Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  Flint nodded grimly. "From Addie Plunket's, maybe. Looks like Bear Knife showed up after all."

  As soon as he had stopped speaking, Flint heard someone frantically calling his name. He and Cully looked down Texas Street to see Addie Plunket hurrying toward them, followed by a group of young women in varying stages of undress.

  Addie ran up to the two lawmen. She was haggard and breathless, and Flint grabbed her arm to steady her. "What is it?" the marshal asked urgently. "Trouble at your place?"

  "Indians!" Addie gasped. "They...they've come for White Eagle!"

  Flint nodded grimly. "That's what I thought." He turned to Cully and ordered, "Head for the cavalry camp. They ought to be awake already, considering all the shooting that's going on. Bring them to Addie's."

  "What are you going to do?" Cully asked as he wheeled his horse around.

  "I'm going to try to help White Eagle," Flint replied flatly.

  Cully nodded, knowing that it would do no good to argue with Flint. The best way he could help now was to follow the marshal's orders. He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and shouted as the animal surged forward.

  Flint, his keen eyes scanning the yards and houses, ran up Walnut Street. He spotted the shadowy figures advancing on the house while he was still two blocks away. Darting across the street, he cut through an alley to Elm Street and raced along it, paralleling Walnut.

  The marshal circled the stable behind Addie's and pounded toward the back door. He saw no sign of Indians here. The renegades were concentrating their attack on the front of the house. Simple and direct, that seemed to be the way Bear Knife operated, although the Kiowa was very cunning, Flint thought. He suspected that Bear Knife had planned for the majority of the cavalry forces to be decoyed to the western part of the state.

  As he reached the house, Flint had no more time to speculate. He slipped into the bordello and catfooted down the hall toward the parlor. He heard rifles firing inside the front room.

  As he entered the parlor, Flint glanced through a window and saw one of the warriors running toward the house. The renegade carried a torch, and the lawman realized that he intended to smash the fiery brand through the window. Instinctively, Flint flung his gun up and snapped off a shot.

  The bullet shattered the window from the inside and caught the Indian in the chest, knocking him backward. The torch spun out of his hands.

  White Eagle and Julius, startled by the shot fired behind them, whirled around. Both men were about to fire when they saw who the newcomer was.

  His finger still tight on the trigger, White Eagle forced himself to relax slightly. He said, "You ought to be careful about sneaking up on people, Marshal."

  "Wasn't time to send you a letter saying I was coming," Flint said dryly as he dropped into a crouch beside the window he had shot out. He squeezed off another round toward the attacking Indians.

  White Eagle returned his attention to the yard in front of the house and noticed that the fallen torch had started a small grass fire. He saw the sprawled body of the Indian and said, "Thanks, Marshal. That one might have slipped past us."

  "He won't be the only one to try to set fire to the house," Flint said. "Here come a couple more!"

  A volley of gunfire came from the renegades as two torch-carrying braves ran forward. Flint, White Eagle, and Julius had to duck beneath the windows to keep from being cut to ribbons by the hail of bullets. One of the torches sailed through an already-broken window, setting the curtains afire as it did so. The torch bounced on the carpet, which quickly began to smolder.

  "We've got to get out of here!" Julius exclaimed. "We can't fight the fire and the Indians at the same time!"

  Flint knew that was true. He said, "When I came in, there weren't any renegades out back. Let's run for it!"

  It was a slim chance, but all three men knew it was the only one they had. They leaped up, fired a last volley through the shattered windows, then raced for the rear of the house.

  Flint was the last one to leave the parlor. He cast a final glance through the smoke and flames toward the window and saw riderless horses, driven by a lone warrior, coming up Walnut Street. Several Indians were already springing onto the horses' backs.

  As he raced toward the back door, Flint had to give Bear Knife credit for good strategy. He had slipped into town unseen, driven his quarry out of hiding, and now was ready to administer the final blow.

  Julius went through the back door first. He had taken only three steps when a bullet slammed into his thigh. As he cried out in pain, he fell. White Eagle was right behind him. He glanced over to see the Indians riding around the corner of the house, their rifles blasting. Flint triggered off a couple of quick shots as he emerged from the house, but he could see that it was too late to flee. In a matter of seconds, the renegades would have them trapped against the back of the house.

  A Winchester cracked from the stable, shot after shot rolling out as fast as the rifleman could lever shells into the weapon's chamber. The bullets sent two of the Indians flying from their saddles and made the others veer back toward the street.

  "Come on!" Pierre Dandaneau shouted from the stable door, the Winchester smoking in his hands.

  Stunned, White Eagle spent a precious second staring at his father, wondering where he had come from. But then he stooped and grabbed Julius's arm. He hauled the black man to his feet and flung his arm around his waist to support him. Then, taking advantage of Pierre's covering fire, they hurried toward the stable.

  Flint fired his Colt at the warriors as he ran after White Eagle and Julius. The three men ducked into the stable while Pierre kept shooting. The marshal opened the cylinder of his gun, dumped out the empty cartridges, and started thumbing fresh ones from his belt into it. "I don't know what you're doing here, Dandaneau," he said as he worked, "but I'm mighty glad to see you."

