The Stagecoach War

by Wesley Ellis

  He climbed back up to the stage and tossed the money that Ki had given him down to Waltrop, who was moaning with both his bleeding hands held up before his ugly face.

  Billy said, “The money is for your shotgun. We’ll charge you nothing for the lesson you and your guards just received in manners.”

  Billy took the reins from Ki and leaned out over the coach. “Are you ladies all ready to roll?”

  When Jessie and Roxy called up that they were, Bill Bonaday cracked his whip and they rolled on down toward Carson City.

  Carson City was the capital of Nevada and a pretty town of about two thousand. At the eastern edge of the city, the Virginia and Truckee Railroad had built a major railroad repair shop called The Roundhouse. Billy drove past it to the main street of town and they passed the U.S. Mint and City Hall. A few blocks farther down they saw the impressive sandstone capitol building and then the Ormsby House, where Billy pulled the team in and announced it was necessary to buy fresh horses.

  “These are played out and need a couple of days’ rest. We can use them on the way back.”

  Jessie nodded. “And I imagine you need to buy six good horses.”

  Billy smiled. “You got it figured just right,” he said with a smile as he pulled out the pockets of his Levi’s. “As you can see, I am plumb run out of money. And to tell you the truth, we can buy six horses here at a fair enough price, but it’s going to cost you a bundle for another team when we have to change again in Candelaria for the trip back.”

  Jessie was a rich woman, but she did not like to have her money taken for granted or her renowned generosity to be taken advantage of. Her father had always believed that, since nothing in life was free, pure charity was a mistake. Make your gift cost the recipient something, no matter how small. Make them have a little something at stake too, or they’d soon get used to expecting something for nothing.

  “Then I suppose you would like to sell me shares in your stage line?”

  Billy’s smile melted. “It’s always been one hundred percent owned by our family. Be a shame to change that now.”

  Jessie shrugged. “You need a strong line of credit if you have any hopes of competing for new business or that U.S. Government mail contract Grayson told me about. What are you going to use for money if you refuse to sell me shares of stock?”

  Billy thumbed his hat back. “I figured to use the money that old Archibald Potter will pay us for delivering his payroll to Candelaria and his gold back to Reno.”

  Jessie shook her head. “All right, the gentleman will pay you what the going rate of your competition is right now. The Sierra Stage Line would have done the job for three hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “Then I’ll do it for two hundred and fifty!” Billy sputtered angrily.

  “You will do it for three hundred,” Jessie corrected him. “Always remember to beat the competition, but only a little. If you drop way below your competitor, instead of being thankful, the customer will jump to the conclusion that you’ve been making way too much money on previous deals. That makes him angry. If you have to beat a price, do it, but don’t beat yourself in the process. Anyone can underbid his competitors and get the work, but you can go broke that way about as fast as any I know.”

  Billy did not look pleased at having been lectured. “Problem is, Miss Starbuck, you know way too damn much for your own good. I don’t like women telling me how to run my business.”

  Jessie had dealt with a lot of fools, but this one topped them all. “It isn’t your business!” she snapped. “At least not all of it. Roxy is half owner and, if you need to buy a couple of fresh teams of replacement horses, I’m going to own part of the Bonaday Stage Line too. Now, which are you going to listen to, your pride or my hard-earned advice?”

  Roxy was listening and now she stepped forward and said, “We’re going to listen to your good advice and take your generous offer of funds.” She stuck out her hand. “Jessica, having you as a partner will give our stage company instant credibility and cash. Billy and I are damned grateful to you, Jessie. Aren’t we, Billy?”

  In answer, Billy ripped the Stetson off his head, slammed it into the dirt, and stomped it flat. “Yeah,” he gritted as he strode away, “we are just plain overcome with joy!”

  Roxy smiled and watched him go into the hotel. She shook her head and told Jessie, “He has always been a stubborn sonofagun, but he grows on you if you give him the chance. He’ll come around and grow up one of these days.”

