by Cherie Shaw
“Nonsense, Logan. We’re hardy folks, and have been in cold weather and snow before.” Claude chuckled again, “I believe Olivia and Amelia wouldn’t have it any different, and if they ever get back to London, they wouldn’t change the memory of this excursion for all the tea in China.”
“You think you all will be going back to England soon then?” Logan asked hesitantly.
“As for me, son……..and Amelia, who is now my wife, of course we may eventually return, but I believe I’ll stay at the ‘Triple-B’ for awhile. When we return in the spring, that is. As for my niece, Olivia, well I’m not sure, but I feel she just may decide that she has some sort of a future here in this new land.” Claude turned to give Logan a look, with one eyebrow raised, questioningly.
Logan flushed, and was quiet a few moments, then quickly changed the subject, saying, “I’m betting that the town of Comfort has grown some, and still would have a stage line. The last time I went through there, the place was so small, that if you blinked, you’d ride on by without seeing it. But there was, at that time, always a pot of hot stew kept on the fire for any weary traveler, along with feed for your horse and a bed for the night. The old timer, who started the place, was a right nice fella, jolly and friendly. Wonder what happened to him.” Logan finished, and then was silent.
“When we get there, we’ll be ready to stop, Logan. From what the driver said, we’ll have snow any day now.” Claude offered.
Logan assured, “I wouldn’t worry too much, Claude. Yes, it’s a frosty wind, but I’ve seen it like this before in this part of the country. Sometimes we have a couple weeks before bad weather really sets in.”
“I’ve been in blizzards before, Logan, and I’m still here, and going strong. We’ll make it to your pa’s place, and have time to spare. Nothing could stop this from being the adventure of a lifetime.” Claude chuckled again. “Maybe we should continue this conversation another day. I believe we’ve lagged quite a ways behind the stage, and it seems they are pulling into some sort of settlement, to change the team.”
“Right you are, Claude. Hope they’re serving some hot food too, up there ahead.”
Just then, they heard hoof beats far back on the trail. Looking back, they saw a small troop of soldiers, quite a ways in the distance, but definitely trailing the stage. Logan couldn’t make out who was in the lead, but from the way the Lieutenant proudly sat his horse, he could only guess who it was. Logan scowled. “Just what is that young pup up to?” He asked, as he continued scowling.
Claude began chuckling softly to himself, then murmured, “Now, this excursion is becoming more interesting by the moment.”
Neither Logan nor Claude noticed the five riders, who were riding down a distant hill, to pull up in a thick grove of trees, behind the long weathered building of the stage stop.
The frigid wind picked up, blowing hard against the stagecoach, as it pulled to a screeching halt in front of the building. Black smoke poured from the stone chimney of the old building, and a young lad, bundled up from head to toe, began unhitching the tired team. The passengers flung open the door of the stage, and began hurrying toward the building, and the warmth inside.
Logan and Claude rode up to the hitching rail, dismounted, tied the reins with a slipknot, then joined the passengers, as they went inside the building.
Beef and beans, along with homemade biscuits, was the menu for the day, and everyone jokingly agreed that it was a daily menu, take it or leave it. They took it.
Seated on benches, at a long rough-hewn wooden table, the travelers were halfway through their meal, when they were startled by the door suddenly opening. Five dirty unshaven and rough appearing men burst into the way station, bringing with them an icy chill, and causing the fire in the fireplace to crackle, sending sparks into the air.
Standing behind the bar, the ruddy-complexioned proprietor of the place, eyed the newcomers, and said, “Howdy, folks. Passin’ through?” The change in his tone of voice, gave Logan pause to sit up and take notice.
He watched, as did the others at the table, as the older one of the group answered slowly, “We never been known to pass through anywheres special, so you just clam up, an’ pour us some vittles. Me an’ my boys are hungry enough to eat a bear. An’ don’t get any big ideas either.”
“What do you mean by that?” The barkeep asked hesitantly.
The stranger didn’t answer, only motioned to the younger ruffians, who at once began piling onto a couple of benches at another table.
“I’ll get your food, folks, an’ welcome.” The proprietor began grabbing dishes from shelves behind the counter, glancing over his shoulder nervously, in the process.
Logan looked over at Olivia, and noticed she was looking down at her plate, eating slowly with a slight flush to her cheeks. Glancing back at the group at the other table, he noticed a silly grin on the faces of the younger men. They were all four staring right at Olivia. Logan felt a slow rage starting deep inside, as he half raised from his seat, then caught himself. With the womenfolks close by, this wouldn’t be the proper time to start a ruckus. He held in his anger, and glanced over at Olivia’s uncle.
Seeing Claude’s expression, he knew he’d never seen the older man with such a hardened look, his every nerve tensed, and poised as a mountain lion ready to pounce. Logan hadn’t paid much attention to the few remaining travelers at the table, but now he did. Several had previously left the stage, at various stops along the way.
