Bearing in mind the treatment Butch and Frank had received at the hands of the banker Joe rode around to the rear of the mansion seeking some access to the house.
A sturdy wooden fence constructed from untrimmed logs driven into the dirt kept the riff-raff from invading the grounds. Joe was studying this barricade when he heard hoof beats. He loosened his Colt in the holster but there was no need for alarm. The horsemen were Butch and Frank arriving as arranged.
‘How the hell we gonna get over that,’ Joe asked indicating the fence.
Edging his mount close Butch loosed his rope and with no great effort lassoed an upright. Wrapping the rope around his saddle horn the cowboy urged his horse away from the fence. The rope tightened then with a terrific groan a whole section gave way. Joe was staring with admiration at the destruction.
‘Well, I’ll be… that’s one way of gaining unlawful entry.’
Once inside the grounds they dismounted and tethered their horses in the trees well out of sight of the house. Joe unlimbered the shotgun he had taken from the way station.
‘You say those fellas threw down on you with shotguns. Let’s see how they like this one pointed in their direction.’
Cautiously they moved out and advanced through the shrubbery up towards the house. No one challenged them and in a short time they were at the back porch.
‘Frank, you stay out here and watch for trouble while Butch and I go inside. If you hear shooting come running.’
Butch and Joe looked at each other and nodded. Joe kicked in the back door and went through the opening at a run. Butch dodged inside behind Joe and they found themselves in a passageway that ran towards the front of the house.
20.
‘Check each door as we go,’ Joe instructed. ‘You take the right side and I’ll take the left.’
Before they had advanced very far a door opened and the liveried servant who had slammed the front door on Butch and Frank on their first visit stood gawking at the two intruders.
‘Ah, my fine friend,’ the cowboy called, as he covered the man with his Colt. ‘Make a false move and I’ll blow your goddamned head off. Where is your master, Mr Big Shot Miller?’
The man stood very still as he answered.
‘I… I… he’s not here.’
Joe pushed past the man and stepped inside. The room was furnished as a study with a desk and bookshelves lining the walls. On the desk stood a decanter with amber liquid and a partially filled glass. Butch, none too gently, pushed the servant into the room.
‘Looks like our friend here was helping himself to the brandy,’ Joe said sniffing at the glass.
He tossed off the contents.
‘Now that is what I call brandy. Get some more glasses.’
Trembling with fear the man did as instructed and filled the tumblers.
‘Butch, find out what you can from this dressed up lackey while I take this drink out to Frank.’
The cowboy took a long pull at his glass before turning to the servant.
‘First of, my friend, I had a fine pair of Remington pistols that have sentimental value. I want them back.’
‘All guns are kept in the gunroom.’
Butch held up his glass and the servant obediently refilled it. Joe came back and also had a refill.
‘He’s got the guns they took from Frank and me in the gunroom. I want my stuff back.’
‘Right, but first we need to know who all is here and when Miller is expected back.’
Joe pushed the shotgun under the servant’s chin.
‘I must tell you this thing has a hair trigger. It goes off if it senses a lie forming in any deceitful throat. Now who else is in the house and where is your master?’
There was a look of abject terror on the man’s face as he stared into the big man’s grim face.
‘Master is down at the bank. He always goes there. The servants look after everything. We ain’t gonna cause you no bother, mister.’
‘Too right, my friend, any bother will get you good and dead.’
There was a noise at the door and the two intruders whirled with their weapons pointing at Frank as he stood on the entrance with an empty glass.
‘I was hoping for some more of that there brandy.’
‘Goddamn it Frank, you’re supposed to be on lookout,’ Joe fulminated.
‘Where’s the kitchen?’ Butch interjected as he filled up his tumbler from the decanter now almost empty. ‘And find us some more of this here brandy.’
‘The kitchen,’ Joe said and frowned at his friend.
‘Hell’s bell, Joe, I can’t remember the last time I ate.’
