Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  On the morning of the third day, they were in Reno, having spent the last night at the Steaming Springs Resort, just outside the town. There they soaked away the soreness from long days in the saddle and slept like logs until well after the sun had risen.

  Marty introduced Carson to Sheriff Longabaugh. After sharing lunch with the lawman, they walked over to speak with O’Brian’s station manager, a wispy, shrunken old-timer named Tom Dawkins, whose ornate muttonchop whiskers were the most striking feature of his nondescript appearance. “Any word on the arrival of the pumps for Hearst up in Virginia City?” Marty asked after the introductions were complete.

  “Nope, Mr. Keller. Nary a word yet. I told Mr. O’Brian that I would send him a telegram just as soon as I heard anything.”

  “Good. I would hope that nobody else hears about it, else I’d have to come back and find out why. You get my meaning?” He stared coolly at Dawkins while giving a slight hitch to his gun belt.

  “Oh, you can be assured of that, Mr. Keller. I’m completely loyal to Malcolm.”

  “Excellent. Come on, Carson, let’s make the ride from here to Virginia City before it gets too late.” The two men left the office, leaving behind a steaming Dawkins, who saw a hundred dollars fly out the window if he failed to alert Ransom Stoddard as soon as he knew anything about the expected pumps. But he also saw the cold eyes of a man killer delivering a warning.

  Marty and Carson studied the terrain on the ride from Reno to Virginia City, spending a good deal of time inspecting the site where the freight wagons had been attacked. They found the exact location where the outlaws waited for the unsuspecting freight wagons. “Look at the tracks, Carson. Just like the other place. Headed to the road that goes past the V bar B. I sure wish we could catch them in the act. I know they’re the ones, I can smell it.” Marty broke off a small twig and put it in his mouth. “The only thing is, the timing is off for an attack on this side of Virginia City. It’d take a man on horseback leaving from Reno longer to get to the ranch and then back here than it would take loaded freight wagons, even going slow.”

  “So how did they do it?” Carson asked.

  “Either they had advanced information on the time the freight wagons left, or they spotted themselves somewhere in between here and the ranch in advance of the attack.”

  “I wonder where.”

  “It had to be somewhere close, since we’re only three hours out of Reno.” He scanned the valley to the east, where the outlaws came from. “I’ve got to figure out how to hit them with my reaction force before they shoot up my drivers and Mr. Hearst’s wagonload of pumps.”

  Carson spoke in a hesitant way, as if Marty might belittle his thought. “Marty, I’ve been thinking on just that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Here’s what I was thinking. When it’s time, you let me take some of the reaction force and go where we can watch the approaches to the ambush site. As soon as the outlaws ride past, we’ll follow ’em and be in position to jump in once they try anything.”

  “By gosh, Carson, that’s not bad. If you come in behind ’em and I’m in front with the Gatling gun, they’ll be facing a lot of firepower from different directions. And if there is a spy in the town alerting the outlaws and you go out well before we leave, he wouldn’t know what a surprise is waiting for ’em. A pretty good idea, Carson. Let me think on it some.”

  They rode on to Virginia City talking about Carson’s idea, and how to implement it. As soon as they arrived, Marty checked on George Hearst, but his secretary said the mining magnate had not yet returned from San Francisco. They stayed the night and then rode back to Carson City, as the next day was Sunday and Marty wanted to see what manner of recruits Johnny had hired.

  Colleen lassoed Carson away as soon as they arrived in town, flashing a wicked glance at Marty as she marched the grinning young man out of the office. “She’s madder than a wet hen that you took him with ya,” Malcolm explained. “She always worryin’ that he’ll git shot by someone you run up agin.”

  “I’m doin’ my best to keep him safe, Malcolm. I like the boy too.”

  Malcolm gave Marty a huge grin. “I know ya do. So do I. But you know womenfolk. Once they git their mind set on somethin’, well, look out iffen you git crossways to it.” Malcolm’s smile faded as he changed the subject. “Did ya run across anything useful?”

  “We did.” Marty explained what they had discovered and his belief that the outlaws were head-quartered at the V bar B Ranch.