  "Addie came and told me my boy was trapped in there, Marshal," Pierre grated. "I got here as soon as I could."

  White Eagle heard his father's words as he eased Julius into a sitting position against the stable wall. Glancing at Pierre, he said, "You left Katie and the baby?"

  "That Guthrie woman's there," Pierre replied. His rifle was empty. He dug in his coat pocket and drew out a handful of shells. As he reloaded, he went on, "Katie and Josephine will be all right. That little gal's a real beauty."

  White Eagle stared, surprised by the unexpected warmth he heard in Pierre's voice. He seemed completely sober.

  Flint, his face grimy with gunpowder, grinned broadly. "It sounds like congratulations are in order, Dandaneau. Sorry I can't deliver them under better circumstances."

  White Eagle put a hand on Pierre's arm. "Pa...?"

  Pierre pointed his rifle toward the bordello. Flames were now visible through the rear windows as the conflagration began to spread. The Indians had withdrawn for the moment, but everyone in the stable knew that at any moment they would attack again. Without looking at White Eagle, Pierre said quietly, "I'm sorry, son...sorry about a lot of things. Katie told me how you probably saved her and the baby. Guess they've taught me quite a bit this morning."

  White Eagle nodded and swallowed the lump that was rising in his throat. "That's good, Pa," he said. "I... I just never understood why you always hated me."

  Pierre glanced at him. "Hell, boy, I never hated you. I just wanted you to be tough. I knew how the world was going to treat you. You're a half-breed. I figured it was my duty to make you as hard as you could be." Suddenly, he smiled. "Don't know if I succeeded, but you seem like a pretty good man to me."

  Blinking back the tears that were welling in his eyes, White Eagle looked toward the house. The roof was starting to burn. Emily was in there, in the midst of the inferno. She deserved a spectacular funeral pyre, he thought, and that was what she was getting. His only regret was that Harrison Hull had died at another man's hands.

  "Here they come!" Pierre yelled. His Winchester began to explode once more.

  Suddenly, he cried out in pai
n and spun backward. Blood blossomed on his shirt. White Eagle had time to cast one despairing glance at his father before he began firing at the charging renegades. Then everything was lost in thundering gunfire and a smoking haze.

  White Eagle stood next to Lucas Flint in the stable doorway, both men firing as fast as they could. Julius had crawled over and joined them. Sprawled on the earth, he had lifted himself on one arm and was firing his rifle with the other hand. Bear Knife's men, shooting and whooping wildly, swarmed around both sides of the flaming bordello.

  All of a sudden, more Indians were flying off their horses than the three men in the stable could account for. The sound of new, approaching hoof-beats slowly reached the battle-weary trio. As a bugle blared, cavalry troopers galloped from behind the stable and met the charging renegades head-on.

  Flint, White Eagle, and Julius lowered their guns as the Indians' attack was broken as abruptly as it had begun. Most of the renegades turned and tried to flee, only to be cut down by the fire of Captain Winters's men.

  But one of the warriors didn’t run. His face twisted with hate and rage, Bear Knife plunged his horse toward the stable at a gallop. There was a pistol in his hand, and as he charged, he fired it wildly.

  White Eagle saw him coming. The scout didn’t know how many shots were left in his rifle, but moving calmly and efficiently, he lifted it to his shoulder. Bear Knife's hatred of him had caused untold deaths. Now it was time to end it.

  Slugs whirled around White Eagle's head as Bear Knife closed in on him. The scout pressed the Winchester’s trigger and felt the solid kick of the stock against his shoulder as it blasted. He levered, fired again, levered, fired again, until the rifle was empty.

  Through the sight of the Winchester, he saw Bear Knife's crazed face transform into a crimson mass. The Kiowa was flung off his horse. He landed heavily, rolled over twice, and lay still.

  The scout drew a deep breath and slowly lowered the Winchester. It was finally over, he thought. He listened to the fading sound of gunshots. The cavalry and the remaining renegades were fighting a running battle, but the leaderless Indians would be cut down rapidly.

  Lucas Flint walked out of the stable and prodded Bear Knife's corpse with his foot. The Kiowa was dead. The marshal looked up as Cully rode into the yard on his pinto. Flint grinned and said, "You and those soldiers got here just in time. Thanks."

  "Not quite in time," Cully said grimly, nodding toward the stable. Flint turned to see White Eagle kneeling beside his father's sprawled form.

  Pierre looked up at White Eagle with pain-filled eyes. The bullet had slammed into his chest. A cough wracked him, and blood foamed on his lips. He said in a choked voice, "It...it's up to you now, son. You've got to...got to take care of Katie and the baby..."

  White Eagle, blinking back tears, put his hand on Pierre's shoulder and squeezed hard. "No, Pa, that's your job," he said.

  "I...won't be here...to do it," Pierre gasped. "Take...take care of yourself...too..."

  His head sagged to the side.

  After a long moment, White Eagle slowly released his grip on his father's shoulder. "All right, Pa," he said softly.