  Jessie nodded, remembering the fight at Devil’s Gate Toll. “I’ll at least say this much for your brother—he isn’t afraid of trouble.”

  “Neither are you or Ki,” she said.

  Their trip on down to Mormon Station was uneventful. Jessie and Roxy both climbed on top of the rocking Concord coach and enjoyed the fresh air and the magnificent snow-capped mountains along whose eastern base they traveled. The country was beautiful, one long verdant valley after another. Mormon Station had been renamed Genoa and was right in that transitional period of its history where some people called it one name and some the other. It was the oldest settlement in Nevada, and one of the richest farming areas in the state.

  The Mormons had settled and farmed it for many years, but had suddenly been called back to Utah by Brigham Young. When they had tried to sell out, no one had offered them a cent and they had left their lands, but many had burned their buildings rather than allow them to fall into the hands of those who had been unwilling to pay for them. According to Roxy, the departing Mormons had put a curse on this lush valley, prophesying that the winds would blow hard and incessantly. Maybe their curse had worked, for a strong wind was blowing that otherwise fine day.

  “How far is this stage going south?” a middle-aged man who introduced himself as Austin Higby inquired when they arrived.

  “All the way to Candelaria. But we weren’t taking passengers from here south.”

  “But you must! I... I am more than willing to pay the fare, whatever it might be.”

  “Mr. Higby,” Jessie explained, “the reason we don’t want to take on passengers is that we are expecting trouble. Highwaymen.”

  He looked up at Ki. “The shotgun guard looks capable. Besides, I am a crack shot and well armed. I need to go south, Miss... ?”

  “Starbuck.”

  “Miss Starbuck. It would be wonderful to accompany two such beautiful women and possibly to be of service.”

  “Suit yourself,” Roxy said. “The fare is seventeen dollars to Candelaria.”

  “Seems a little steep,” Higby said with a frown, “but I will pay it.”

  Roxy took the money and used it to buy them their dinner. As they were leaving, a tough-looking man of Higby’s age said, “I believe I will ride along as far south as the boomtown of Aurora.”

  Roxy explained the danger this time, but the man just shrugged. He patted the gun at his side and smiled. “I’m used to trouble of all sorts. I was once a sheriff and then a range detective. I believe I can be of service, too.” He introduced himself by the name of J. C. Long. “‘Jesus Christ!’ my father cried out when he first saw me. ‘Ugly damn kid, ain’t he!’”

  Long smiled painfully at his own joke because he was exceedingly homely. He was a tall, thin man with a horse-face and slightly crossed eyes. He chewed tobacco and his teeth were badly stained. He smelled as if he had not had a bath in months. Both Jessie and Roxy wished he had not paid the fare but, seeing as how they had allowed Higby the choice of coming or not, they could hardly refuse Mr. Long. Jessie noticed that the two men hardly even nodded a greeting to each other. It seemed obvious that Higby disapproved of this odiferous and slovenly new traveling companion. But no one said anything. J. C. Long was another gun. And that might spell the difference.

  So they careened out of Mormon Station, heading for the towns of Ludwig, Pine Grove, Rockland, and then Aurora and finally Candelaria. At each one, Jessie knew that danger awaited. But somewhere behind them—possibly even in front of them by now
—was a gang of outlaws sent by Orin Grayson to stop this coach and end the game once and for all.

  Between each town lay nothing but empty high desert. There were a thousand places where this coach could be attacked by surprise. Billy alone had covered the route to Candelaria and, because of that, he was probably the most worried of all.

  The night passed slowly, and morning found them bowling into Pine Grove. They were all weary and hungry. Pine Grove was a refreshingly attractive mountain village with a blacksmith shop, assay office, saloons, and board inghouses. A stamp mill ran night and day, and its heavy pounding and steam engines made a frightful racket. Their horses were stumbling with fatigue.

  “These won’t make it to Candelaria,” Jessie said after she disembarked. “We can’t afford to have ourselves jumped by outlaws and have our horses too tired to run. Billy, if you can find another team of animals, I’ll pay for them.”