  “Any way we can bring the law down on ’em?”

  “Not a chance, Malcolm. All I’ve got is a gut feeling.”

  “Damn, ’cause I need to make another run to Virginia City. There’s money that needs to get to the bank here in Carson City and mail that needs to git to the railroad in Reno. What do you want to do, fill up the coach with some of your new gunfighters?”

  “I’d rather not, just yet. The timing’s not quite right yet. I do have an idea I’d like to try, though.” Marty explained that a lookout was likely in Carson City ready to speed the word to the outlaws once he saw the stage leave town. “I want us to take no passengers. Just me and Squint on top, and Carson and a couple of others in the coach.”

  “That’s not enough, Marty.” Malcolm pointed a finger at the map behind him showing the route from Carson City to the mining town. “They can put twenty men up against ya. Maybe more.”

  “Yes, but I’m gonna surprise ’em. Just as soon as we hit the switchback road to the top of Roberts Pass, I’m gonna stop and wait until dark before I go up and over and on down to Carson City. Do the same thing coming back, maybe.”

  Marty pointed to the map. “It seems to me that the only way a fella could get to the ranch on the far side of Jefferson Mountain would be to ride hard up the road beside Carson Creek until he could cut cross-country to the road on the backside of the mountain. He’d have very little time to waste, so he’d likely be in a fierce hurry. If we were to watch over the road we might spot him, and maybe find out where he’s from.”

  “A good ideer. Can you go tomorrow? I really need to git the run in right away. The mail contract requires me to make weekly deliveries.”

  “Monday’s the earliest. I need to look at Johnny’s recruits tomorrow. Put the word out that the stage is leaving Monday around ten. Allow no passengers. Tell Squint the plan and have him pick the most reliable mules for the team.”

  “I’ll do it, Marty. Almost wish I could go with you, sorta glad I ain’t. Going up and down them mountain roads in the dark. It’s gonna be hairy, let me tell ya.”

  “You might be surprised. Mules have better eyesight than humans by a long shot. Hell, it’ll be almost like a daylight run for ’em. And the outlaws, who will have spent all day vainly waiting for us to appear, will either have given up and left, or will be reduced to shooting blindly at a sound thundering past.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “Madness, pure madness. But I gotta make a stage run to Virginia City and that’s that. So let’s git her done. Where the hell’s Squint?” Malcolm walked out the door hollering for his best stage driver.

  Marty and Carson rode over to Carson Creek around ten the next morning. They left to the sound of church bells from the local houses of worship and rode into the sound of gunfire. Johnny was there with more than a dozen men, watching as they fired at targets on the far bank of Carson Creek.

  “Hello, Mr. Keller.”

  “Morning, Johnny. Looks like you’ve assembled a good number of men who are anxious to risk their necks.”

  “I picked up fifteen. I figgered if any of them were trying to throw smoke about how well they could handle firearms, I’d be able to drop them without having to recruit any more. I know you said to only get ten or so.”

  “I’m beginning to think we may need a few more. Keep all you deem qualified to serve in our little army.”

  “Well, they’re all looking pretty good. Pat, come over here, please.”

  A solidly built man, well over s
ix feet tall and weighing more than two hundred and fifty pounds, rose from where he had knelt beside a man on the firing line, and walked to Johnny’s side.

  “Mr. Keller. This is Pat Quinn, former first sergeant of the Third Brigade, Fifth Division under General Hatch. It was a cavalry division in Schofield’s Corps. Pat is a fine NCO and I sorta wondered if I could assign him as my sergeant, with a twenty-five-dollar increase in pay. If you say no, I’ll put him back in the ranks.”

  “I think it’s a good idea. Call the men over, Johnny. I want to talk to them for a minute.”

  Johnny quickly gathered the men around Marty and Carson. Marty introduced himself and his young friend. He explained the trouble O’Brian was having. “I want you men to understand, this is no game. The outlaws will stop at nothing to halt the freight shipment we have to deliver very shortly. They’ve killed before, they will again, especially if we get them cornered. I’m not gonna put you in any more jeopardy than humanly possible. But you’re gonna have to root these crooks out with hot lead, make no mistake about it. Any of you want out, now’s the time.”