‘Goddamn thinking of your belly again. Any moment now, Miller will be about our necks with half the town behind him.’
While they argued the servant produced two bottles of brandy.
‘Here,’ Joe handed one of the bottles to Frank. ‘Now get out there and keep a watch.’
A row of black faces turned to the door as Joe and Butch ushered in the fancy dressed servant. Three men and a couple of women were sitting at a loaded table. The smell of cooking filled the spacious kitchen.
‘Just in time for dinner,’ Joe chuckled, as he sauntered over to the table and helped himself to a cut of beef.
‘You’re Jessica’s friends.’
Butch stared at the young girl who spoken.
‘Jessica! Sure thing, how come you know Jessica?’
‘She’s upstairs locked in one of the rooms. Master Miller he had her put there.’
Butch turned and hit the liveried servant a clout on the side of the head with his pistol.
‘You sonofabitch,’ he roared. ‘You weren’t gonna tell us about Jessica.’
The man staggered back from the irate cowboy rubbing at his injured head.
‘Master, I was just about to tell you about the girl,’ he whined. ‘Don’t hit me no more.’
Butch shoved the Colt into the man’s midriff.
‘You take me this minute to that room. Any more lies and I’ll blow a hole in your guts and watch you expire. Joe, you see what else you can find out from these people. Don’t go easy on them, neither. Some of them held Frank and me at gunpoint and handed us over to that sheriff. Just shoot anyone that looks like trouble.’
Butch gripped the servant he had hit and pushed him roughly towards the door. As they left Joe pointed his shotgun at the diners.
‘I’m gonna ask questions. You tell me what I want to know and you might just live to carry on serving your master.’
Upstairs, the frightened manservant led Butch to a bedroom door. He produced a key and unlocking the door stepped aside for Butch to precede him. Butch grinned.
‘You think I’m that stupid?’
He grabbed the man’s shoulder and pushed him roughly ahead of him. There was a startled yelp and the man collapsed on to the carpeted floor. Broken crockery showered to the carpet and Jessica darted into the doorway. She pulled up short as she saw Butch. In her hand was the handle of a water jug, which was all that remained of the vessel she had used to crown the servant.
‘You!’
Butch was grinning at her.
‘That was a pretty good strike. Good job I let him go first.’
He stepped inside and dragged the groaning man clear of the door.
‘We’ll lock the sonofabitch in here and then we can join Joe downstairs.’
They found Joe sitting at the dining table with a plate of meat and a glass of brandy in front of him. Beside him was propped his shotgun.
‘Jessica.’
Joe waved expansively around the table.
‘Grab yourself a seat and have a bite to eat. Have I got a curious tale to relate?’
Shaking her head in bewilderment the girl did as she was told and sat while Ruth, the young woman who had befriended her, served her up with a glass of milk and a plate heaped with sliced meats. All this time the members of the staff sat around the table in frightened silence.
‘I think
I got the right of it,’ Joe continued when both Jessica and Butch were seated at the table and had been served. ‘A banker from back east arrived at the house. Then the gossip is that he and Miller’s wife absconded it on that stage we saw at Empire Fastness. From what I can gather this banker fella was transferring funds to the bank in Brimingdam. As we know, the banker never made it. The stage was ambushed at Empire Fastness Way Station and everyone killed. The strange thing is that one person survived that raid.’
Joe paused and took a gulp of brandy.
‘Who?’ Butch snapped. ‘For God’s sake tell us who!’
‘Mrs Miller, that banker’s wife. From what I can gather the fellas we been tracking brought her back.’
‘One of us ought to relieve Frank while we tell him of this,’ Butch mumbled indistinctly as he crammed meat into his mouth. ‘Maybe he can make sense of it all. Sure baffles me.’
‘I say we gather our weapons and stock up on food and then get as far away from this place as possible.’
There was a flurry of shots from the front of the house as Joe spoke. The three friends looked at each other with alarm.
