Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  “Squint,” he called softly across the street. “There’s a shooter in the belfry. Put a couple of rifle shots off the bell and see if it forces him to duck down until Carson and I make the cover of the next house up the street.”

  “Gotcha, Marty. Stand by, here goes.” Squint opened up with his Winchester, slowly banging shots off the bell and tower opening.

  “Come on, Carson, follow me.” Marty ran to the next house in line on his side of the street, ducking behind its solid bulk without drawing any return shots from the tower. A half-filled water barrel sat next to the corner of the house. “Help me, Carson,” Marty whispered as he struggled to roll it out away from the wall until it presented a shield from gunfire from the church.

  “Carson,” Marty instructed, “get behind this water barrel and keep your rifle on the opening in the belfry. If you see any movement, open up.”

  Across the street, Squint and Sheriff Schrader were still at the opening of the alley, straining to see them in the darkness. Marty softly called out, “Squint, you and Carson stay where you are and cover the sheriff and me while we make our way to the front of the church.”

  “Gotcha, Marty,” Squint called back. “Carson, I’ll start, you wait till I’m empty. Then you fire whilst I’m reloading my rifle. We oughta be able to keep the varmints pinned down until Marty and the sheriff is at the front door.”

  “You ready, Sheriff?” Marty called over.

  “Yep. Let’s git the dance started.”

  “Squint, open up,” Marty shouted.

  Squint fired at the opening of the belfry and was rewarded with a resounding bong! when his bullet hit the large bronze bell from the belfry. He fired again about three seconds later, without the same results, but Marty knew whoever was hiding up there was certainly not going to risk sticking his head up to shoot at either him or the sheriff.

  He raced straight down the sidewalk to the edge of the churchyard and then to the slight protection of the small canopy over the front door. Squint and Carson were still steadily banging away at the opening of the belfry above him. He waited until Sheriff Schrader ran to the other side of the door and then allowed the puffing lawman a few seconds to catch his breath.

  Finally, Marty whispered, “You ready, Sheriff?”

  “Yep. Let’s do her.”

  Marty pushed open both of the double doors and darted inside, immediately turning to the right. Two men at the rear of the church fired at the open doorway, from both sides of the building. The bullets missed their targets and slammed into the stucco wall behind him. Sheriff Schrader crouched behind the last pew on his side, keeping his head below the top of the backrest.

  “Lebo Ledbetter, you in here?” the sheriff shouted.

  The only reply was a flurry of gunfire from the two men hidden at the front of the church. The sharp crack of a rifle echoed above him. Someone was still in the belfry, trading shots with Squint and Carson.

  “Sheriff,” Marty whispered over to the lawman, “there’s still one in the belfry.”

  “I heerd him,” Schrader answered, and then raised his head and gun over the pew and fired three quick shots at the location of Red Mike, who was squatting below the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe reloading his empty six-gun. The movement saved his life, as Schrader put his bullets where he had just been standing.

  Charlie Call quickly fired at Schrader, but his bullets went wide. Marty returned fire immediately, his bullets slamming into the back of the pew where Call was hiding, causing Charlie to duck back down to cover. Call grimaced. Things were not going right and getting worse by the minute.

  He plotted a quick exit from the church by the door behind him. He knew that if he could reach his horse, he was clear, since those at the front of the church would have to return to wherever they had tied their horses before they could pursue him. He would be long gone and untraceable by then.

  Charlie had long ago found a way to enter and exit Carson City that would disguise his route away from the town.

  During a sudden lull in the firing inside the church, a loud shriek of pain penetrated the quiet of the main sanctuary. A rifle fell clattering down the circular steps leading up to the belfry followed by a limp body that thumped and rolled down the stairway like a sack of potatoes, finally sprawling on the wooden floor of the sanctuary.

  In the shocked seconds following the fall of Ledbetter, Marty darted halfway down the side of the building to the confessional box, which protected him from the man on his side of the church and gave him a better vantage point to fire on Red Mike, who was opposite from him at the front of the building.