  One man stepped up. “Ross Wilbarger, Mr. Keller. I’ve got a wife and kids back in Missouri. Maybe I’d better take a pass on this. I certainly need the money, but I’d better not get involved in any gunplay. Any other way I could be of service?”

  Marty thought a minute. “I’m gonna need two men to serve as lookouts when we start the ball rolling on this little shindig. Only half as much money, but you won’t be expected to do any fighting.”

  Marty nodded. “Anyone else decide to join Ross here, do it today. After that, it’s too late to back out and get any of your money. If nobody volunteers today, Ross, can you find someone trustworthy to join you?”

  “My friend Dick Ruud, he’d join me, I think. I’ve known him since I got here and he’s given me no reason to doubt him, ever.”

  “Good. Well, you fellas better get back to work. Johnny, I want Carson here to stay with you and train some. He needs a refresher in marksmanship and he’ll tell you about the plan we’re working on, at least as far as what your men will have to do. You need to run a few drills on approach and fanning out behind cover. Johnny, I’ll check in with you later this week. Let me know what you think about the men then.”

  “Will do, Marty.”

  “Ross, you come see me at the O’Brian freight office about eight o’clock tonight, if you will.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Keller.”

  Marty paused, then looked at the men, still gathered around. “I need a couple of men to make a ride to Virginia City on the stage with me and Carson. Any volunteers? We’ll be gone about four days. I’ll pay ten bucks a day to whoever goes along.”

  The ex-sergeant major Quinn immediately stepped forward. “I’m busted, Mr. Keller. Reckon I’ll take a hand.”

  Another man spoke up. “Me too.”

  “Good, meet the stage at the place where the road crosses that little creek just outside of town. Say about ten o’clock tomorrow. You know where I mean?”

  “Sure do,” Quinn answered. “We’ll be there.”

  “See you then,” Marty answered, then rode away from the training site. He spent the rest of the day going over the trip to Virginia City with Squint and Malcolm. Carson returned from training at about six and flopped into a chair, wiping sweat and dust off his brow. “Whoa, did Johnny and Pat work us over! You’d think we were all in the army or something.”

  “Good, that’s what I want. What do you think?” Marty asked. “They look like they ready for some gun action?”

  “I think so,” Carson answered. “I don’t think an army unit could be any better. Every man there but me was in either the Union or the Rebel army.”

  “Confederate, you mean.”

  “Certainly. Pardon my mistake.”

  Marty smiled. “Some would take it a lot more seriously than I do, Carson. Well, you’d better get cleaned up if you want to go to supper with Malcolm and Colleen and me. We’re leaving in about thirty minutes.”

  Marty was sitting on the front porch smoking a small cigar when Ross walked up, accompanied by another man, stocky, several years older than Ross but of a very similar modest appearance and demeanor. Ross introduced him as Dick Ruud, as if it were spelled Rude. “Call me Ruud, everyone else does,” the man instructed.

  “You willing to work with Ross here as a scout for me?” Marty queried, getting right to the point.

  “Yep. Ross said you’d pay fifty dollars a month fer the job.”

  “I will, but make no mistake, it’s a job that will not last longer than a couple of months, probably only one.”

  “Still, it’ll buy us some food fer the winter. Unless we can git on at one of the mines, this winter is gonna be pretty lean.”

  “You both have horses?” Marty questioned.

  “Shore do,” Ross answered. “Got ’em stabled in the livery.”

  “I want you both out on the Carson Creek Road tomorrow at sunup. We’re gonna take the stage out and I suspect somebody will ride out that way to inform the outlaws. I want you two to just watch, maybe trail along at a good distance back because I certainly don’t want our spy to be alerted that we’re wise to him. But see if you can discover where he goes.” Marty explained his suspicions about the V bar B Ranch.

  “We’ll do it, Mr. Keller. You can count on us.”

  “Good enough. Report back to me on Friday, when I return from Reno.”

