Stagecoach Graveyard

by Thom Nicholson

  “I understand, Marty.” Johnny and Pat exchanged quick glances. They were going to have their work cut out for themselves.

  Pat spoke up. “What if they don’t come to this exact spot, Marty? The ground is pretty rough on that mountain. There’re a lot of places they could choose.”

  “I worry about it a lot, Pat. I’m hoping they’ll be lazy and choose an old familiar place, but that’s where you and the scouts come in, Carson. You’ll have to find a location where you can watch the road from the Peavine line shack, and then trail the outlaws into the hills until they take up an ambush site, then hustle back to the rest and move our men into their firing position.”

  “We can do that, don’t worry.” Carson’s voice was full of youthful confidence.

  “They mustn’t see you, Carson. There will only be the three of you. If they turn on you, you’ll not stand a chance.”

  Carson nodded, his face somber. Marty resolved to talk to Ross and Ruud separately, away from Carson, before he left for Reno. He turned back to Johnny. “You’ll have to leave your horses well back, so they don’t give you away. Make a slow careful approach on foot to your final positions.”

  Johnny nodded, studying the map, fixing the position in his mind. “We might be able to open up on them before you even get there with the wagons, if you want.”

  “I don’t want. There will be too many of them. That’s what the Gatling gun is for, to whittle down their numerical superiority.”

  Squint spoke up. “What about the drivers, Marty? We gonna expect ’em to jine the fightin’?”

  “I don’t think we can count on them for very much. I plan to build them boilerplate protection shields like I did for your stage, but if they’ll simply fire their weapons in the general direction of the enemy I’ll be satisfied.”

  Malcolm asked his question, “How many guards do you want on the wagons?”

  “I’d like two per wagon, but I wonder if we can find that many in Reno. Once they see the pumps arrive, everyone in town will know that the showdown is coming, and may not care to be involved.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can get eight men who are trustworthy and willing to join us.”

  “If you can get eight, I’ll be satisfied. Squint and I will be driving the gun wagon, and, Malcolm, I think you ought to drive the last wagon, to make certain none of the drivers get cold feet and turns back. That suit you?”

  “Whatever you say, Marty.”

  “Any more questions?”

  None of the men answered. Marty nodded, satisfied he had made a good start to the completion of his plan. “Carson, I’ll send you a telegram from Reno telling you what time we’re leaving town. You must leave the day before and take up a position in the mountains. From the time we leave until we get to the suspected ambush site is five hours. You have to be there plenty early so you are ahead of the outlaws. Be certain you respond so I know you got the message. And”—Marty held up his hand for emphasis—“slip the men out a few at a time. I don’t want anyone noticing that fifteen heavily armed men are headed for the mountains.”

  “I understand, Marty.”

  “Malcolm, you, Squint, and I will leave tomorrow for Reno, to get things set up at that end. Johnny, have the men all ready, plenty of ammo, food, and water. We may be out for several days.”

  “I will, don’t worry.”

  “All right, then, that’s that. You may as well get on with your personal affairs. I’ll see you men on the hill. Godspeed to you all.”

  The men left and Marty turned to speak to Malcolm. He glimpsed Colleen standing just inside the doorway to Malcolm’s office. He smiled gently. “Anything you want to add, Colleen?”

  She shook her head, her eyes shiny with moisture. “Just try and keep Carson alive. Please, Mr. Keller.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest, I promise.” She turned away and was lost to his sight. Marty looked at Malcolm. “Mr. O’Brian, you’re about to become a father-in-law. You know that?”

  Malcolm gave him a mischievous grin. “I’ve knowed it since the boy arrived. I’d guess you approve of him, don’t ya?”

  “I absolutely do. He’ll be a fine addition to your family.”

  Malcolm nodded his head. “We ridin’ horses tomorrow, or do ya want to take a stage to Reno?”

  “Let’s take the stage and make a mail run out of it.”

  “Good enough. I’ll have Squint ready to go at eight tomorrow mornin’.”

  “That’ll be fine. Now I’m ready for a cool beer. Interest you in one?”

  “Why not? In fact, I’ll buy.”

  “Well, lead on, then.”