  As the unfortunate outlaw rose to shoot toward Sheriff Schrader, he exposed his head and upper body to Marty’s view and fire. Aiming carefully, Marty shot Red Mike in the top of his left shoulder, but Red Mike was unlucky this time. The bullet hit his shoulder bone and glanced upward, cutting out of the shoulder and hitting the outlaw under the left ear. Ranging upward, it came out above Red Mike’s right ear. The impact of Marty’s bullet caused Mike to stand, and Sheriff Schrader put two bullets into his chest, dropping the outlaw on his back, dead before he hit the floor.

  Charlie Call crouched low and scooted for the back door. His movement caught Schrader’s eye and the sheriff zeroed his pistol in on the retreating outlaw’s back. The hammer of his pistol fell on an empty cylinder and the next two clicks of the hammer were just as futile. By then Call was out the door, running as fast as his excited legs would propel him to his pony, which started running while he was holding the saddle horn. With an acrobatic leap, he slammed both feet into the dirt of the street and using the momentum of the running horse, flipped into the saddle. His horse’s hoofbeats were fading away before Marty and the sheriff made it outside the church.

  “That jasper was ready to run from the time this all started,” Schrader complained. “The cowardly sumbitch never even tried to see iffen his henchmen was still alive.”

  Squint and Carson were just easing their way into the front of the church when Marty and Schrader came back inside from the rear. “I think we got the varmit up in the balcony,” Squint announced. “Can we be any help in here?”

  “Nope,” Schrader answered. “Two down and one on the run, like the devil was chasin’ him.”

  Squint went over to the limp body by the stairs. “Lebo Ledbetter. I reckon I had the last laugh after all.”

  Marty checked Red Mike’s still form at the front of the church. “This one’s a cooked goose as well. You know him, Squint, Sheriff?”

  He rolled over Red Mike’s dead body; its face grimaced as if the dying outlaw had viewed the hot reaches of hell before his soul departed this life.

  “Nope,” both answered.

  “I seem to remember seein’ him around town a time or two,” Schrader announced. “I’ll have some of the bartenders and tradesfolk have a look at him once the coroner has him all laid out. Maybe someone will come up with a name.”

  “What about Brazos or those other two jaspers back on Main Street?” Marty questioned. “Know them and who they might have worked for?”

  “Two of ’em ran with Lebo and are, to the best of my knowledge, just town loafers, earning a few bucks here and there from temporary work, and Brazos seemed to be around town all the time. I don’t think he had a job, but I’ll ask around.”

  “Our bad luck, I reckon,” Marty grumped. Then he turned to Squint and Carson. “You two did mighty fine work tonight. Thank you both.” The looks on their faces were answer enough.

  Chapter 15

  A Trip to Virginnie City

  The next morning, Marty felt relaxed and refreshed after a massive breakfast to make up for the very light supper the night before, and a sound sleep, once he had calmed down from the nervous energy coursing through his veins from the shoot-out. He ambled toward the O’Brian office, whistling a nameless tune. Colleen O’Brian was waiting for him, her lips pinched in anger, obviously carrying a full head of steam and about to blow.

  “Mr.
Keller,” she practically snarled, her green eyes flashing in anger, “what on God’s green earth were you thinking, taking a nice, inexperienced Eastern dude like Carson Block on a shoot-out with vicious outlaws? Don’t you know he could have been killed? It’s bad enough that Squint was involved, but Carson?”

  Marty retreated in the face of the enraged young woman, his hands up and palms out in surrender. “Whoa there, Colleen. I swear to you, I was as surprised as you when I found out Carson had dealt himself in. I told him to steer clear, but he chose otherwise. And to be honest, I’m grateful he did.

  Thanks to him and Squint, I’m still walkin’ around this morning.”

  “Well, I declare, you just aren’t listening, are you? I want you to swear that you’ll never involve Carson in anything like this again, no matter what the provocation. Do you understand me?”

  “Don’t you think Carson ought to have some say in this?”

  “Daddy, fire this gunslinger this instant, do you hear me?” She stamped one of her dainty feet to emphasize her point.

