by Peter Grant
“Me too, suh,” Sam agreed.
Walt said, “Isom’s pretty good with his revolver, and I’m good with mine, so we’ll help you improve with yours. You’ll do well to replace those holsters with ones like ours, as soon as you can afford to. It’ll make your draw much faster and smoother. As for rifles, we have a Spencer carbine. Have either of you used a Henry?”
Both men nodded. “There was an officer who had one, suh—his private gun. He showed us how it worked one time, an’ let us have a few shots with it.” Sam’s eyes gleamed. “It was real nice.”
“There’s one in the rack. Toss a coin to see who gets it, and who gets the Spencer. You can use them until you can afford to buy your own rifles.”
Jacob fished out a one-cent piece. “I’ll flip, you call,” he said to Sam.
“Heads!”
Jacob flipped, and they bent over to look at the coin on the floor. “Heads it is,” Jacob agreed.
“I’ll take the Henry,” Sam said, picking it up and handing Jacob the Spencer. “You got cartridges for them, suh?”
“Here’s a hundred rounds for each rifle,” Walt said, taking several boxes of ammunition from the shelf beneath the rifle rack. “Sit down, and let’s talk business. I’ll offer you thirty dollars a month and found—that’s board and lodging—to start with, while you’re finding your feet. That’ll go up to forty once you’re trained teamsters. You’ll live in the bunkhouse over there,” and he nodded to the long, newly-erected building on the far side of the yard. Two wings flanked a central cookhouse and dining room. “We’ve got our own cook. Zeke and his wife serve breakfast and supper. Isom and I like his food, so I daresay you will too.
“You’ll learn to handle a six-mule wagon, and also our heavy freight wagons with their teams of oxen. You’ve also got to learn to deal with bills of lading and other paperwork. If you do well, in time you might be promoted to wagonmasters, like Isom, in charge of a train of wagons. They carry a lot more responsibility, and earn more money, too.”
“Thank you, suh. That’s fair,” Jacob acknowledged. “Isom said you was lookin’ at startin’ a horse ranch, too, suh. Can we work out there when you do?”
“I haven’t settled on a place yet, but I plan to breed horses and mules. If you’d prefer that life instead of the wagon trade, and if you’ve proved yourselves here, I’ll let you move out to the ranch in due course. Part of the work will be breaking and training stock for the Army. You already know what they want in their horses and mules, so you’ll be very useful to me.” Both men nodded their satisfaction.
“To start with, I’m going to use you as guards,” Walt went on. “Isom can tell you more about the trouble we had. We lost a teamster, murdered by stock thieves. Don’t worry, they paid for it.” There was grim finality in his tone. “There may be more trouble, but I doubt it’ll be anything we can’t handle. Just in case, you’ll join a few others to stand guard over this place around the clock. Isom’s in charge of that. You may also go out from time to time with me, or Samson, or maybe even my wife, who keeps the company’s books. That okay with you?”
“Sure, suh.” “Yessir!” They spoke in unison.
“All right. Isom will show you where to bunk, then take you out to the county fairgrounds. There’s a hundred-yard shooting range there, so you can sight in those rifles. Ask him anytime you need more ammunition. You’ll start work tomorrow morning.” He opened the safe, took out an envelope, and counted out forty dollars. “I know you’ve been on the road to get here, so you may be a bit short of cash until your first payday. Here’s twenty dollars each for expense money. Don’t spend it all on women or whisky, mind!”
They laughed. “Suh, we-uns is as pure as the driven snow,” Sam joshed.
“Oh, yeah? I’ve been a corporal myself, and a sergeant too, so I know just how much store to put in that!”
* * *
The following evening, walking home to the house he’d rented half a mile from the freight yard, Walt felt an uncomfortably familiar sensation. During the Civil War, he’d developed a fine sense of when someone was watching him. It had saved his life a couple of times. It had been a long time since then… but that same feeling was making the back of his neck itch right now.
He glanced around, trying to seem casual, as if simply surveying the street. Others were walking or riding homewards, eager to put the day behind them and get back to their families. Nothing seemed out of place, but he was sure something wasn’t right. He made a mental note to discuss it with Isom the following morning.
