The passengers complied and Larry nodded at Lenny. They shot the two men in the back of the head, then the woman and the young boy.
“I don’t reckon any of these folks will be identifyin’ us,” Larry said. “Climb up there and throw down the box.”
Lenny climbed up to the driver’s seat. The driver was slumped over, dead. Lenny pulled the box out and threw it down, where Larry shot off the lock.
“A hunnert and fifty dollars?” Larry said a moment later. “That’s all that was in the damn box?”
“Maybe some of the passengers is carryin’ money,” Lenny suggested.
After rifling through the bodies they came up with another thirty dollars, plus two men’s pocket watches.
“Damn,” Lenny said. “I can’t believe how slim the pickins has become.”
“You know what I think?” Larry asked.
“What’s that?”
“I think we should go south to do our next job.”
“I thought we was goin’ to go up into Montana. Besides, we already done one in Colorado.”
“I’m talkin’ a lot farther south. Maybe all the way to Texas. There for sure ain’t nobody ever heard of us down there. And from all that I have heard, folks has got a lot more money in Texas than almost anywhere else. The pickins won’t be quite so slim.”
“All right. Let’s go,” Lenny said.
Splitting the one hundred and eighty dollars, each of them took a watch. The two brothers rode away as buzzards began to circle over the dead they were leaving behind.
Fifteen minutes later the southbound coach crested a small rise in the road. Ahead of them they saw dozens of circling buzzards.
“Damn, Muley, what do you make of that?” the shotgun guard asked.
The driver stroked the stubble on his chin as he studied the scene, which was about three hundred yards in front of them. “I don’t know, they’s too many of ’em for it to just be a dead coyote or somethin’. I don’t like the looks of it. Not one bit.”
“I don’t, either,” his shotgun guard said.
“Hey, Jack, ain’t one of our passengers a sheriff?”
“Yeah, I think so. But I don’t know where at he’s the sheriff.”
“It don’t matter. Call him out here.” Muley pulled hard on the reins.
Inside the coach, the passengers were unable to hear the conversation between the driver and the guard.
“Why did we stop, Papa?” Timmy asked.
“I don’t know, son. Maybe there’s somethin’ in the road.”
A man’s face appeared in the window. “Ain’t you a sheriff?” the man asked.
“Yes, in Texas. I have no authority here.”
“Yes, sir, I know that. But me ’n the driver have somethin’ we’d like you to take a look at, anyhow.”
“Jason, what is it?” Melissa asked, reaching across to put her hand on his leg apprehensively.
“I don’t know, but I guess I’m about to find out.” Sheriff Jason Bowles climbed out of the coach, then stepped up to the front.
“I got the sheriff, Muley,” the shotgun guard said.
“Sheriff, what do you think about that?” Muley asked, pointing ahead.
Jason didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about. The subject of the driver’s concern was obvious. About a mile ahead of them he could see a swarm of buzzards, some circling, others diving down to the ground to feast upon whatever carrion they had found.
“That’s more than just a dead critter,” Jason replied.
“Yeah, that’s what me ’n Jack was a-thinkin’ too,” Muley replied. “Thing is, we shoulda met Hodge and Brody by now, only we ain’t met ’em.”
“Hodge and Brody?”
“They drive the coach from Cheyenne to Ft. Laramie while we’re comin’ from Ft. Laramie to Cheyenne. Then the next day we each change directions. An’ like I said, normally we woulda met before now.”
“You think somethin’ has happened to’em, Muley?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know, but I got me an awful bad feelin’ about it.”
“Do you have an extra rifle?” Jason asked.
“Yeah, we got one right up here.”
“Why don’t I climb up on top of the coach with the rifle. You can drive ahead real slow, and we’ll be on the lookout for anything that looks unusual.”
“Jason, is everything all right?” Melissa asked, stepping out of the coach.
“I don’t know,” Jason answered truthfully. “You get back inside with Timmy. I’m going to ride on top for a while.”
