“I’m riding with you,” Malcolm proclaimed.
“Fair enough, Malcolm. You have the right. Just understand, I expect you to obey my commands just like Johnny and his boys do. You don’t have any problem with that, do you?”
“Nope. I just want to git my little gal back, safe and sound.”
“That’s the only thing on my mind. You can take that to the bank.”
Chapter 23
Rescued
Marty had his men slip out of town a few at a time the next morning, just in case anyone friendly to the outlaws happened to be watching. He, Squint, Malcolm, along with the two scouts, Ross and Ruud, left last, meeting at the designated rally point, where the men had trained the previous two weekends.
From there, Squint and the two scouts took the point and the rest followed as they climbed into the mountains east of Reno, mostly following a narrow game path or sometimes, no path at all. Finally, about midmorning, Squint came riding back to where Marty led the others in the column of fighting men.
“We’re close, Marty. I stopped just over the hill from my mine. Ross and Ruud are sneakin’ down the side of the mountain, to see if they can see anything.”
“Can all of us move in close to your claim without being seen?” Marty handed Squint a small stick and pointed at the dust at his feet. “Make me a sketch of your place.”
Squint drew a crude outline of the mine, his cabin, and the stream. “I reckon that if we leave the horses back on this side of the hill, we can sneak down to within forty yards or so, maybe thirty. There’s trees a-growin’ across the creek on this side all the way up the hill.” He marked the trees in the dirt sketch.
“Where’s the clay pond?” Malcolm asked.
Squint made a mark with the point of his stick. “Right here.”
Marty looked at the hastily drawn map. “Then, if we come straight at them, and they run, they’ll have to either retreat into the mine or go north, into the trees across the creek.”
Marty looked up at Johnny Harper, standing next to him, listening to the discussion. “Johnny, take four men and work your way around to a position where you can blast anyone who tries to escape your way. Squint, you lead him. Johnny, you have a watch?”
Harper pulled out a silver pocket watch. “Yep.”
Marty looked at his watch. “It’s ten thirty now. I’ll give you until eleven to be in position before I start. You keep quiet until you hear my first shot. Then add on.”
“Understand. Come on, Squint. Show me the way.” Johnny, Squint, and two others moved off, leading their horses.
Marty turned to Pat Quinn. “Pat, who’s the best rifle shot among the men?”
“Luther Hatfield. He can shoot the eye outa a squirrel at a hunnerd yards.”
“Get him here.”
Quinn softly called out, “Luther Hatfield, come up here.”
A lanky, mop-haired man with a thin face that sported an impressive hooked nose protruding over a dark mustache moved up beside Marty and Quinn. “Yeah, Pat?”
“I told Marty here you was one of the best rifle shots I ever saw. Don’t make me a liar.”
“No, sir.” The lanky man gave Marty a quick smile.“ I was a sniper fer Blake’s first Tennessee Brigade durin’ the war. I usually hit what I aim for.”
Marty handed Luther his big Sharps with the brass scope mounted on it. “Ever use one of these?”
Luther grabbed the heavy rifle. “Nope, but it sure has a nice feel to it.” He raised the rifle to his shoulder and looked through the scope. “My, oh my. What I coulda done with one of these during the siege of Vicksburg.”
“I want to find a place where you and this rifle can cover the mine opening. I don’t want anyone running into the mine, once the donnybrook starts. I’m hoping you can bring that person down before he can get to the girl. Understand?”
“Yep. You can count on me.”
Marty turned back toward the top of the hill to watch as the two scouts scrambled over the top and ran toward him. “We seen the mine.” Ross panted as they stopped beside Marty. “Three men was there and another just rode up, leading a pack mule. Probably bringin’ supplies fer the bunch of ’em.”
“Any sign of Carson or Colleen?”
“Nary a one. I think thar’s someone in the mine, though, as one of the outlaws is sittin’ in a chair right by the openin’.”
Marty nodded. “All right. Can you lead us down until we’re close without being seen by the skunks?”