  Marty flipped the burning stub of his cigar into the dirt street and headed for the hotel and his room. He would be up all night tomorrow, so he had better get to sleep. “Looks like we’re about to start the dance,” he muttered to himself. “And about damned time.”

  Chapter 19

  Night Ride

  “Malcolm, let’s get ready to go. Bring the stage out where everyone can see us.”

  “You sure, Marty? That’ll just make it that much easier for whoever’s watchin’ fer the outlaws.”

  “Exactly. I want those outlaws sitting at the ambush site all day, getting tired and careless, before we rush past them after dark.”

  “You heard him, Squint. Help me push the stage outside.”

  Carson stepped out on the porch and then walked over to where the stage was standing, in front of the office, within sight of anyone on the street. Squint was expertly maneuvering two mules at a time into their positions on the lead lines and properly adjusting the collar and harness for each animal.

  “I finished cleaning the shotguns, Marty. Do you want me to put them in the coach?”

  “Cover ’em with a blanket, Carson. No one needs to know what firepower we’re carrying.”

  “Will do.”

  Several men, early morning risers, stopped to watch the activity. “You plannin’ on takin’ the stage to Reno, Malcolm?” one man asked.

  “Nope, this stage is goin’ to Virginia City, come eight o’clock.”

  Marty heard someone softly mutter, “Good luck, then,” but paid it no mind. He continued to put the mail and other sundry items in the boot or on the top. The last thing he passed up were six sixty-pound bags of grain that he had purchased from the feed store. Once they were away from prying eyes, he planned to make them into a cover for protection from outlaw bullets.

  As he finished, he asked Squint, “Squint, did you put that piece of boilerplate on the stage?”

  “Yep. It’s in the coach. Think we can get it to ride up next to me without fallin’ off?”

  “That’s what the rope is for. We’ll figure it out somehow.”

  “I shore hope I can handle the team with that piece of iron in my lap, and I shore hope it’ll stop a rifle bullet that just might have my name on it.”

  “It’ll stop a rifle bullet, believe it. Once we get it tied to the side of the driver’s box, I imagine you’ll hardly notice it.” Squint finished putting his chosen mules in harness and then turned to Malcolm, standing on the porch, along with Colleen. “Well, I guess we’d best be going. So long, Ma
lcolm, Colleen.” He gave her a quick grin. “I’ll take good care of Carson, I promise.”

  “You better,” she answered, her tone serious. She walked over to say her good-byes to the object of her affections.

  “Take care, Marty.” Malcolm held out his hand. “Don’t git nobody hurt, if you can help it.”

  “That’s my intention, Malcolm.” He climbed up in the driver’s box, next to Squint. Both men looked down at Carson and Colleen, talking quietly at the side of the coach.

  “Git in, Sonny,” Squint called out. “It’s time to make tracks.”

  Carson started to turn, but Colleen stopped him long enough to plant a quick buss on his cheek, then hurried to stand beside her father. Squint snapped the lines and the stage rumbled down the street, Squint already shouting and cussing at the mules. Pedestrians walking along the boardwalks stopped to watch, their eyes following it as it left town and everyone wondering if this stage would end up like the others, in pieces, at the bottom of Graveyard Pass.

  As soon as they crossed the wooden bridge over the shallow Carson Creek, Pat Quinn and his compadre stepped out of the tree line, each man carrying a small carpetbag packed with things needed on the trip.

  The two men quickly clambered into the coach with Carson. Squint snapped the harness lines and got the mules going again. Marty focused his attention on the passing roadway for any sign of trouble, his shotgun cradled in his arms, but the stage arrived at the start of the switchbacks that led to the top of Roberts Pass without incident.

  “Pull her in anywhere you can find us a little cover, Squint,” Marty instructed. “We’ll wait it out here until the sun sets before starting up the mountain.”

  Squint nodded and pulled the stage off the road and into a small clearing just inside the tree line. He looped the lead lines around the hand brake and sighed. “I shore hope these critters won’t hold all the cussin’ I done agin them when we start up this road after dark. I’ll jus’ be along fer the ride, unless the moon’s good and bright.”