The wagonmaster surprised him. “I had the same feelin’ yestiddy afternoon, suh. I took a look outside. There was a man on a dun horse, just a-settin’ there on t’other side of the road, lookin’ at this place. I didn’t pay him no mind, ’cept that when I looked out again, ten minutes later, he was still there.”
Walt frowned. “This place isn’t that interesting. Come to think of it, there was a man sitting on the edge of the horse trough outside Wagner’s hardware store last night. There was a dun horse tied to the hitching rail behind him. I wonder if it was the same man?”
“I’ll go look around, see if I can spot him, suh,” Isom offered.
“If you do, come and tell me. We’ll go discuss it with him.”
Isom was gone for half an hour. When he came back, he shook his head. “I don’t see him, suh, but I checked with Harry’s livery. A stranger paid for a stall and an oat feed for a dun hoss last night. He asked the stable hand a few questions ’bout this place—who you was, whether we were hirin’, that sort o’ thing. He paid him a dime to sleep in the hayloft, ’cause he couldn’t afford a room. He lit out early this mornin’, after askin’ how to find the road to La Junta.”
“La Junta? I don’t know anyone out there.”
“Mebbe you don’t, boss, but someone out there may know you. Mind if I suggest somethin’?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“You got that lean-to shack for a servant at the back o’ your house. You ain’t usin’ it, ’cause you ain’t hired no servants in that small rented place. Why not let one of the boys use it for a few days? They can take turns at it. You’ll have an extra gun on hand in case of trouble, and he can go out along o’ Miss Rose, too, just in case. We got plenty o’ people to look after this place, but I’d feel better if you had another gun at home.”
“That’s a good idea, at least until this mess with Parsons is cleared up. I’ll put a bed in there for him. Speaking of another gun, how are Sam and Jacob coming along?”
“They’re doin’ all right, suh, but I allus figured they would. They both ordered new holsters from the local leather shop. Until we’ve taught ’em how to use their handguns better, I’ve told ’em to rely on their rifles if it comes to a fight. They’re good shots with ’em.”
“All right. Let’s hope they won’t need them.”
* * *
Bart stared through the window in surprise as the new arrival halted his dun horse outside the ramshackle house he’d rented in La Junta. He rose and went to the door, squinting against the glare of the setting sun to the west.
“Rin! What the hell are you doin’ here? I paid you off in Fairplay!”
“You sure did, boss, but you said you’d pay for information about Will, an’ about your house. I got it.”
The older man tensed, his heart beating faster, a surge of fury suffusing his face with blood. “Tell me, damn you!” he bellowed.
“Can I get down, boss? I been ridin’ hard for four days to get to you.”
“Yeah, yeah, get down. Come inside.”
Rin dismounted stiffly, nursing his aching buttocks, and stomped across the porch. He leaned against the wall, refusing Bart’s waved invitation to sit down. “I gotta let my butt get some feelin’ back in it first, boss. Here’s what happened.”
He related how he’d stopped in Salida to get a meal, and overheard the conversation between the waitress and the livery stable hand. “I dunno who he heard talkin’, boss, ’cau
se I wasn’t there.”
“I reckon I can guess,” Bart said grimly. So, Parsons had known who’d killed his youngest son, but hadn’t told him? There’ll be a reckonin’ for that one day, you bastard, he mentally promised his employer. “Go on.”
“I stopped in Pueblo, to see if this Ames was there. He owns a transport yard in the town, with a lot o’ mule an’ ox wagons. Seems to have at least a dozen men workin’ there, blacks an’ whites—no Mexes that I could see. There’s a couple o’ guards carryin’ rifles or shotguns. I ain’t never seen that before in a freight yard, so he may be expectin’ trouble. He lives in a small house about half a mile from the yard, just him an’ his wife—no servants that I could see.”
“You reckon you can lead us to that house at night?”
“Yeah, but you paid me off, boss, remember? I ain’t got no dog in this fight no more.”
“I wouldn’t have done that if Par– if I hadn’t had to. Wait here.”
