a perfect location for an ambush. He and Squint would be easy targets if they just charged up to the front doors.

  Marty ducked back into the dark alley. “I don’t see anything. Doesn’t mean they’re not up in the bell tower waiting for us to show ourselves. I’ll slip across the street and you stay on this side. When I signal you, we’ll make our way toward the church together. Stay close to the side of the buildings. No need to give them an easy shot at us.”

  “Gotcha, Marty.”

  Just as Marty steeled himself to dash across the street, both men heard heavy footsteps hurrying down the alley from the main street behind them. Both men spun around, their weapons at the ready.

  It was Sheriff Schrader, puffing hard after a long run from his office, three blocks away. “Hold on now,” he spit out between gasps of breath. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  Charlie Call could not hide his disgust when Lebo Ledbetter finished his report on the ambush of Keller. “Damnit, Red Mike. I thought you said this Lebo jasper and his friends were the real stuff. Sounds like they couldn’t finish off a tied-down rabbit.”

  “It was a series of bad breaks, Charlie. Someone was up on the roof across from me and Gates. He winged Gates with the first shot and pinned me down so I couldn’t git a shot at Keller. Someone else plugged Wes across the street, and Keller shot Brazos down in the street. I don’t know how he missed Lebo. Lebo ducked into the alley and me and him hurried here. Maybe we can git ’em here iffen they come after us.”

  Charlie quickly considered his options. “Lebo, git yur ass up in the belfry and keep a sharp lookout. Keller and whoever is with him will probably come after us right away. Me and Red Mike will set up an ambush down here, if they git inside the church.”

  Lebo looked nervously at the bigger Call. “Well, don’t you two sneak out on me. I’ll never git down from up there if you two was to run and leave me to face them alone.”

  “You don’t worry about that. You jus’ git up there and keep yur eyes peeled.”

  As Lebo hurried up the winding stairway to the top of the belfry, Charlie’s lips curled in a half smirk. His horse was tied outside and he planned to light a shuck out of the confines of the church at the first opportunity.

  Charlie pointed to a dark corner across from where he stood in the sanctuary close to the back door of the church. He wanted to stay by his escape route. “Red Mike, you git settled over there, and I’ll set up here. We’ll have ’em in a cross fire iffen they do break into the church.”

  As the cousin of Luke Graham scurried away to his hiding place, Marty and Squint were finishing their explanation to the Carson City sheriff about the ambush and shoot-out.

  “I don’t like it when someone settles their differences on my streets, Keller. Ya shoulda come straight to me. I’da run Brazos and Lebo outa town.”

  Marty thought to himself that he’d rather face the varmints in town than out in the countryside where they would have many more ambush sites available. “I’ll remember that, Sheriff,” he answered stoically. “Now that we’ve got ’em cornered, you want to flush ’em out, don’t you?”

  “Yep. You two are temporary deputies, just t
o make it legal.”

  Once again, the men heard someone running toward them through the dark ally. All three men crouched with their weapons at the ready. It was Carson Block. He slid to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight of three grim shooters looking at him, ready to fire.

  “Don’t shoot,” he whispered as loud as he dared. “It’s me, Carson.”

  “Carson,” Marty growled, “didn’t I tell you to get the doc and stay with that wounded fellow?”

  “I did, honest. When we got back, the fella was dead as a doornail.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah,” Carson answered. “The doctor said it musta been shock or a clot from the wound. I thought I’d better get here and back you and Squint up.” He glanced at the form of Sheriff Schrader.

  “This is Sheriff Schrader, Carson,” Marty told the young man. “He’s gonna help us root those last fellas out of the church.” Marty looked at Schrader. “How do you want to handle it, Sheriff?”

  “What was you and Squint plannin’?”

  Marty relayed his plan for assaulting the old church building. The old sheriff nodded his approval. “Sounds good. Squint, you and I will go down this way. Keller, you and the boy cross over to the other side of the street and cover us fer a spell. Then we’ll take cover and do the same fer you two.” The sheriff risked a quick glance at the church at the end of the street. “When we git to the front doors, we’ll go in together. We’ll take the left side and you take the right.”

  “Right. Come on, Carson.” Marty dashed across the street, Carson on his heels. As they reached the boardwalk, a shot boomed from the church, barely missing Marty and scoring the side of an adobe wall of a private home.

  “Damn,” Marty grunted shakily, “that was close.” The scar cut into the adobe by the bullet angled downward by maybe twenty degrees. “Someone’s in the belfry,” he told Carson. “Stay in the shadows.” Marty eased into the cover of a recessed doorway and peeked around the jam toward the belfry of the church. All was dark and quiet.