  Vern sat behind his massive desk he had recently installed in the office of his ranch house. It was even bigger than Stoddard’s. He looked tired, anxious, out of sorts. Charlie girded himself for a reaming. However, Vern’s voice was calm and collected. “Charlie, call in the boys from Virginia City. I want a maximum effort when we go up against the freight wagons. O’Brian is bound to get all the armed men he can find to act as shotgun guards.”

  “I’ll git right on it, boss. You want any of the men guardin’ the O’Brian gal?”

  “Nope, let her be. When Slim picked up the supplies, he said everything was good, so we’ll let them stay there.”

  “Maybe O’Brian won’t even ship the pumps, he’s so scared of losing his gal?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I told Cotton that he’s to put one of his men in town to keep an eye on O’Brian. He’ll report if O’Brian acts like he’s gonna go ahead with the shipment. If he don’t go, Hearst will have to put them pumps on anything with wheels, so Clem Atkinson should get the contract. I made certain Clem knows to agree to ship the pumps, if Hearst asks him.”

  “If Hearst does that, it’ll shore make our jobs easier.”

  “That’s why I took the gal. Either way, I want everyone here and ready to ride at a moment’s notice. And send word to the lookouts in Reno. I wanna know the minute anything happens.”

  “I’ll do that too, boss. I reckon I’d best git started, I got a lot to git done.”

  The stage ride to Reno was as uneventful as a Sunday morning surry ride to church. The stage rolled in exactly on time and Malcolm quickly delivered the mail to the Reno postmaster, whose office shared space with a saddle shop just off Main Street.

  Marty checked on Sergeant LeCroix and Corporal Blue. Both of the soldiers were in the stage barn, putting the finishing touches on their gun box, for want of a better word. They had taken a heavy freight wagon and built a wooden box of four-by-eight-inch mine support lumber. The box had a twelve-by-thirty-six-inch opening to accommodate the Gatling gun’s six rotary barrels, and a slot just above that for the gunner to see his target. It had overhead cover and a small opening opposite the gun port, allowing the two soldiers to enter and exit the enclosure.

  The two soldiers proudly showed their creation to Marty and demonstrated how they could aim the gun and sweep a wide area with its deadly fire. “It looks mighty good, fellows. Don’t forget you’ll be shooting uphill. Make certain you can elevate the barrels enough.” He climbed down from the wagon and walked all around the makeshift mobile fort. “Mighty good job, men. Mighty good.” He looked hard at Sergeant LeCroix. “Has anyone made inquiries as to what you and Blue are doing here?”

  “No, sir. We stuck pretty close to the barn and ain’t had much contact with any civilian folks.”

  “Very good. Well, I’ve got another project for us. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

  Marty headed for the freight office. He needed to find some boilerplate for the wagon driver’s shields. The office manage, Clyde, acted as though he was pleased to see Marty. “I just spoke with Mr. O’Brian. He says you’re gonna take the pumps up to Virginia City shortly.”

  “That we are, Clyde. Keep it under your hat for the time being, however. I don’t want the word to get out just yet.”

  The office manager nodded. “I understand.”

  “I need to find some boi
lerplate. Any ideas?”

  “Like for the stage?”

  “Very similar. For the wagon drivers.”

  Following Clyde’s directions, Marty walked over to a warehouse where metal was stored prior to being shipped to the mines in Virginia City. He contracted for delivery of ten pieces of four-by-four-feet, three-eighths-inch-thick plate to be delivered to the stage barn.

  Satisfied that he had what he needed, he returned to the barn and showed the two soldiers the shield he had put up for Squint on the stage. LeCroix nodded his head, his eyes gauging the improvised bullet barrier. “I reckon we can put somethin’ similar on them wagons. We’ll need some good rope or thick rawhide.” He appraised the heavy Springfield-style freight wagon and how the driver’s seat was fastened to it by way of twin leaf springs. “Maybe some lumber, to make a mount.”

  “I’ll get it for you right away. The iron will be delivered this afternoon. If I’m not around, get started without me. We have to put it on all the wagons, including this one.”

  Marty was attaching the last shield with LeCroix and Blue when Malcolm walked into the barn. He allowed Marty to show him the way the boilerplate shields were fastened to the uphill side of the driver’s box so that they provided protection against any bullets fired at the driver.