Across the table from him sat the lanky cowhand, who had at first been sleeping among the baggage atop the vehicle, but later had wrapped himself around the rear seat, and had been sleeping most of the way since. He was staring at the strangers at the other table also. No hesitancy about this young cowhand. He was poised and ready, and Logan had the feeling this young cowboy would be the first to tackle all five ruffians singlehanded, if necessary. He was a young man with self control, and probably would never begin any kind of a fracas, but would be the first to step in if needed. He reminded Logan of himself in his youth. Logan spoke softly to Claude, low enough that the others couldn’t make out what he was saying, “Claude, I don’t think that bunch would start anything in here, but just in case, are you ready?”
“I’m always ready, son. Always.” He chuckled softly, then continued in a whisper, “I’ve fought tougher men than these, on the high seas, and pirates as well. These ruffians could be chewed up and swallowed easily by the pirates that haunt the oceans, far and wide. I’ve seen them all, and would likely have handled all five of these chaps, in my younger days, and had strength to spare.”
After giving a soft laugh, Logan answered, “I don’t believe they care much for the odds anyway, Claude.” And he motioned towards the young cowhand, then to the driver, and his shotgun partner, who were sitting at a table in a far unlit corner of the room. .
There was an older white-haired rancher with the group also, whom Logan had noticed, carried a bulging money belt, inside his heavy coat, and strapped around his waist. The rancher was hurriedly shoveling food into his mouth, glancing about nervously in the process. Logan felt the rancher had probably sold a herd of cattle at the railhead in Dodge, and was now on his way back to his home ranch, wherever that was.
The only other member of the group was a tough looking man, wearing a gray tailored, well-worn, suit. This gent sat at the far end of their table, a bit away from the others in the group, an unreadable expression on his face. He hadn’t been very friendly during the trip, though was quiet and well-mannered, but Logan had seen the edges of a silver star pinned to the man’s vest beneath his coat, and immediately taken him to be a U.S. Marshal. No nonsense about this fellow, and whatever mission he was on, he wasn’t about to say.
At the table where the ruffians were seated, the rough older one of the group was admonishing the younger four with a demanding harsh tone of voice, “Mind your manners, boys. You wasn’t brung up to stare at decent womenfolk. We come in here peaceful like…..to eat. Remember wh
at I told you.”
“Shore, pa.” They mumbled, then began shoveling in the food.
Not much was said from then on, but Logan and Claude gave each other a look, that spoke louder than words, and at the same time they noticed the others at their table were quietly finishing their meals, though not missing a thing. The proprietor behind the bar was overly busy wiping the bar clean for the tenth time.
About a mile back, and off the trail, the small Cavalry troop of ten soldiers, led by Lieutenant Harrigan, were seated around a small blazing campfire, eating their small rations off tin plates. Sergeant O’Brien, the older trusted right-hand man of Colonel Winters, and whom Winters had sent to watch over Harrigan, had joined up with the troop about ten miles back down the trail and had given the young Lieutenant further orders from the Colonel. The Lieutenant hadn’t liked these orders. With the arrival of the sergeant, he’d hoped that he was being sent back to the Fort. These new instructions had ordered him to lead the troop all the way to Buffalo, then return. Harrigan had made it known that he was angry with the new orders, and made sure O’Brien felt his anger.
“I’m just a messenger, Lieutenant……..sir.” O’Brien had informed the young officer, “Furthermore, my orders are to stay with your troop….all…..the…..way.” He’d strung out the words. O’Brien was a tough experienced military man and knew the Colonel trusted him to see to the safety of the passengers on the stagecoach, along with the safe return of the Cavalry. He intended to do just that, regardless of the young greenhorn Lieutenant’s personal feelings.
The sergeant walked over to the fire, and picked up the blackened pot of steaming coffee, poured himself a cup, took a sip, then sat on a boulder to enjoy his hot drink. They still had a long ways to go, and the weather was turning icy cold. Well, the sergeant had been in worse. As he drank from the tin cup, he scanned the distance, and wondered if the young Lieutenant had noticed the five riders come down from the hills a ways off. They had ridden in the direction of the way station, where the stagecoach had stopped to change teams and probably for a quick lunch. Lieutenant Harrigan had been instructed by the Colonel to watch out for a group of strange riders in the area, as there was possibility of an outlaw gang from the Midwest. Sergeant O’Brien sincerely doubted the young officer had his mind on any such thing.
Back in the way station, the five men had finished wolfing down their food, then demanded a bottle of whiskey for the trail. After grudgingly paying, they headed for the door. The "boys" gave one last leer in Olivia’s direction before shuffling out of the building. The wind was howling outside, with a definite frost to the air.
The proprietor took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then approached the table, “You folks take care. I don’t think you’ve seen the last of that bunch.” He warned.
Claude answered, putting on his best British accent, “I say, old chap, you really think those men may try to assault us on the trail?” Olivia almost choked on her tea that she’d just taken a swallow of. 'That old rascal uncle of mine,' she thought. 'Like he’s ever been afraid of anything in all his years.'
Logan chuckled. “Well, I for one am shaking in my boots. How about the rest of you men?” He asked, looking first at the young cowboy, then at the older man with the star on his vest, sitting at the end of the table, a Winchester close at hand. Neither one answered, though nodding, gave a slight grin.
