by Jake Logan
“What is it, John? I thought they would catch you for sure.”
He tried to brush off the black dust, and only smeared it across his shirt and on his hands.
“Coal,” he said. “They’re mining coal.”
“I didn’t know there was any here,” Etta said. “No one ever mentioned it.”
“The prospectors were all hunting for gold or silver. Maybe tin or copper. There was no call for a prospector to dig away in a coal mine.”
“But who—?” Etta clamped her mouth firmly shut. Then she said, “The Butchers. They’re miners. The Molly Maguires were all union miners. But why?”
“The railroad’s coming to Sharpesville,” Slocum said. “It might be they aren’t trying as much to stop it as take control of it. If they can supply coal for the steam engines, they can make a lot of money fast.”
“But the railroad would have its own supply,” she said.
“You’ve seen how the Butchers work. Any supplier of wood for a steam engine would find himself hacked to pieces.”
“But they’re all skilled miners. Why kill so wantonly? These mines are worthless to anyone else. They could have worked them like they’re doing without slaughtering everyone in sight!”
Slocum had no answer for that. Some men killed because they had to. From what he had seen of O’Malley and his gang, they killed because they enjoyed it. Maybe they had been pushed too far in Pennsylvania and now wanted to take out their anger on anyone crossing their path. Or maybe they had adopted the same tactics as the mine owners in Pennsylvania. Once they supplied the coal to the railroad, they would have a monopoly. O’Malley might see himself as more of a railroad magnate than a mine owner.
“Where else in the area do they mine coal?”
“Why, nowhere that I know. All the railroads use wood for fuel.”
“Coal is better. O’Malley is setting himself up to supply more than the spur going into Sharpesville.”
“He could never control all the freight moved across Montana,” Etta scoffed.
“He might think he can. With a gang the size of the one riding behind him, he just might. Once he wipes out Fort Walker, no one can stop him from doing any damned thing he pleases.”
“The army won’t allow that. They’ll avenge an entire post being wiped out! They’ll have to.”
Slocum was not so sure. If the Schuylkill Butchers were thorough enough and no survivors carried the tale to the next fort, the army might think it wasn’t worth the effort retaking the fort. Since the war, the only real enemy had been the Indians. O’Malley might even convince the army that the Sioux or Blackfoot had been responsible.
He shook his head. Whatever O’Malley planned, it meant the destruction of Fort Walker. Slocum had to warn them.
“Come on,” he said to Etta. “I want to get out of here.”
“It’s almost dusk,” she said.
“The perfect time to hightail it. I don’t want to spend the night in the mine shaft next over from where four of O’Malley’s men are working. Where there are four, there might be forty.”
“Where can we go?”
Slocum considered that for a moment, then grinned crookedly.
“Nowhere without being seen,” he said, changing his mind. “Let’s get on back to the mine and hunker down for a day or two. Might be best hiding under their noses.”
“They eat so much boiled cabbage they stink to high heaven,” Etta said. “They’d never be able to sniff us out.”
“Then you can go wait while I do some scouting, and you won’t have to worry about the smell.”
Etta wrinkled her nose and said, “You’re in need of a bath yourself.”
“Might be we can share some bathwater when we get out of here,” Slocum said.
“As long as it’s hot,” she said.
“You being in it would make it almost too hot to stand,” Slocum said.
“Be careful, John,” she said, turning solemn. “You know how awful they are.”
She kissed him quickly and dashed for the mine. He sat by a boulder and waited a spell before going to see if other mines were being worked by the Schuylkill Butchers. He circled the hill in the other direction, and found evidence of new mining activity in two other mines. Tailings from both mines showed the Butchers were mining coal. He trudged on until it got too dark to see, then found a tree and climbed it. Slowly searching the valley for any sign of light turned him increasingly cold inside. No fewer than six mines showed activity—activity he had not seen during the day.