They drove quickly to cover the mile, and soon the stagecoach came into view.
“Why is it just sittin’ there?” Muley asked.
“Look, there’s a horse down in the team,” Jason said.
“Looks like someone coulda just cut him out and—” Jack stopped in mid-sentence. “Damn, look there. There’s people lyin’ on the ground.”
“That’s your missus and the boy in the coach, ain’t it, Sheriff?” Muley asked. “You might not want them to see this.”
“I don’t see how I’m going to be able to prevent it.”
After some discussion as to how best to handle the situation, they decided to cut the dead horse loose from the coach, then they loaded all the bodies aboard the ill-fated coach. The shotgun guard, Jack, took the reins of what had been the northbound stage, turned it around, and drove it back to Cheyenne, following Muley. Jason rode as shotgun guard in case whoever hit the first stage might return.
Cheyenne
Seeing two coaches rolling into town at the same time was strange enough. Several people noticed that the team pulling the trailing coach was short by one horse, then the more discerning saw that it was being driven by Jack Cumbie, who wasn’t a driver, but a shotgun guard.
Curiosity caused more than one person to follow the two coaches to the depot to get to the bottom of the mystery. By the time the two coaches stopped, at least two dozen people had gathered.
“Good Lord in heaven!” one of the men in the crowd shouted. “That coach is filled with dead people!”
“Will, get the sheriff down here!” Muley called to the manager of the depot as soon as the two coaches rolled to a stop.”
“You didn’t hear a thing?” the sheriff asked.
“Not a thing,” Muley said. “But I wouldn’t expect to. It happened a good two hours before we arrived.”
“How do you know when it happened?”
“Sheriff, I drive this route every day. I know how long it takes to get to Horse Creek Crossing from Cheyenne, and that’s where it happened. More ’n likely they got there by nine o’clock. We got there at eleven and found this.”
“The shotgun guard and the driver were shot from ambush by a .44-.40 rifle,” Jason said. “I found these shell casings at the site. But the passengers,” Jason paused to take a breath. “The passengers were shot from behind at point-blank range.”
The sheriff examined the shell casings. “Good job of investigating.”
“This feller is a sheriff from Texas,” Muley explained.
“I appreciate your help, Sheriff.”
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?” Jason asked.
“I heard about something like this happening over in Nebraska, and down in Colorado, where someone robbed a coach and killed everyone. And now he’s done it here in Wyoming. I’m sure it’s the same person, but nobody seems to have the slightest idea who it is that’s doin’ all this.”
“According to the signs back at the scene, it’s two people, not one person, doing this,” Jason said.
“Yeah, well that makes more sense, anyway. I think it would be hard for one person to do this all alone. I guess I’d better get a couple messages off to Montana and Idaho to be on the lookout for these people. Seems like they only do one, then they move on.”
Chapter Ten
Sky Meadow Ranch
Duff MacCallister had left Scotland after killing the men who had killed his fianc
ée. Shortly after arriving in the United States, he’d moved to Wyoming, where by homesteading and purchasing the adjacent land, he’d started his ranch, which he’d named after Skye McGregor, the woman he had intended to marry. Since leaving Scotland, Duff had been exceptionally successful. Over the years, his ranch had spread out to some 100,000 acres of prime rangeland lying between the Little Bear and Big Bear creeks.
Little and Big Bear creeks were year-round sources of water, and that, plus the good natural grazing land, allowed Duff to try an experiment—introducing Black Angus cattle. He was well familiar with the breed, for he had worked with them in Scotland. His experiment was successful, and today he was running 30,000 head of Black Angus cattle, making his ranch one of the most profitable in all of Wyoming.
Duff’s operation was large enough to employ fourteen men, principal of whom was Elmer Gleason, his ranch foreman. Cowboys had to be jacks of all trades, part carpenter to keep the buildings in shape, part wheelwright to keep the wagons repaired, part blacksmith, and even part veterinarian and doctor, so as to be able to tend to wounds and illnesses of animal and man.