He went into his bedroom, and came out holding a billfold. He peeled off several banknotes. “You got two hundred dollars comin’. Wanna make it three hundred?”
Rin perked up at once. “What do I have to do for that, boss?”
“Ride to Pueblo with me an’ my boys, to finish Ames once an’ for all. The gunhands I’ve hired out here cain’t hold a candle to the old gang. I reckon the four of us should be able to deal with a man an’ his wife alone, ’specially if we hit them late at night.” He licked his lips. “She good-lookin?”
“I only saw her through a window, but she looked good enough to me, boss.”
“That’ll do. We’ll hawgtie Ames, gag him an’ his woman, then make him watch while we take turns with her. Hang my boy an’ burn down my house, would he? I’ll pour kerosene over ’em both an’ burn ’em alive, house an’ all, damn ’em to hell!” Enraged spittle flecked his lips.
“I’m with you, boss.”
“Here’s a hundred.” Bart tossed the notes to him. “I’m gonna need to keep the second hundred for now, to buy food an’ ammunition. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money. Ames owns his own business, so he’s bound to have cash stashed at home, plus guns an’ other good stuff. We’ll get our money’s worth outta him.”
“I reckon we will, boss.” Rin thrust the notes into his pocket. “My horse is plumb tuckered out after four days hard ridin’. You got another one I can use?”
“Yeah. We’ll each take two hosses, so we can ride relay. That’ll keep ’em fresher, so we can get away fast after we finish Ames. My boys’ll be here soon. I’ll tell ’em ’bout this, then we’ll get some rest an’ hit the trail in the mornin’.”
Brad mumbled enthusiastic agreement through his still-painful jaw when he heard his father’s plans, but Ben was less sanguine. “What about Parsons, Pa? He told you to stay out here, an’ not to leave La Junta ’til he said you could. What if he hears about this?”
Bart exploded with fury. “D’you think I give a tinker’s damn what that slimy sonofabitch wants me t’ do? You heard what Rin said. Parsons knew Ames had killed Billy an’ burned my house down, but he didn’t tell me! He’s gonna pay for that once I’m done with Ames, that’s for certain sure!”
Ben figured inwardly that his pa was getting in over his head. Loyalty to his dead brother was all very well, but Parsons had been the source of their money—and plenty of it—for several years. That commanded loyalty, too. He was a cold fish and a real hard case—harder, Ben was sure, than any of them, including his father. Parsons scared the hell out of him, and those four gunhands he used as couriers were almost as bad. Any one of them would kill a man as soon as look at him, if they had to—or if Parsons told them to.
“I guess you’re right, Pa,” he said contritely, his mind racing. “I’ll go check on the horses, to make sure they’re ready for the mornin’. I’ll give ’em some oats, to build up their strength.”
“You do that, boy,” Walt said curtly, turning away.
As Ben filled nosebags with oats and strapped them to the horses’ muzzles, he frantically tried to think of a way out of this mess. He failed.
* * *
By lunchtime next day, Bart, Brad, Ben and Rin were a quarter of the way to Pueblo. A hundred and thirty miles away, Parsons was opening his mail, sipping his post-prandial coffee.
He pulled a letter from a grubby brown envelope, read it—and sprayed a mouthful of coffee all over it, and the other correspondence on his desk. His contact in Pueblo had written with news from a worker in a livery stable, one of those he was using to keep an eye on Ames’ freight yard. A man named Rin had come into the stable three evenings before. He, too, was interested in Ames, and had asked several questions. He’d spent the night in the hayloft, and left early the next morning, after asking which was the road to La Junta.
“Oh, God, no!” Parsons whispered, horrified. He remembered Rin—one of the gunhands he’d had Furlong pay off in Fairplay, a few weeks before. How the hell had he figured out that Ames was someone of importance? For that matter, why would Rin head for La Junta at all, unless he wanted to tell Furlong about Ames? How did he know where to find Furlong, anyway? No-one in Fairplay had known where he would be going, because Parsons hadn’t told anybody at that stage.