  Wearily, he stood up and went over to Julius, who extended a hand to him. White Eagle helped the black man to his feet and put an arm around Julius's waist to support him. Then they walked out of the stable toward Flint and Cully.

  At that moment, the roof of the bordello collapsed, sending a huge flurry of sparks into the morning sky. One of them seemed to glow particularly brightly, and White Eagle watched it until it was lost in the rays of the rising sun.

  14

  A week later, almost all traces of the Indian raid had been erased from Abilene. The soldiers had stayed to help clean up, and all that remained of the battle were the smoke-blackened stone walls of Addie Plunket's gutted house.

  The funerals were over, and the dead had been buried. Most of the town had turned out for Pierre Dandaneau's service. Sergeant Harrison Hull had been buried with a minimum of ritual. Over the protests of some of the townspeople, Bear Knife and his renegades had been buried in Abilene's cemetery. The reservation they had escaped from was too far away for the bodies to be transported back. And White Eagle Dandaneau was leaving Abilene.

  As he waited on the platform of the Kansas Pacific depot, he chafed at the uncomfortable new suit he was wearing. Next to him stood Katie, holding little Josephine in her arms. The baby was wrapped in a blanket, and only her tiny face was visible.

  Lucas Flint, Cully Markham, Rose Keller, and Orion McCarthy were also standing on the platform. They had come to see White Eagle and Katie off. Cully said with a smile, "I don't know how you're going to feel about the East, White Eagle. From what I've heard, it's very different from life here on the frontier."

  White Eagle ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. "I've heard the same thing," he told the deputy. "But I promised my pa I'd take care of Katie and Josephine."

  "We'll be back," Katie said with a sad smile. "I...I couldn't bear to stay in Abilene right now."

  "I can understand that," Rose said. "You've had a hard time, Katie, but I'll bet things will be better in the future."

  Katie nodded. "I think you're right." She smiled down at Josephine as the baby stirred.

  White Eagle and Rose had tried to convince Katie to wait a little longer before traveling, but Katie had been adamant in her desire to leave Abilene. White Eagle couldn’t blame her. All he could do was go along and try his best to make sure she was all right.

  Someday, though, he had vowed, both Katie and Josephine would see the real frontier for themselves. He had a feeling they would find some land out there somewhere, a place where a widow and her child could settle down and make a new start. Maybe an old Army scout could be part of that...

  Flint put a hand on White Eagle's shoulder and drew him away from the others. Pitching his voice low, Flint asked, "You didn't tell her anything about Addie and your father, did you?"

  White Eagle shook his head. "No need for her to know," he whispered. "Pierre tried to be a good man, there at the end. She can remember him that way. I know I'm going to try to."

  Flint nodded. "Glad to hear it."

  "Addie is leaving town, too. She said she and her girls would start over somewhere else. It's going to be hard for them, but she didn't want to stay here either."

  "That property where the house was might fetch a pretty good price. Do you want me to look into that for you?"

  White Eagle grinned. "I'd appreciate that, Marshal. Anything we can get out of it goes to Katie and Josephine, of course, but I'd like to handle the matter as quietly as possible."

  "Sure." Flint looked down the track to the west and returned White Eagle's grin. "Looks like the train's coming."

  A moment later, the sound of the whistle reached the platform, bringing with it the promise of a new life.

  After the train had pulled out, taking White Eagle and Katie and Josephine with it, Flint strolled back to the office. The marshal looked up and down the street, noting with satisfaction that the town seemed to be back to normal. Folks were going about their business as usual.

  The only thing out of the ordinary were the soldiers sitting on their mounts in front of the marshal's office.

  Captain Winters nodded to Flint as the lawman walked up. "I just wanted to let you know that we're pulling out now, Marshal," Winters said. "We'll be heading back to headquarters."

  "I hope the next time we see you it won't be during an Indian fight, Captain," Flint said.

  Winters shook his head. "I don't think you'll have any more trouble like that. This business with Bear Knife was just an isolated incident. By and large, this part of the country has been pacified."

  Flint had to grin wearily at the young officer's smug assertion. "That may be true about the Indians," he acknowledged. "But in Abilene it seems like things are never peaceful for long."

  Shadow of the Gallows

  Contents

  Prologue
r />   Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Prologue

  Judging by the highly charged atmosphere in the packed courtroom in Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, there was nothing more exciting than a murder trial—except maybe a hanging. And it looked as if the inhabitants of this rugged frontier town would be seeing that in the near future, too.

  As the members of the jury filed into the courtroom on this bright July afternoon and took their seats in the jury box, they looked grim. They were simple, solid citizens—storekeepers, farmers, bartenders—and the responsibility of deciding someone else's fate weighed heavily upon them. But they had been given a life-or-death decision to make, and evidently, they had made it.

  Once the jury was seated, the bailiff went to the door to the left of the judge's bench and knocked lightly on it. A moment later the door opened, and Judge Theodore Stephens appeared framed in the doorway, shrugging his black robe onto his broad shoulders. Everyone stood as the tall, imposing man entered the courtroom and stepped behind the bench. He squinted at the jury from under bushy eyebrows and grimaced. He didn’t like what he saw in their faces, but he wasn’t surprised.