A couple of the cowboys, Woodward and Martin, were replacing shingles on the roof of the barn. The job was hot, and the slant of the roof made it not only uncomfortable, but a little hazardous as well, but it needed to be done.
“How you boys doin’?” Elmer asked.
When the two men looked toward the sound of his voice, they saw that he was standing on the ladder, with just his head and shoulders above the eaves of the roof.
“We’re doin’ fine, Elmer,” Martin said. “Why don’t you crawl on up here ’n look for yourself if you are of a mind?”
“No need,” Elmer said. “I can see it just fine from here. Ain’t no call for me to be crawlin’ around on some roof.”
The two cowboys laughed. “Didn’t think you’d much want to come up,” Martin said.
“Hey, Elmer, once we get this here roof done, what you got ’n mind for us to do next?” Woodward asked.
“What do you mean, what do I have in mind? You two boys is both full growed. Why don’t you just look around and see if you can’t find somethin’ that you know needs a-doin’? You don’t need me to tell you ever’thing that needs done, do you?”
“No, there ain’t no need for you to have to find somethin’ else for us. We can do it our ownself,” Woodward said. “But after we’re done, you don’t mind if we run into town, do you?”
“No, if all your work is done, you can go into town. I don’t mind,” Elmer said. “But try ’n stay out of trouble.”
“What makes you think we’d get into trouble?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because a couple weeks ago Duff had to bail the two of you out of jail.”
“Now wait a minute. That warn’t none of our fault,” Woodward said. “Them two boys from the Runnin’ J is the ones that started it.”
“They ain’t the ones that wound up in jail. You two was. If Duff wasn’t such good friends with Marshal Ferrell, more ’n likely you’d both still be there.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry none ’bout us ’cause we’re not goin’ to do nothin’ that’ll cause any trouble a-tall,” Martin said.
“You better not. If you wind up in jail again, I’m goin’ to tell Duff to just leave you there.”
Elmer climbed back down the ladder and was walking away from the barn when he saw one of the other cowboys coming toward him. There was a worried expression on his face.
“What’s up, Dewey? Why you got such a sour look on your face?” Elmer laughed. “I reckon that’s a sour look. You’re so damn ugly, I can’t always tell.”
“Yeah, like you’re so handsome,” Dewey teased. But the smile left his face rather quickly, and the frown returned. “I was just comin’ to tell you that I found two beeves that has been mostly et by wolves.”
“Damn. Well, I’m not surprised. We’ve had trouble with ’em before.”
“I woulda shot ’em, but they was too damn far off, ’n I couldn’t get no closer without ’em hearin’ me, or smellin’ me, or somethin’.
“How close could you get?”
“I couldn’t get no closer ’n three hunnert yards away. And hell, you can barely see ‘em from that far, let alone shoot one of ’em.”
“All right. Thanks for tellin’ me about it. I’ll let Duff know.”
“Well, yeah, Duff needs to know,” Dewey said. “But other ’n puttin’ out poison, I sure as hell don’t know what he can do about it.”
“Nah, we don’t want to put out poison. Problem with that is, you’ll wind up killin’ critters you don’t have no intention, or need of killin’. Like I said, we’ve had trouble with ’em before, and Duff has shot ’em before.”
“How’s he goin’ to do that? I tol’ you, you can’t get close enough to ’em to shoot.”
“Dewey, you was in town for the shootin’ match last month, same as the rest of us, wasn’t you? You seen Duff hit a bull’s-eye, no bigger ’n a half dollar, from five hunnert yards away, didn’t you?”
Dewey chuckled. “I sure as hell did. And I won me ten bucks, too, bettin’ Wendell Forbis that Duff could do it.”
“And you really think he can’t hit a wolf from three hundred yards?”
“Now that I think about it, I reckon he can.”