  “Bad news, Marty. I just went over to Clem Atkinson’s place and tried to rent five freight wagons. He said he was sorry, but it was no deal. He had strict orders from Ransom Stoddard not to rent me anything, no matter what I offered. To make matters even worse, all his wagons are on the road except two, so there’s not enough anyway.”

  “How many do you need, Malcolm? I mean to get the minimum number of pumps to Virginia City?”

  “I suppose four wagons. That would be enough wagons to haul two pumps. It would mean we’d have to make two trips. Even then, I’m still short a wagon.”

  “Why don’t you and I take a little walk over to this Atkinson fellow’s place? I want to talk with him. Sergeant, you two can finish up here without me?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Keller. That we can.”

  Marty walked quickly the six blocks to the Atkinson Freight Office with Malcolm. He shook the freighter’s hand when Malcolm introduced him. The man was square and sturdy, with strong arms and hands, a typical freighter. Marty gave up on the handshake first. “Quite a handshake there, Mr. Atkinson. You’ve done some heavy lifting in your day, I suppose.”

  “I did me share. What can I do fer ya, Mr. Keller? I done told Malcolm my hands was tied about renting my wagons out to him. I’d like to help, but I jus’ can’t.”

  “I can appreciate that Mr. Atkinson. You and Malcolm are caught in the bigger struggle between two hardheaded mining men, and I can see your problem. Malcolm, would you excuse us for a minute? I want to talk to Mr. Atkinson alone.”

  As Malcolm walked out the door, Marty put on his game face, the look he gave to wanted men when he ordered them to surrender or die. “I think I’d like to rent a wagon from you, Mr. Atkinson. I think if you were to say no, I might have to resort to harsher measures. Malcolm has had his wagons shot up and pushed over cliffs until he’s on the verge of bankruptcy. I’m not gonna allow that to happen on this next load. We’re gonna deliver George Hearst’s pumps to Virginia City, and I’m gonna kill anybody who tries to stop me.”

  Atkinson squared his broad shoulders and glared right back at Marty. “Young man, I may be a little bit scared of your threats, but I’m still man enough to kick your butt into next week iffen I have a mind to. You try anything with me and I’ll stuff that gun up yur nose and give you change. However, I like Malcolm too. He’s always been a fair and honest competitor. I can’t rent to him, but nobody said anything about you. I’m gonna rent you that wagon and mules, fer a dollar a day. The next time, you might ask politely first, before you git yur nose out of joint.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Atkinson. And excuse me for trying to put the bluff on you.”

  “Hell, I knowed it all along. And call me Clem. I think we’re gonna be friends afore this is all over.”

  “I agree.” Marty grinned and held out his hand. “We’ll take that wagon now, if you don’t mind. I’m making a little modification to the driver’s box. Come on by the barn sometime in the next couple of days and I’ll show you.”

  “I just might do that, thanks.”

  “And, Clem, keep our little deal under your hat. I don’t want it getting out that we’re about to make our move.”

  Marty and Clem walked out of the office and found Malcolm hovering close, afraid of what might be happening inside. “Come on, Malcolm. Marty here has rented one of my wagons. Why don’t you pick it out and select the mules you want for him? I doubt if he’s quite the freighter you are.”

  Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “Well, I’ll be. I figgered you two was gonna come bustin’ through that door and fightin’ and squallin’ like a pair of alley cats after the same mouse.”

  “Me and my friend Marty, fightin’? Come on, Malcolm, you hurt my feelin’s.”

  “You and your friend Marty? Now you two really do have me a-dancin’ to strange music.”

  Malcolm drove the Atkinson wagon back to the barn and turned it over to LeCroix and Blue to modify like the others.

  “Get your drivers and guards, Malcolm. If the pumps arrive tomorrow, we’ll make the shipment to Virginia City on Monday. Get the best eight men you can find.”

  Marty walked to the train station with Malcolm the next morning to watch the westbound pull in. The pumps were there, encased in heavy wooden crates measuring five by five by five feet, chained to two flatbed railroad cars. The two men watched as the chains securing the boxes were released and, grunting with effort, eight men slowly maneuvered the crates to the siding of the depot.