Slocum realized he and Etta had been damned lucky to avoid being seen by the gang. O’Malley had his men scattered throughout the area. Without realizing it, Slocum had ridden smack into the middle of dozens of the killers.
As he edged back around the hill, he heard an odd sound. Cocking his head to one side, he listened hard, but the noise vanished as quickly as it had come. With so many miners working these claims, he might have heard an echo from distant hammering. As he approached the mouth to the mine where he and Etta had taken refuge, though, he stopped, drew his six-shooter, and looked around.
Her blouse lay some distance from the mouth of the mine. Slocum dropped to the ground and studied the prints in the dust. The rocky ground didn’t take well to boot prints, but he made out the prints of at least three men—and Etta. Scrambling to his feet, he raced in the direction of the first coal mine he had found. As fast as he ran, he was even quicker skidding to a halt and throwing himself into deep shadows when he saw the blazing campfire.
He had wondered how many men worked this mine. If they had all piled out, he knew. Ten. And trussed up and naked to the waist near the campfire was Etta Kehoe.
Slocum raised his pistol, then lowered it. Even with superb marksmanship in the dark, he could only get six of the men. That left four standing guard over Etta to return fire. He saw all were armed, six-shooters stuffed into their belts. The glint off steel cutting edges came from the side of the fire opposite Etta.
At the moment, they only ogled her. He doubted it would be long before they got down to serious raping. He started back to the other mine to fetch his Winchester. This would even the odds a mite, although accurate shooting was out of the question in the darkness. The best he could hope for was to sow enough confusion that he could bull his way in and rescue Etta before the Schuylkill Butchers realized he was there.
It was a slim chance. He had to take it, or she would die at their hands.
Barely had Slocum gone ten feet when he heard one of the outlaws call out, “Sean! You come to check on us poor rock scratchers?”
“You’re makin’ the lot of us poor, sittin’ about on your fat asses. Where’s the wagonload of coal? I got a buyer wantin’ it bad.”
“Look what we caught,” the man said. “Ain’t she ’bout the purtiest thing this side of the Emerald Isle?”
Slocum edged back, his fingers tight around the handle of his six-gun. He got close enough to see Sean O’Malley and six more of his gang. Even with a rifle and a couple of six-shooters, Slocum would have no chance of taking them all out or causing enough chaos to scatter them.
“Buck naked, is she now? I like that in a woman.” O’Malley laughed. “Throw her in the back of the wagon. When business is done, we’ll see about her.”
Slocum leveled his six-gun at the Butchers’ leader, and then stopped when O’Malley swung about abruptly. His chance at cutting the head off this particular snake had passed. Watching as Etta was lifted and dumped into the rear of the heavily laden wagon made Slocum sick to his stomach. He needed firepower to pry her loose from them.
There was only one place he could find it.
He waited as the Butchers mounted and rattled off down the narrow road leading from the mine. A million wild schemes coursed through his head. What it boiled down to was that getting himself killed did nothing to help Etta. He needed the cavalry.
Slocum made his way back to the mine where he and Etta had taken shelter, hoping that the outlaws had not
bothered to check inside and find his horse. To his relief, the gelding was still inside, sleeping after a day of exertion carrying two riders. Slocum prodded the horse to its feet, put on the bridle, and led it outside where he threw the saddle over its back. The horse complained a little, but not enough to balk.
The sky had cleared so Slocum could get his bearings. Then he lit out up the valley in the direction opposite that taken by O’Malley and his men. Pressing his luck, Slocum alternated a canter and a walk to get as much from the horse as he could and still reach Fort Walker quickly.
A little after dawn, he found the road to the army post and went directly for it. Only when he saw three riders ahead on the road did Slocum remember how O’Malley had stationed guards to stop anyone from reaching the post—or possibly getting out.
Slocum reached back and slid his rifle from its sheath as he rode. Riding slowly but steadily as he neared the trio, he waited until he was at the best distance possible before raising the rifle to his shoulder and firing. His shot went wide, but it spooked their horses. He got off a second shot that produced a string of profanity from his target, and then galloped on.