“If we take it easy, sure.”
“You find a place to leave the horses?”
“Just over the hill. There’s a openin’ that’s plenty big fer all of them.”
“That’s it, then. Lead the way.”
The men dismounted and followed Ross and Marty over the top of the hill and to a small clearing just on the eastern side of the crest. Marty tried, but could not see the mine because of the pine trees and undergrowth covering the hillside.
Marty instructed the men to tie off their horses and take their weapons. “We go the rest of the way on foot, and quietly. Keep your fingers off the triggers until we reach our objective.” He looked at Luther Hatfield. “Keep your eyes peeled for a place where you have a clear view of the mine and cabin.” Then he turned to Ross and Ruud. “You fellows have done your part. You stay here and watch the horses.”
“Mr. Keller.” Ross shook his head. “I think I oughta go on down with you and make sure you get to the spot where I was. I had a clear shot across the creek from there. Ruud here can handle the hosses.”
“All right,” Marty agreed. “If you want to, it’s fine with me. Ruud, if any get away, I’ll fire three shots, then three more. You bring down as many horses as you can handle, so we won’t have to climb back to the top to chase after them. Make certain my gray is one of them.”
“Yessir, Mr. Keller.”
Marty waved his hand and arm in the universal “Follow me” sign and started on down the hill. Carefully, methodically, the armed men made their way down the hillside, weaving between trees and through the heavy brush. Finally, the far hillside was visible through the trees and the men knew they were getting close to the bottom. The creek, shack, and mine shaft opening should be coming into view any moment.
Someone touched Marty’s arm. It was Luther. He pointed toward an outcropping of bare rock that stuck out over a sudden steep slope, off to Marty’s right. “I think I can get a good spot up there, if you’ll wait until I climb up.”
“Go ahead. Just don’t let anyone down below see you.”
Luther hurried off, while Marty held up his hand, his fist closed, silently telling the men to stop in place. The men settled down, alert for the unexpected, and watched as Luther carefully climbed up the rock face of the outthrust. Finally, he reached the top of the exposed rock and slowly eased forward until he had a view of the ground below. He hoarsely whispered down to Marty, “It’s about a hundred yards to the bottom. I can see the mine and the cabin. Go ahead, I’m ready.”
Marty put his hand on Pat Quinn’s beefy forearm. “Pat, it’s time we spread the men out. You take the right side, I’ll take the left. Wait for me to start things rollin’ before you open up. I’m gonna give them a chance to surrender, if I can.”
“I understand, Mr. Keller. Will we be charging the cabin?”
“I hope we don’t have to. But if you see my men coming out, you charge as fast as you can.”
“I’ll do ’er.”
The way the ground sloped toward a steep cut in the hillside, it forced the approaching men to slide to the right as they worked their way down the hill. Marty came to the edge of the tree line and wiggled the last few feet on his stomach. He was about twenty yards from the small creek, maybe fifty yards from the cabin, and twenty more from the mine opening. He had a clear view of the front of the cabin, but the back door was not visible. He hoped Johnny Harper and his men could cover it from their position. He checked his watch. It was five minutes until eleven.
&nbs
p; Marty eased his rifle up to his shoulder, peering around the trunk of a tall pine tree. Suddenly, the door of the cabin opened and a man stuck his head out. “Sid, check on them kids. I don’t want ’em gittin’ into mischief.”
Luther had his sights on the man by the mine opening, just as Marty instructed. He saw the man turn and step into the shaft. Luther’s view was of the back of the unsuspecting outlaw’s head. Remembering Marty’s orders, the Tennessee mountain man quickly squeezed off a shot. Just as he fired, Sid slipped on a small rock and lurched to the side, reaching out to catch himself on the wooden support beam just inside the shaft entrance. The bullet meant for his brain clipped off his left earlobe, stunning the outlaw and hurting like the very blazes. He instinctively ducked inside the shaft, to the cover of a twelve-inch-thick post supporting the opening. Luther quickly reloaded and fired into the darkness of the mine, the bullet smashing into the support beam with a resounding thunk! but not hitting the outlaw.