  Malcolm went to get the wagons to transport up the pumps from the depot while Marty walked to the telegraph office and wired Carson that the wagons would leave on Monday morning for Virginia City. He played a hunch and told Carson to send Luther Hatfield to Reno and to bring Marty’s big rifle.

  He explained his reasoning to Squint. “I got to thinking that we may want to put some carefully aimed fire on a target, even though the Gatling gun is spraying bullets everywhere.”

  “Ya don’t have to convince me,” Squint answered. “The more guns I got around me, the better I like it.”

  As they talked, a lone rider was hotfooting it straight to Vern Barton with the news that the pumps were already being loaded on the wagons for delivery to Virginia City. Marty did not know it, nor did he care. The plan was in motion and it was time to stir the kettle. Stuff was about to hit the fan. He rubbed the palm of his hand on his mustache in satisfaction. He was ready. He almost felt sorry for the outlaws. What a surprise they had in store. For many, the last surprise of their rotten life, if he had anything to say about it.

  Chapter 25

  Riding into Danger

  “Well, there they are, all loaded, all armor protected, all ready to go.” Malcolm crossed himself and stuck out his hand. “Here’s wishin’ ourselves good luck, Marty. And may the devil himself strike down our enemies.” He climbed onto the driver’s seat of the last wagon in line, as Marty had instructed. Behind the wagon, six extra mules were securely tied, in case any of the wagon mules were killed by the outlaw’s fire.

  Marty slowly walked the line of heavy, freight wagons. Each driver sat next to a shallow V-shaped protection of hardened boilerplate. The drivers were protected from any bullets fired at them not only from the side, but also from the left and right fronts. Even after showing the drivers their shield, Marty had no confidence the drivers would stand and fight any attack. The shotgun guards were four brothers, out of work and desperate for some quick cash to tide them over until they could get a job in the mines.

  Marty was quick to hire them because he felt one would not run off and leave the others to the mercy of the outlaws. “Remember what I said,” he told them for the last time. “If shooting starts, get behind the pump boxes. They’ll
protect you from any bullets fired your way. You’ve got plenty of shells. Keep those ‘greeners’ smoking.” The deadly fire from the sawed off ten-gauge shotguns would deter any outlaw assault on the wagons.

  Marty wanted the outlaws to stay above them, in the trees where the fearsome Gatling gun and the fire from his reaction force, under Johnny Harper, could do the most damage. He stopped at the wagon carrying the soldiers, LeCroix and Blue. “You men ready for what’s coming?”

  “Yessir, Mr. Keller,” LeCroix answered. “Wait until you see what ole Betsy here can do.” He patted the bronze receiver group of the Gatling gun with proud affection, as if it were a pet.

  “I’m counting on it, Sergeant. Once you open up, just keep sweeping the area where the outlaws are hiding until I tell you to quit.”

  Marty reached up and patted Luther on his skinny knee, the only part of the man he could reach from the ground with Luther sitting in the driver’s seat, carefully cradling the heavy Sharps rifle and its long sniper scope in his arms. “You’ll have to get on the ground once the wagon stops, Luther. I want you to take on targets of opportunity as they appear. You’ll have a lot of gun smoke to look through to see what you’re shooting at.”

  “I understand, Marty. I’ll stick close to you, jus’ like we talked.”

  A crowd of people standing along the streets of Reno watched the little procession as the men prepared to pull out. Marty wondered if the outlaw spy was among them or if he had already galloped off to report their departure to the outlaws.

  He climbed onto the wagon, settling himself between Luther and Squint. “Well, my friend, let’s get the party started, shall we?” At Squint’s tight-faced nod, Marty stood and shouted, “Roll ’em. Let’s go.”

  The first driver, Malcolm’s most reliable of the four he had hired, snapped his whip and shouted a command to his mules. The sturdy animals put a strain into the harness and off the wagon went, quickly followed by the others, the gun wagon in the middle of the column, just as Marty wanted it. The five wagons rolled out of Reno and turned south on the Virginia City Road, headed for a bloody showdown. The die was cast, for better or for worse.