  J. C. Long interrupted. “Excuse me,” he said loudly in order to be heard over the stamp mill, “but I do know this town and its people. There is a livery down at the other end and I know the owner. I would, for two dollars, introduce you and put in a good word.”

  “Fine,” Jessie said, paying the man. “It will be worth the money.”

  J. C. Long and Billy drove the exhausted team on down the street while Jessie, Ki, Roxy, and Higby went inside a small restaurant to order coffee and breakfast.

  The food was not good but it was filling, if you didn’t mind salt pork and burned flapjacks. They kept expecting Billy and Long to return, but there had obviously been some kind of delay.

  “I had better go see if I can help,” Ki offered, rising from his table.

  “I’m sure they will be right back,” Higby said.

  But Jessie shook her head. “Why don’t you go on and check anyway, Ki. Tell Billy that we have saved him some breakfast and that one cup of this coffee is about all anyone’s stomach lining could stand.”

  Ki arose and left. He moved down the street quickly and, when he came to the livery, he saw their stage standing in front without horses. Ki looked around and saw no one. The corrals were almost empty except for their six lathered horses, which were standing with their heads down drinking fresh water.

  “Billy?”

  There was no answer, so he pulled open the door of the barn and stepped inside. At first he saw nothing, because his eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the dimness.

  “Get him!” a man screamed.

  Ki felt a rush of bodies. He kicked out blindly with his foot. He scored and a man grunted with pain but two more carried him down. The butt of a pistol smashed against Ki’s head. Men pinned him down and their combined weight made it impossible to fight. Ki felt them roll him over on his stomach and then his arms were twisted around behind his back and tied brutally tight with a piece of wire.

  Another fist sent an explosion of fire mushrooming up inside his skull. He lay still and fought to remain conscious.

  “I told you there was twelve thousand dollars in that strongbox! Grayson sent me the telegram and I got it just before they arrived.”

  Ki recognized the voice of J. C. Long. So, he was in with them.

  “What do we do next?”

  Long chuckled. “Now comes the real fun part. We wait until the women come looking for these two and then we grab them and hold them for Lee Ford and his boys to do what they want.”

  “Are the women young and pretty?” a man asked eagerly.

  “They are rosy and ripe!”

  The men laughed obscenely. Ki gritted his teeth and began to struggle ever so slightly with the wire that bound his wrists. He knew everyone’s life depended on his warning Jessie before she and Roxy stepped through that barn door—and that, hands bound or not, he was going to do his best to even the odds.

  Chapter 14

  Jessie had waited long enough. Something was wrong. Over the years, she and Ki had worked so closely and survived so many dangers together that they had each developed almost a sixth sense that warned them whenever something was seriously amiss.

  Jessie arose from her chair and paid the breakfast bill. “They should have been here by now,” she said, not wanting to alarm either Roxy or Higby. “I’ll just go along and pull them back to their breakfast.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Roxy said, knowing Jessie well enough to sense that she was trying to hide her concern.

  Before Jessie could protest, Roxy was on her feet and moving toward the door. Higby started to rise but Jessie said, “No, this place is busy and I paid for those two breakfast plates. If you’ll stay and watch over them I’ll make sure that Ki and Billy eat before we leave. They have to be very hungry.”

  Higby frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Please wait and we’ll all be right back.”

  “Okay,” he said, lighting up a cigar and settling back in his chair. “In that case, I guess I’ll have one more cup of that coffee.”

  Jessie forced herself to smile. “You’ll be sorry, but go ahead.”

  She hurried after Roxy and when she caught up with her outside, she said, “Something is very wrong. Ki would never disappear like this without being in trouble.”

  “Maybe he and Billy had to go riding out in the hills to look at some replacement horses.”

  “That is possible, but I think they’d have ridden by and told us if they’d expected it to take very long.”

  Jessie and Roxy were both traveling in comfort and wore tight Levi‘s, cotton blouses, and soft denim coats. Because they expected trouble from the Sierra Stage Line’s hired outlaws they each wore gunbelts and Colt revolvers on their shapely hips. Jessie was fast and accurate with hers, but Roxy had admitted that she missed as often as not.