The driver and his shotgun partner had walked up to their table just then. “Are you folks ready to roll?" asked the driver, "I haven’t ketched me a coyote for awhile and weather’s turnin’ almost too cold to tangle with one.”
Logan said, “We spotted a small troop of Calvary on our back trail, about a mile back. Guess that young newly commissioned Lieutenant can protect us from the ‘bad guys’.” Chuckling, they donned coats, hats, checked the loads in their guns, then walked over to look out the small front window, first wiping off the steam coating the window glass. They couldn’t see where the five riders had gone, but noted that the stage had been pulled up close by with a fresh team.
“What do you think of that bunch, Logan?” Claude asked seriously.
“No telling what they’re doing in this part of the country, but they do have the appearance of a small gang of thieves, though not the usual species from around here.” Logan hesitated, then continued, “Most of our outlaw gangs, here in the west, have certain codes they live by. Believe it or not, Claude, some are downright honorable men, and wouldn’t allow a bunch like that into their hideouts. Some are loners, quiet for the most part, and keep to themselves, having sort of a mutual respect for one another, strange as it may seem. Ever hear of honor among thieves?”
Claude chuckled, “Western chivalry? Yes, I have heard of it.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder at the driver and his companion, and noted that the two were conversing in low tones. He could only guess the topic of their conversation.
After thanking the proprietor for his hospitality, they left the warmth of the Way Station to brave the frigid weather of the Wyoming plains. With the ladies safely inside the coach, blankets tucked warmly around them, Logan and Claude stepped into their saddles, choosing to ride outside the coach again, as did the young cowhand who had saddled an extra horse, promising to send it back after the first spring thaw.
He’d said his name was Harry, and he rode for a cow spread north of Buffalo. He wore two six-guns that appeared to have settled a few disagreements. No further questions were asked of him. The man with the star on his vest now sat in the rear seat, appearing to be asleep.
Inside the coach, Olivia, turning to her Aunt Amelia, said, “Those men back there certainly gave me the chills.”
“I know, Olivia dear. At one point I feared our friend, Logan, was about to smash their faces in, the way they were leering at you. If I hadn’t left my umbrella in the coach, I would have brained those fresh young chaps.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have it with you, Auntie dear. I don’t think they would have taken it lightly, as our friend Henry did. I just hope they don’t accost us on the trail.”
“We’re well protected, dear. Your uncle told me that Logan spotted a small troop of Calvary back a ways on the trail. He thinks they may be following us for protection in case of trouble.”
“Well, if that fresh young Lieutenant is leading them, let the Lord be with us. Thankfully we can well depend on our own men for protection. I don’t believe that officer is qualified for anything more than strutting around like a peacock.” Olivia retorted.
“You are probably right dear.” Amelia laughed, lightening the moment, then offered, “However, I did note some rather rough appearing men at the fort. I only hope he has some of them with him. Besides there is still the danger of an Indian attack. Mercy, what has that uncle of yours gotten us into?”
“Auntie dear, you willingly sailed to this wonderful country, then married my uncle. So don’t complain to me.” Olivia retorted, as she pulled a book of poetry from her carpetbag, then glanced out the frosty window to note the tall figures of Logan and her uncle riding next to the stage. She sighed deeply, then began reading.
Amelia was still chattering, “Well, if I’d listened to my own instincts, I would have stayed safely at the Manor.”
“Sure you would have, dear, with uncle and me over here missing you terribly. Of course, and pigs fly too.” Olivia put her attention to reading poetry, though her thoughts were with the tall rider on the sturdy roan gelding.
Logan grinned and waved a gloved hand at Olivia when he saw her take a quick peek through the steamed window glass. She quickly looked away. He then rode up to the front of the stage, and spoke to the driver, “Morgan, have you had any trouble lately going through that pass up ahead?”
“Not for a couple years, Logan. But I been thinkin’ that bunch back there at the stage stop ain’t from these parts, so they just might feel lucky.” He chuckled, “There’s only five of ‘em, unless they have a few more waitin’ in them hills, but it don’t seem like
ly in this weather,……you never know though. We sure ain’t carryin’ no gold, nor payroll for the mines. Hell, no matter, five ain’t much more’n a handful of ants. We can scatter that bunch in no time at all. Could be they spotted the money belt that rancher inside the stage is carryin’. He come all the way from the railhead up at Dodge, an’ they could have tailed ‘im from there, maybe waitin’ ‘til we get to a sparsely populated area. I’m thinkin’, like you, the pass up ahead.”
Logan nodded, “Exactly. If they plan to try anything at all, it would be at the pass. Well, we’ll keep our eyes open. Take care, old timer.” Logan slowed down for Claude to catch up to him, then the two of them began scanning the low hills off in the distance. Texas Jake Morgan slowed the team to a trot, saving the horses’ energy for a possible run through the narrow opening of the rocky pass up ahead.
A few minutes later, they were about to enter the pass and the team was picking up speed, as the report of a rifle shot sounded from high up on a rocky ledge overlooking the pass, then echoing off the cliffs. The bullet whizzed past the head of the shotgun rider, Danny Longtree, who then fiercely grabbed his rifle, and began firing away towards the spot where the single shot had been fired from.