‘It’s from out front. Frank must be in trouble.’
Joe grabbed up his shotgun and ran from the kitchen. He paused and flattened against the wall. Cautiously he pointed the shotgun towards the front door. The door was open and Frank was lying in the hallway cursing roundly with blood welling up from a wound in his side.
21.
Taking in the situation Joe fired both barrels of his shotgun through the open doorway to discourage anyone from invading the house. There was a yell from outside and bullets poured into the hallway. Crawling forward, Joe gripped Frank by his shoulder and dragged him from the open door. The old timer grunted as another bullet hit him in the leg. In the hall behind Joe, Butch opened up with his Colt, shooting through the open front door.
‘How is Frank?’ he yelled at Joe.
‘Been hit a couple of times. We gotta get him outa here.’
‘How are you old timer?’
‘I bin worse. Don’t worry about me. You lot light outa here. Leave me. I’ll stand them off while you get out the back.’
‘No way old man. You’re coming with us,’ Butch replied. ‘I’ve sent Jessica to recover our guns. Let’s drag this old coot back from the doorway.’
Bullets were still coming into the hall but the partners kept low and most of the lead passed harmlessly overhead. They pulled the wounded man in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Goddamn it, leave me alone and stop dragging me like a roped steer.’
Ignoring the wounded man’s pleas they managed to get him inside the kitchen. The servants were lying on the floor looking more scared that ever. Joe grabbed some cloths hanging by the big stove and tied these round the wounds.
‘That should stem the bleeding till we get him to safety.’
Jessica and the young black girl arrived loaded down with guns and ammunition.
‘Well done,’ Joe applauded the girls. ‘We’ll get out the back and try and make it to the horses. We may have to shoot our way out.’
In spite of his protests the big man tugged Frank to his feet.
‘Listen old-timer, we can’t leave you here. They’re liable to hang you for those killings they want to pin on us. Let’s go!’
Butch had strapped Sheriff Patterson’s Remington pistols around his waist. The cowboy had become quite attached to the matched pistols and was glad to have them in his possession once more. He felt he could face anything armed with those weapons.
Jessica followed the men carrying a rifle in each hand. As well as giving Butch back his prized weapons she also handed him a Remington rifle. He grinned at her.
‘Just call me the Remington Kid.’
At the rear door Joe supported the wounded Frank while Butch poked the door open with his rifle. Shots hammered into the doorway.
‘Goddamn it,’ Butch cursed.
He laid the rifle on the floor and stepped close to the open door. Bullets were splintering chips of wood from the frame. Butch drew the twin pistols and dropping to one knee he risked a look outside. The pistols bucked in his hands as he picked targets and emptied both pistols at the men crouching on the lawn outside. There were screams and curses and the firing from outside ceased abruptly. Butch rammed his empty weapons back in the holsters and grabbed up the rifle. With a sudden leap he was outside on the back porch and taking pot shots at the fleeing men.
‘Come on, fellas,’ he called. ‘We got them on the run.’
Jessica came first with Joe following – the big man almost carrying the groaning Frank.
‘Keep going. I’ll cover you.’
Jessica followed Joe and Frank. Behind them came, Butch firing off an occasional round in an attempt to keep their attackers from rallying. They made it to the shrubbery without further injury.
‘Keep going. Keep going,’ Butch urged his companions.
They weren’t likely to hesitate now that they were out of the house and had a chance to reach their mounts. Then were in amongst the trees and could see the horses where they had left them.
‘Can you ride, Frank?’
‘Just get me on top of that nag and I’ll hang on,’ Frank said through gritted teeth.
Miller’s mansion was on the outskirts of the town and they rode hard for open country. A few desultory shots winged their way when they broke cover but soon they left the buildings behind. As they hit open country they were riding as fast as possible with a wounded Frank grimly gripping the reins and slumped over the neck of his mount. The ground was gradually rising and they saw the hills in the distance.