The outlaw staggered, but Marty was not certain whether the man was down or not. From where he lay, he could not see any sign of the outlaw. The ball had started, whether he was ready or not.
“Hello, the cabin!” he shouted. “This is Deputy Sheriff Martin Keller. You are surrounded. Throw out your guns and come out with your hands up.”
For a few agonizing seconds there was silence after the echos of the rifle shot faded away. Then ever so slowly, the door to Squint’s old cabin opened a crack and a rifle barrel reflected the bright sunlight of midmorning. Before Marty could make another appeal, the morning stillness was shattered by six shots sprayed around the trees where Marty and his men were concealed. The thunder of their return fire was awesomely resounding.
The chips flew around the door and windows at the front of the cabin as lead bullets pounded into the dried wood and river bottom rocks from which Squint had constructed the cabin. Unfortunately, old Squint had built the place soundly and the deadly bullets failed to impact any of the three outlaws hidden inside. Gunfire erupted from the windows and from a small notch cut into the heavy, wooden door.
After a few minutes of continuous but futile firing, Marty called out to his men, “Cease fire! Cease firing! You men in the house, give it up, you haven’t got a chance. I promise that if you surrender, I’ll take you into Carson City and see that you get a fair trial.” Again his appeal was answered in hot lead.
Sighing in frustration, Marty sent half a dozen shots into the shattered windows of the cabin, as did his men from their various positions along the tree line. A single figure burst out the back of the cabin and ran toward the woods to the rear, awkwardly firing over his shoulder as he ran. He had not taken a dozen steps before he fell to the bullets fired by the men positioned at the rear with Johnny Harper.
Sid, his bleeding ear cupped in his left hand, stayed in the cover of the mine and recovered his shaken senses. He surmised that if he had the girl in front of him as a shield, he might make it to his horse and effect his getaway. Tentatively backing deeper into the shaft, he turned and ran toward the back of the shaft, panic and fear clouding any rational thinking.
Carson and Colleen listened in eager anticipation as the gunfire outside echoed around the dark mine shaft. “Didn’t I tell you, Colleen? Marty’s found us. He’s come.”
“What should we do?” she asked. “One of the outlaws might come back here to kill us before they give up.”
“Roll up my blanket and put it under yours, like I’m inside. Then sit next to it. I’ll hide here and if someone rushes in, maybe I can bust him with this drill rod.” Carson wedged himself into a shallow depression in the rock wall until he was almost invisible. He hefted the heavy drill rod in his right hand. All they could do now was to wait and be prepared for whatever happened.
Sid hurried back toward the spot where they had put the two youngsters the day before. He was in such a hurry that he did not see the pile of gooey clay on the floor or realize that the girl was sitting beside a dummy. As his foot sank in the clay, he slipped and stumbled forward, falling to one knee, nearly losing his pistol in the process.
He barely glimpsed sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and did not realize what was happening until Carson’s swing, intensified by his excitement and anxiety, slammed the heavy bar into the back of the unfortunate outlaw’s head, killing him instantly.
The dead outlaw fell silently, sprawling facedown in the dirt, never to move again. Colleen sat with her knuckles crammed into her mouth, trying hard not to scream as the dead man’s fixed stare looked into her eyes.
“Come, on, Colleen,” Carson ordered as he grabbed the outlaw’s pistol and belt with extra cartridges. “Let’s give Marty a hand.” He led the shaken girl toward the front entrance of the shaft. He carefully put Colleen behind a wooden support beam and then took a position where he could see the cabin. The two outlaws left inside were not expecting a threat from the shaft opening, so they were careless to their vulnerability from that side.
Carson waited, marveling that anybody could survive the fusillade of gunfire poured out by Marty and his men. The two outlaws inside had talked it over. They knew they would hang for kidnapping the girl, so they determined to fight on, hoping that some miracle might befall them and allow them to escape.