Only when he was twenty yards past did the outlaws open up with their six-guns. By then, hitting him was more a matter of luck than skill. For once, Slocum was lucky.
They came after him, but Slocum bent low and kept riding until Fort Walker stretched before him. O’Malley’s three men fell back and let Slocum go. He had caught them napping. Now it was time to rouse the soldiers and get them into the field against O’Malley. It might be too late to save Etta, but it was not too late to bring O’Malley and his Butchers to justice.
Justice dispensed by a blazing six-shooter.
“Halt!” The sentry at the low fence around the fort stepped out to bar Slocum from entering.
“I need to talk to the commanding officer,” Slocum barked out.
“Major Zinsser’s out on patrol.”
“The major’s dead. He and both companies with him were ambushed. All are dead. Only Little Foot and I got away.”
“You the fella who went out scoutin’ fer the major?”
“Who’s in command?”
“That’d be Lieutenant Holbine. He just got back from patrol down south.”
“I know where the outlaws are. Take me to the lieutenant right now.”
“Cain’t leave my post.” The sentry put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. “Sergeant Dobbs kin take you.”
Slocum saw a portly man with sergeant’s stripes waddling out from the direction of the mess hall. From his bulk, the noncom spent far too much time there.
“Gent was scoutin’ fer the major,” the guard said. “Got a tale to tell on how the major got hisself kilt.”
“Bullshit,” the sergeant said. “Major Zinsser’s the best cavalry officer this side of the Red River. No way would he get himself killed. He had two companies with him to boot.”
“The Schuylkill Butchers ambushed him. They’re planning on attacking the fort, but you can make a preemptive strike and—”
“What’s all this hubbub?” A lieutenant in sharply pressed uniform strode out from the mess hall. Slocum had seen his like before. A garrison soldier and not a field officer.
“You Lieutenant Holbine?”
“I am.”
“I need to report. I was scouting with Little Foot for the major.”
“Where is that no-account Injun?”
Slocum ignored the man and dismounted. He handed the reins to the sergeant, who immediately passed them over to the sentry. Without caring to see what happened to his horse, Slocum went into Zinsser’s office and waited impatiently for the lieutenant. The sergeant trailed behind and filled the doorway with his bulk.
“You are most bumptious, sir, throwing your weight around like this.”
Slocum ignored the lieutenant, and began a detailed report on how Zinsser had come to be ambushed and how best to retaliate.
“So, you’re saying these outlaws intend to attack Fort Walker and seize it? That’s rich.” The lieutenant laughed at the absurdity.
"O’Malley intends to set himself up as king,” Slocum said. “He gets rid of the army, he cows those in Sharpesville, he runs the railroad that comes into that town, and—”
“And nothing. He can never defeat the U.S. Army.” Holbine scowled at Slocum. “Unless I miss my guess, you and your kind learned that lesson the hard way.”
“My kind?”
“You Southern crackers.”
If Etta had not been O’Malley’s prisoner, Slocum would have turned and left the lieutenant and his remaining command to their fate.
“Half your post is dead, chopped up and stacked like cordwood.” Slocum felt himself tensing. He didn’t bother to describe how O’Malley’s gang had hacked up many of the dead soldiers, as if they were nothing more than cattle in a slaughterhouse. “You know how bad it’s been around here lately with outlaws. There’s only one gang. Zinsser called them the Schuylkill Butchers.”
“He did mention them,” Lieutenant Holbine said, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “The major is possessed of a fertile imagination. I personally think all the trouble is caused by at least four outlaw bands. It is absurd to think of only one creating such a ruckus. Why, they would have to be organized like . . .”
“Like a friggin’ army,” the sergeant chimed in. “Ain’t gonna see anything like that in these parts ’less it’s us.”
“Yes, Sergeant, thank you for your colorful appraisal.”