Springing to his feet, he paced back and forth, his mind racing. If Rin had left Pueblo two and a half days ago, that would have put him in La Junta yesterday. If he’d told Furlong Ames was behind his son’s death and the destruction of his home, and if the gang leader reacted as he was sure he would, they’d have left there late last night or early this morning, heading for Pueblo. No… on second thought, probably not last night. Even in his fury, Furlong would have enough sense not to ride into Pueblo during the daytime with his guns blazing. He’d want to hit Ames at night, when people weren’t out and about and there would be few, if any, witnesses. He’d also want to keep his horses fresh, to aid in his escape, not exhaust them by pushing them too hard. That meant he’d have left La Junta this morning, to arrive at Pueblo tomorrow afternoon. They’d probably scout out Ames’ home, and attack him late tomorrow night.
What to do? All four of his most trusted men were absent on their deadly missions, shutting down other parts of his network. He couldn’t get word to his contact in Pueblo in time for him to intervene. Only a telegraph message would get there fast enough: but if he sent one, warning of a possible murder attempt tomorrow night, the operator would immediately inform the law about it—and tell them who had sent it. He dared not be tied to something like that.
There was no help for it. He’d have to go to Pueblo himself, traveling faster than he had for years, riding relay. Fortunately, he had two good horses in his barn, but they weren’t specially bred or suited for high-speed, long-distance travel. They’d be pushed beyond their limits on a ride such as this, covering almost a hundred miles in no more than thirty hours. He’d have to ride more slowly through the night, conserving his horses’ energy, then buy or trade for fresh horses in Cañon City early tomorrow morning, to cover the rest of the distance. He was going to be exhausted and very, very saddle-sore by the time he arrived in Pueblo.
He decided to wire his contact in Pueblo when he reached Cañon City, warning him of his impending arrival, and telling him to have two fresh, strong horses standing by in case of need. He’d also ask him to hire a few gunmen. He’d have to word that carefully. He couldn’t say openly that he was looking for men without scruples, willing to kill on command. He’d have to hope that his contact would read between the lines, and realize what he wanted. If he could find men like that, Parsons could use them to stop Furlong himself, if he had to.
“I’ve got to keep Ames alive until I can recover my land!” he muttered to himself as he hastily threw a change of clothes into a pair of saddlebags. He slid his revolver into its holster, then loaded a Winchester rifle. From his safe, he took three thick bundles of banknotes and four rolls of twenty-dollar gold double-eagles, all the money he had in the house. He made a furious mental note as he
did so. He had plenty of money in the bank in Salida, but that was as good as useless to him in this emergency, because it would take too long to go and get it. What’s more, if this went badly, he might have to run for it. In that case, he wouldn’t be able to touch the money for weeks, until he could arrange for its transfer. He needed to keep at least double—no, triple!—his usual reserves of money at home in future, so he could be well funded for any possible emergency.
He took out the few documents in the safe, and slid them into a thick envelope for ease of transport. Very fortunately, all his important papers were on safe deposit with a lawyer in Denver; but, if things went wrong with Ames, he’d have to retrieve them. “I’ll have them sent to me wherever I end up, if worse comes to worst,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got to get them into my hands, and keep them there. I daren’t leave them where an investigator might trace them.”
As he locked the safe again, he raised his voice. “Liza, I have to go away for a few days. Look after the place for me. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Lawd sakes, Mistuh Parsons! I thought you was gonna take it easy for a while!”
He forced a smile. “They do say there’s no peace for the wicked.” Grimly, he mentally acknowledged the truth of that hackneyed old idiom. It certainly seemed to apply to him these days!
As Parsons cantered the last few miles, he tried to force his mind, soggy with exhaustion and the pain from his bruised legs and buttocks, to consider what to do next. Had his contact received his telegraph message? Had he acted on it? If he had, things would be easier. If not… he’d have to handle things as best he could on his own.
He reached down and patted the shoulder of the horse under him. The black gelding, and the bay following them on a lead rope, were the best he’d been able to find in the dealer’s corral in Cañon City, where he’d bought them this morning. They were worn out after the punishing pace he’d set, but they’d justified the high price he’d paid for them, on top of trading his two staggering, exhausted mounts from Salida. He didn’t begrudge the cost. Money was of no importance right now, compared to the possible alternatives.