‘We’ll head for those hills,’ Joe called. ‘I reckon they’ll get a posse together and come after us. We’ll have to ride as long as Frank can keep up.’
There was no response from the old man. Glancing at him Joe could see the lines of pain deep etched on his features. His hands looked as bloodless as peeled twigs where they clasped the reins in a deathlike grip.
‘Goddamn that Miller to hell and back,’ the big man swore under his breath.
The wounded man needed a sawbones and care and rest. Instead he was on the back of a horse riding for the hills. Joe kept glancing back expecting to see a band of horsemen in pursuit.
They rode hard for an hour before easing off to let the horses recover. There was still no sign of the posse but they knew there would be men after them - men with rifles and well-rested horses.
Miller would feed the posse lies about the people they were after. He would fire them up by telling them of the desperate men that had murdered the inhabitants at the way station and robbed and killed the passengers and crew of the stagecoach.
Joe looked round at the little band. Butch was riding steady, keeping his eyes to the front, alert to any danger. Jessica rode with a determined expression. Frank was clutching his blood-soaked reins. The big man sighed deeply.
A few weeks ago he had been a simple carpenter prepared to work hard and carve out a future for his family in the West. Circumstances had dictated differently. A thief had purloined his tools. The game of cards that had been meant to regain the means to purchase more tools had resulted in him becoming a killer, facing a ten-year prison sentence. Now he was riding for his life with a badly wounded man and a young girl.
He glanced across at Butch. At times thoughtless and reckless, nevertheless, he reflected, when the going got tough the cowboy was as reliable as a rock in a sea of troubles.
22.
They were at least half an hour’s riding from the beginning of the foothills before they saw any signs of pursuit.
‘Looks like they got the posse after us,’ Butch called.
The riders turned and watched the dust cloud. A goodly part of the day had passed and shadows were growing longer.
‘Caves… there’s caves in those hills,’ Frank panted. ‘We find a cave and mebby hole up.’
They turned their eyes front and concentrated on
riding. From time to time one of the fugitives would glance behind. The dust cloud following them did not seem to get any closer but they drew no comfort from that.
For all of them it was a fraught situation. A posse of armed men was pursuing them. None of them had been chased like this before. If they caught them up there would be shooting. The men after them had no qualms about throwing down on Frank as he stood lookout back at Miller’s mansion. Now that the townsfolk had drawn blood they would be after more.
The little group kept on riding. Each of them was haunted by the fear of the inevitable showdown that would ensue should they be overtaken. They also realised they were keeping their speed down to the slowest rider. Frank must have recognised this for he urged them to leave him and ride on without him.
‘When you reach the hills keep bending to the right,’ he croaked. ‘You’ll come across some old mine workings. There’s a hill behind that’s got caves. Just go on ahead and save yourselves.’
‘We ain’t gonna abandon you, old timer. We all stick together,’ Butch asserted. ‘We’ll outrun those galoots. Just you hang on in there.’
Shortly after that they hit a canyon and rode through tall pines, the air feeling cold as daylight shortened. The smell of pine and dust lingered in the atmosphere. Eventually they began to see waste heaps from the mines.
Nature had been hard at work trying to cover over the scars inflicted on these hills and canyons. Weeds and immature saplings had thrust up from the ramparts of the spoil heaps - beginning to re-establish the more natural garment of greenery.
‘Keep going’, Frank whispered feebly, as he saw where they had arrived. ‘Beyond that hogback is another hill. That’s where the caves are at.’
Gaping wounds had been bored into the hills where men had grubbed for silver now long since run out. They rode past the ugly workings that reminded Joe of some old burial place. He imagined the dark holes bored into the solid rock held the remains of an older race. Then once more they were riding through a forest of pines and aspens. Here and there a few giant walnut trees towered above their smaller woodland brothers.
Brothers in Arms Page 9