One of the outlaws edged close to the side of the window to take aim at someone up on the hillside. It was the target Carson was waiting for. He shot, his bullet hitting the outlaw in the arm. The wounded man spun around, crying out in pain. This made him an easy target to one of the men farther down the firing line from Marty. His bullet drilled the outlaw square in the back and the doomed outlaw lurched over, dying faster than the blood could spill from his wounds.
That was enough for the third outlaw. He slung his pistol into a corner and stepped to the door, starting to open it and shout out his surrender. A heavy buffalo slug from Luther’s Sharps ripped through the wood and buried itself in his chest, knocking him back against the far wall of the cabin, to fall against the stone fireplace. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid down the smooth rocks, leaving a crimson smear of red the entire length of his body until he sat on the floor, his chin resting on his chest. For a few seconds his head rose and fell with his labored breathing; then suddenly it was still.
Marty held up his hand and shouted over the dim of the gunfire, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” The firing gradually ceased, followed by an eerie silence. Marty squinted toward the gun smoke floating in the still air, then shouted toward Pat Quinn, “Pat, you see any movement in there?”
“Nope. Ain’t seen nothin’ fer several minutes.”
“Hello, the cabin. You boys ready to give it up?” Silence was the only answer. Marty rose to one knee, keeping the thick trunk of the tree between himself and the cabin. “In the cabin, give yourselves up. Your last chance.
“Luther,” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”
“I hear ya.”
“Keep a sharp eye. We’re gonna charge the cabin. You see any movement, blast ’em.”
“I gotcha.”
Marty gave the command. “On your feet everyone. Ready, let’s go.”
He led the charge as the ten men in his party splashed across the creek and toward the still, silent cabin. Pat Quinn slammed his heavy body against the door and it flew in as easily as a feather blown by a gale. Marty was right behind him, his pistol at the ready.
It was unnecessary. The occupants of the cabin were too busy answering to the Almighty for their transgressions to pay Marty and his men any mind.
Chapter 24
The Pumps Arrive
Right after breakfast the next morning Marty assembled Malcolm, Carson, Squint, Johnny, Pat, and Luther to meet with him at the O’Brian office. The men made it very clear they were all grateful to see Carson and to know that Colleen was recovering nicely from the ordeal. Marty waited until the general hubbub died down and then stood up from his position at the head of the long conference table.
“I thought we ought to sit down to
gether and talk over yesterday’s operation, the rights and wrongs. What we need to do to make it better the next time, because believe me, it’s coming and soon.”
A discussion had ensued for over an hour as they tossed ideas back and forth when a young man walked in. “A telegram for you, Mr. O’Brian.” He placed a brown envelope in Malcolm’s hand. Giving the men gathered around the table an inquisitive look, the messenger walked out while Malcolm tore open the envelope and read the contents. As he finished, he passed the message to Marty, who quickly scanned it.
“The pumps will arrive on Friday, gentlemen. Phase two of our plan is now ready to commence.” Marty turned to Malcolm. “Malcolm, would you get the map I drew, please?”
“Right away, Marty.”
The men waited silently while Malcolm went to retrieve the map. Each man considered the deadly possibilities in the coming confrontation. During the gunfight at Squint’s cabin, none of them had even been scratched. Now fifteen men were going up against two dozen or more. Their chances of everyone in their party escaping serious injury again were pretty slim.
Malcolm returned with the map and he and Carson laid it flat on the table for everyone to see. Marty began to brief his men just as if it were the precursor to a military operation, which in effect it really was. He pointed out where he thought the outlaws would wait for the freight wagons, their route in and out of the killing zone, where he wanted Johnny to position his men, and on and on, with precision and detail.
“You can’t let any of your men get behind and above the outlaws, Johnny. When the Gatling gun starts, it’ll spray bullets to hell and gone, all over. You’ll have to come in on their flanks, and even then you’ll have to watch them carefully to make sure they don’t wander into the impact area of those bullets. Once that gun shoots those bullets, they’ll destroy whatever they hit, friend or foe.”
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