Half an hour after Elmer had informed Duff of the wolf problem, he pulled his horse Sky to a halt. Sitting still in the saddle for a moment, he perused the range before him. Except for roundup and cattle drives when he would drive a herd down to the loading pens and railhead in Cheyenne, the cattle were never in one, large herd. Rather, they tended to break off into smaller groups, bound to each other within those groups as if they were family units.
Duff saw one such group gathered near the water and standing together under the shade of a cottonwood tree.
With a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, Duff dismounted, then walked out onto a flat rock overhang. Lifting the binoculars to his eyes, he studied the open range below him. He spotted the pack of wolves at least 500 yards away, sneaking up on the cattle. Had he not been specifically looking for them, he wouldn’t have even seen them.
Duff walked back to his horse, then pulled out the same Creedmoor rifle he had used during the shooting contest in town last month. He had attached a telescopic sight to the weapon.
Returning to the point he had chosen as the lookout, he lay on his stomach and wet his finger to check the windage. Using the scope, he sighted in on the lead wolf.
Duff squeezed the trigger, and the gun boomed and kicked back against his shoulder. One second later the lead wolf was sent sprawling by the impact of the heavy bullet. A tenth of a second after the strike of the bullet, the sound of the shot reached the remaining pack, but it was so far away that they were unable to connect that sound to what happened to the leader of the pack.
A second shot killed a second wolf, and the pack turned and ran away. Duff remounted and started toward the retreating wolves. The advantage was his. He was so far away the wolves didn’t even know he was after them. He urged Sky into a ground-eating gallop, and after a few minutes the wolves were once again within range. He didn’t even dismount, but shot from the saddle, killing two more.
It took him less than half an hour to kill every wolf in the pack. When he started back, he saw that the buzzards had already started on the first ones he had killed. He would send some men out to take care of the carcasses, but there were enough buzzards that he knew there would be little left for them to bury.
“I told you,” Martin said when Duff came riding back. “I told you Mr. MacCallister would take care of ’em.”
“How do you know he did?”
“He’s back, ain’t he?”
“I’ve got somethin’ to ask you,” Elmer said later that same afternoon, as the two of them were having drinks at Fiddlers’ Green. “Are you ever goin’ to marry, Miss Parker?”
“Now why do you
ask, Elmer? Are you Megan’s father?”
Elmer chuckled. “No, I ain’t her father, though I’d be proud to be. She’s one fine woman, one of the finest women I’ve ever knowed. I was just wonderin’ ’bout whether or not you’re goin’ to marry her, is all.”
“Well, you can just keep on wondering, because the truth is, I am still wondering myself.”
“Wonderin’ what? If she’ll have you?”
“Among other things.”
“Ha! She’ll have you all right.”
“How do you know that? It seems to me like she is pretty satisfied running her own business. Why would she want to get hooked up with me?”
Elmer chuckled. “Well, now, you got me on that one, Duff. I don’t have no idea in the world why she, or any woman, would be wantin’ to marry up with someone like you. But Vi tells me that she thinks Miss Parker would marry you iffen you was to ever ask her. And I put a lot of store in what Vi says ’cause she’s one smart woman.”
“Yes, she is. And that brings up my question. Why haven’t you married Vi?”
“I ain’t never asked her. In my case, it ain’t somethin’ I wonder about. I know she won’t have me,” Elmer replied. “I’m too damn old and too set in my ways. Besides which, if I was ever goin’ to get married, other than Injun married, I woulda married Janey Jensen.”
“Jensen?”
“Yeah. Most of the time I knowed her, she told me her name was Abbigail Fontaine. It warn’t until we was just about to part company that she told me her real name was Janey Jensen. Turned out she was sister to a feller I rode some with, back durin’ the war. Someone you know.”
“Elmer, are you talking about Smoke Jensen?”
“Yeah, Smoke Jensen is exactly who I’m talkin’ about. Abbigail Fontaine, whose real name I done told you was Janey Jensen, was Smoke’s sister. All the time I knowed her, she was a fancy woman, but that don’t make no never mind to me. I always thought she was a good woman.”
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