  Jessie studied the livery at the end of the street. She could see that the team of horses had been unhitched from the coach and that there was no one in sight. “It looks like a setup to get us in there,” Jessie said. “Why don’t you circle around behind and come in the back way shooting. Just be careful that you don’t accidentally hit Ki or Billy.”

  “What if there isn’t a back door?”

  “There has to be,” Jessie said. “But if not, tear off a board or shoot through a knothole—I don’t expect you to kill anyone. Just get their attention so that when I come in the front door they’ll be turned around and caught by surprise.”

  Roxy nodded and ducked into an alley. Jessie gave her five minutes and then she started for the livery barn. The street was dusty, flies swarmed in the morning sunlight, and a knot of men stopped talking in front of the bank to watch her pass by. One of them whistled softly in admiration and the others chuckled. Jessie did not even hear them.

  Suddenly, she saw Roxy dart behind the barn and, in less than ten seconds, reappear with her thumb upraised. Jessie took that to indicate that there was a back door.

  She stopped at the empty Bonaday coach and peered up into the driver’s boot. The strongbox was gone and that did not surprise her even a little. Jessie waited, pretending confusion. She gawked around as if searching for someone to help her find Ki and Billy. She was just fifteen feet from the huge barn doors and she swore that she could feel men staring at her through the knotholes.

  Gunfire exploded in a short volley behind the barn. Jessie spun around and charged the doors. She grabbed a handle and pulled one open, then hit the ground and released two shots.

  Ki was on his feet and moving. His wrists were bleeding badly from wire cuts and still tied behind his back. Yet his feet were unencumbered and they were at least half of his arsenal in the art of te, or empty-hand fighting. Ki’s foot swept up in a vicious flat-footed kick that landed squarely in the groin of J. C. Long and dropped him. Ki saw Roxy shoot one outlaw point-blank, then disappear just before the other outlaws unleashed a hail of bullets. Ki moved swiftly to the attack. He drove his knee into a second man and, when two others realized that he was among them, Ki used a series of wicked lotus kicks that knocked them unconscious.

 
Jessie’s gun blazed and the last of them standing died. J. C. Long tried to raise his gun, but Ki’s foot broke his wrist and sent his weapon spinning. Long howled in pain and staggered out the front door.

  “Let him go,” Jessie said as she watched the man run down the street.

  Ki revolved in a full circle, his eyes taking in the carnage they had wrought upon this band of outlaw gunmen.

  He looked at Jessie, whose gun was sweeping over the ones that Ki had used his feet to disable. “If you’ll untie me,” Ki said, “I think we had better collect Billy, the strongbox, and the Jumbo payroll and then get out of here fast. From what I overheard, Lee Ford and many more are coming.”

  Roxy stepped into view. Once she was sure that Ki and Jessie were alive and in control, she holstered her gun and hurried to Billy. Without a sound, she began to untie and remove her brother’s gag.

  The gag had been unnecessary. Billy was out cold. “He’s been pistol-whipped from the looks of it,” she said. “Big gash on his head.”

  Jessie quickly unwrapped the wire that bound Ki’s hands behind his back. “Damn them!” she choked, clearly upset by his bloody wrists. “Look what they did to you!”

  “I did that to myself by trying to break free,” he admitted a little sheepishly.

  “That was sure enough foolish!”

  “Even I make mistakes sometimes,” Ki admitted, knowing that she was deeply distressed for the pain he had endured trying to work free in order to save her from harm.

  As soon as his wrists were free, he headed for the corrals to get six fresh horses. Billy was going to be no help at all in harnessing a team to the coach. It was a job that Ki did not look forward to but knew he could accomplish—and fast. J. C. Long or one of these other outlaws who lived to tell the story would let the word out that there was twelve thousand dollars cash in the strongbox. That kind of money might even attract them some unhealthy competition.