“Time’s running out,” Slocum said. “You were on patrol down south? That means you have two companies left?”
“That is so,” the lieutenant said slowly, as if wondering how Slocum might be a spy and for whom.
"Hit O’Malley and his gang hard. Now.” Slocum went to the map on the wall. “Here’s where they cut the trenches. I suspect they have other traps laid in valleys where the digging is easy.”
“Yes, you said they are all displaced Pennsylvania miners. ”
Slocum ignored the gibe. He traced a line through the hills, past the mines where the outlaws were digging out coal.
“It’s too rocky for them to make traps like the ones they used against Zinsser,” Slocum said. “If you attack through either of these valleys, you’ll catch them in their main camp. It’ll be a fight, but surprise will be on your side.” Slocum was not sure if even this would work, but asking the pompous lieutenant to send to other forts for reinforcements was not likely to be met with much enthusiasm. Right now, any attack that distracted O’Malley from Etta Kehoe was worthwhile, even if it meant the cavalry would lose a significant portion of the men remaining at Fort Walker.
“I’m sure you think so, Slocum,” Holbine said. “Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir?”
Slocum almost cried out in anger at the officer’s pigheadedness.
“Take a squad and reconnoiter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A squad? They’ll be up against a hundred men. More!”
“I’m sure a squad of Fort Walker’s finest horse soldiers will suffice against a ragtag band of . . . miners.” The disdain in his voice sealed his soldiers’ doom.
“I’ll get on it right away, sir.”
“While we’re waiting for your report, Sergeant Dobbs, I’m sure Mr. Slocum will find accommodations here to his liking.”
“The guardhouse, sir?” The sergeant grinned ear to ear, showing a broken tooth in front. He turned and motioned to guards on the parade ground. Slocum saw two soldiers come running, rifles at port arms.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t done anything but warn you—”
“We’ll see what game you’re playing and ask Major Zinsser when he returns. Do look for him, Sergeant.”
The two armed guards grabbed Slocum and shoved him out of the office toward the stockade. That was the last place Slocum wanted to be when O’Malley attacked the fort.
9
“Sure you
don’t wanna play some poker?” The guard rocked back in his chair, back braced against the stockade wall. He grinned at Slocum in the tiny cell. “Helps pass the time. I know. I been on both sides of them bars in my day.”
“I don’t have any money,” Slocum said. He looked past the guard through the open door onto the parade ground. The lieutenant had done nothing to move the artillery pieces around where they might be used to defend the fort. Without significant walls or palisades, Fort Walker was easy pickings for a small army of cutthroats like the Schuylkill Butchers.
“Loan you some.”
“How’d you ever get it back?”
The guard said, “If I got you all locked up, you won’t have much choice, will you?”
“If I’m locked up, how can I make money to pay you back?”
This caused the guard to frown. He picked at his teeth with his thumbnail and finally said, “Don’t reckon I thought that through. You got a point.”
“I can offer something worth more than a stack of gold double eagles,” Slocum said. The guard looked at him expectantly. "Don’t be here when O’Malley and his gang attack. They won’t leave anyone alive.”
“You goin’ on ’bout how the major and two whole companies was killed? I don’t believe that for a second.”
“When they hack off an arm or a leg, remember I warned you.” Slocum rested his hands against the iron bars and shook them the best he could. This cell wasn’t as sturdy as the one in Sharpesville, but getting out would be just as hard. He knew Fort Walker had only days at the most before O’Malley attacked.
He had no idea if Etta was still alive. In a way, he hoped she had died quickly. That was more merciful than her other possible fate.
“Somebody’s coming,” Slocum said, straining to see who rode into the parade ground. The cloud of dust kicked up by pounding hooves veiled the rider, but he saw the McClellan saddle on the horse and knew it was a soldier.
“Yup,” the guard said, craning his neck around. “Looks to be Sergeant Dobbs. He’s a mean cuss. Don’t never play poker with him ’less you intend on losin’. He cheats.”