  Malcolm walked out of his office, a wry grin making its way across his face. “Colleen, dear, go out to the mule barn and see if Carson needs any help deciding which mules need new horseshoes. Be off now, that’s a good darlin’.”

  Colleen glared at both men for an instant; then, her lips pressed tightly in indignation, she spun on her heel, flaring out her dress like an opened umbrella and stomping out of the office. Malcolm waited until Colleen had left before saying any more. Then he apologized to Marty. “You gotta give her a little slack, Marty. She’s really taken by young Carson. I often wondered if she was ever gonna find someone to give her affections to. Looks like she finally has. If you can forgive her fer her outburst, I’ll try to convince her to ease off on her rantin’. She ain’t really lookin’ at things with an objective mind.”

  Marty laughed. “As long as she doesn’t take after me with a meat cleaver, I reckon I can, Malcolm. I’ll stay out of her way until she cools off a mite.”

  “I’m mighty happy none of you was hurt last night. What do you think should be our next move?”

  “Well,” Marty mused, “it’s clear the shoot-out last night was more than just some saddle bum defending the honor of a chum. Someone doesn’t want me working for you. They’re ready to kill me to make sure I don’t. Let’s take a look at your routes, and the places where you’ve been attacked. We need to work out a plan that gives us the edge, instead of the lawbreakers.”

  “You want that I should ride up to Virginnie City with ya?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Good enough. I’ve got a load of mail and such that needs deliverin’ anyways. The thing is, if we git hit again, I’m afraid it’ll be the end of my business.”

  “We won’t advertise what we’re doing. When we’re ready, we’ll simply drive out of town. I can’t believe the outlaws are just standing around waiting for a stage to ride by.”

  “I hope you’re right, laddie. A lot depends on it.” Malcolm opened the door, “Come on, let’s get my last good stagecoach hitched up. You ever drive a six-team mule stage?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll send for Squint. Iffen he’s well enough to fight gunslingers, he oughta be able to drive us up to Virginnie City.” Malcolm locked the door to the office behind Marty. “Meanwhile, I’ll git the mail that’s collected in the post office.”

  Malcolm sent Colleen off to find Squint while he hurried to get the past-due mail. Marty and Carson awaited Squint’s arrival before trying to hitch up the lines to a six-mule team.

  “I’m pretty sure I can do it,” Marty commented, “but we may as well have an expert show us the first time.”

  “I want to go with you, Marty,” Carson suddenly announced.

  “You certain, Carson? There’s liable to be trouble. You sure you’re ready to jump in feetfirst in this fight?”

  “I’m ready. I told Colleen to keep her nose out of my affairs. I’m ready to pull my own weight with Uncle Malcolm’s troubles. She’s madder than blazes at me now, but I don’t care.”

  “It’s just that she likes you, Carson. You’re lucky, she’s a real beauty.”

  “Maybe so, but she’s got to understand that I’m my own man and I don’t need her clackin’ at me about everything.”

  Marty just smiled. The trials of true love were many and varied. He knew better than to get involved. Each man had to experience it on his own. About then Squint walked into the mule barn, Malcolm right behind him carrying a large canvas sack filled with what had to be the delayed mail for Virginia City.

  The skinny, bowlegged stage driver did not take long to harness up the mules to the gleaming, freshly painted stage in the red and black of the O’Brian livery. Marty opened the doors and stood to the side as Squint walked the mules out of the cavernous barn. The handsome stage shone impressively in the morning sunlight.

  “Carson, if you’re going with us, I want you to get your rifle and ride inside the coach with Mr. O’Brian. I’m gonna ride up on top with Squint where I can see the ground from his perspective.

  Malcolm, you get a rifle too. If we do get jumped by outlaws, we need to pour fire at them hot and heavy.”

  Colleen stood on the front stoop of the office as Squint pulled the stage up in front. He called down to her, “Anything else fer Virginnie City, missy?”

  “Nothing, Squint. Good luck. Papa, you keep your head down if someone starts firing at you.” She glared up at Marty. “I’m depending on you to make certain nothing happens to Carson, Mr. Keller.”

  “Colleen,” Carson shouted from inside the coach. “What’d I tell you?”

  With a disdainful sniff, she spun on her heel and walked back inside the office. Marty grinned at Squint. “Okay, old-timer. Get these mules to moving. Let’s go to Virginia City.”

  Vern Barton could not sit still as he listened to Charlie Call describe the shoot-out. “Damnit, Charlie. Whatta I pay you fightin’ wages fer anyways? How could you let things get in such a confounded mess?” He pounded his fist into the palm of his hand.

  “It were Red Mike’s fault, Mr. Barton. He forgot to check out the ambush site to make sure Keller didn’t have no backup. When it turned out he did, Red Mike panicked and ran fer the church instead of making certain he plugged Keller first.”

  “What if he ain’t dead? He can tell a lot to hurt us.”

  “Believe me, Mr. Barton, he’s dead. He took one in the head and several in the brisket. He ain’t talkin’ to nobody, you can count on it.”

  “And Brazos? He’s dead as well?”

  “Red Mike said he was. I never saw him.”

  “You need to git a couple of new men into Carson City right away. We’ve got O’Brian dancin’ on a hot skillet and I don’t want to let him off.” He glared at Call. “Next time I send you out to git someone, you better do it right, or don’t come back.”

  “Yessir, Mr. Barton, I unnerstand.”

  “You’d better send someone into Reno with a message. I want Sam and Waco to be especially vigilant. Those pumps are due in from Pittsburgh any time now and they can’t make it on to Virginia City. We have to stop ’em, no matter what.”

  “I’ll do it right away, Mr. Barton. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to git a bite of breakfast. I rode all night to make certain nobody was followin’ me.”

  Barton waved his second in command away with a flick of his hand. He worried about Keller. Was the bounty hunter that good or was he just lucky? Barton wondered if he needed to tell Mr. Stoddard about Keller. He decided not to risk incurring the wrath of the mine owner. His stock with the man was not too high at the moment as it was.

  Barton wandered over to the corral. He wondered when O’Brian was going to resume his stage runs. The demands for service must be increasing daily. He meant to hit the next and every other stage running to or from Virginia City until the O’Brians quit in defeat.

  The first part of the drive to Virginia City was pleasant and uneventful
. The six-mule team settled into a ground-eating trot. Marty estimated they were doing better than five miles an hour. After two hours the road started to climb into the mountains, which lay to the east and north of Carson City. The stage slowed as the mules strained to pull the coach up the winding and switchback roadway to the summit.

  Squint kept up a continuous dialogue with his mules, cussing them and cajoling them with equal fervor. Marty kept a log of times to reach various points along the road, continuously watching for both outlaws and likely ambush positions. Finally, the coach and its passengers reached the top of the pass, now referred to as Stagecoach Graveyard by most everyone in the area.

  “This is the spot where those skunks shot me and kilt Dave,” Squint announced, looking around with a wary expression on his weathered face.

  “Pull up, Squint. I want to look around.”

  “Dang, Marty, don’t ya think we oughta get on outa here? There might be some more of ’em hangin’ around.”

  “I don’t think so. I imagine they don’t even know we’ve left Carson City yet.”

  “Well, how is it you think they knowed when to hit us like they did?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that very subject. I think that they’ve had someone in town, watching the stages. When you pull out, the spies skedaddle to wherever the rest of the outlaws are holed up and then the outlaws head here to spring their ambush.”

  “Do tell.” Squint pulled the stage over to the edge of the road nearest the side of the mountain and looped the lines around the braking handle next to his seat. Marty and Squint climbed off the stage while Carson and Malcolm stepped out of the interior.

  Marty rocked up on his toes, stretching the kinks out of his back. He rubbed his bottom, grinning wryly at Squint. “I’ve got to admit, that driver’s seat is becoming mighty hard right now.”

  “Anything wrong?” Malcolm asked as he exited the coach.