Bloody Sunday (A John Stone Western--Book 11)

by Len Levinson

  The barricades drew closer, and Mulgrave could see faces beneath the hats of the defenders., His eyes widened at the sight of John Stone holding a lump of something in his hand. Then he spotted a weird shiny contraption on hoop wheels. “What the hell’s that?” he wondered aloud as his horse rapidly closed the distance to the barricades.

  “Fire!” hollered John Stone.

  A cowboy turned the crank of the Gatling gun, and .557 caliber bullets exploded out the spinning barrels. Reynolds’s cowboys hurled Ketcham grenades, and Mulgrave passed from gloating confidence to abject terror in a split second. Swarms of bullets whizzed past his ears, and strange dark objects sailed toward him. He tried to scream, but only a choked gasp escaped his throat.

  His gunfighters saw the odds turn drastically against them, but too late to turn back. In their own venal way, they were warriors too. Stolney saw Mulgrave’s indecision and took command. “Forward!” He stood in his stirrups as his horse prepared to leap the barricades.

  Hellish concussions blew apart onrushing horses and gun-fighters. Arms, legs, and heads flew through the air, guts squished on the ground, half the attackers wiped out in a few brief earthshaking seconds. Terrified horses miraculously alive could only go in one direction—over the barricades. Their massive muscles contracted, and the gunfighters vaulted into the air, as Reynolds’s cowboys maintained fire discipline at close range.

  A burst of Gatling bullets struck Mulgrave’s horse in the chest. The courageous animal suddenly went limp beneath Mulgrave, who struggled to remove his boots from the stirrups. The horse struck the ground and rolled, Mulgrave was thrown into the air and landed on the far side of an overturned wagon.

  The wind knocked out of him, he lay still on the ground, listening to fierce combat behind him. A tremendous cloud of gunsmoke rose in the air as gunfighters and cowboys fought at close range.

  Mulgrave noticed a wheelchaired man behind a window of the house. At least I can kill that son of a bitch, he thought. On his hands and knees, Mulgrave began his long sinister crawl toward the back door.

  ~*~

  A battle raged hand to hand for possession of the Gatling gun as men fired six-guns and hacked each other with knives, barely able to tell friend from foe in the billowing dust and gunsmoke. It was blood and guts, winner take all.

  Stone spun and shot a bullet into a gunfighter’s chest, then dodged and put a hunk of lead between the eyes of another. Explosions thundered around Stone as he stayed in motion, triggering quickly, bringing down hired guns. The plains of Woodlawn County disappeared, and he was at Gettysburg, a young cavalry officer dismounted, fighting for his life among enemy infantry. The main thing is don’t be somebody’s stationary target.

  He ducked, whirled, and found himself facing two gun-fighters aiming their pistols at him. He dived to the side, and bullets pierced the air where he’d been standing. Taking quick aim, he fired. Click! His left Colt empty, his right one fired. The recoil sent his hand flying upward, and lead plucked the gut of one gunfighter.

  But the other was Stolney, who pulled his trigger. His Remington detonated, and Stone felt a flash of heat across the bridge of his nose. He turned toward Stolney and fired his right Colt. Click! Both guns empty, no time to reload, he dived toward the new ramrod of the Lazy Y, who triggered at Stone point-blank.

  Stone realized his life had come to an end. He sighed and surrendered to the great beyond. Click. Stolney’s gun empty too, the gunfighter watched in horror as big John Stone crashed into him.

  It was like being buried beneath a small building. Stolney’s lungs emptied under John Stone’s weight, and he collapsed onto the ground. Before he could grab his knife, Stone punched him in the mouth. Stolney went slack, a dribble of blood showing at the corner of his mouth. Stone knelt beside Stolney’s unconscious body, thumbing cartridges into his gun.

  Mulgrave entered the main house by the rear door, moved out of the backlight, boots creaking the floorboards. He oriented himself, then worked toward the window where Reynolds had stationed himself.

  Mulgrave knew his cause was lost, but at least he could kill his arch-enemy. Sweat pouring from his face, teeth on edge, he’d lost his hat somewhere in the fray, and strands of damp gray hair were plastered to his forehead. He came to a corridor, hoping the shooting in the yard would drown out any sound he might make.

  He saw the room straight ahead and inched toward it. A bizarre thought entered his mind: Maybe I should’ve played fair and square. But he rejected it. The smart man learns how to bend the rules.

  Reynolds’s room, straight ahead, was strangely silent. Did he hear me? Mulgrave went up on his tiptoes, holding his gun ready. Finally he came to the room, took a deep breath, jumped into the doorway, and aimed his gun toward the window.

  The room empty, Mulgrave blinked in surprise. Then he heard a sound behind him. He spun around and saw Reynolds seated in his wheelchair, aiming a double-barreled shotgun at him. Lightning streaked from both barrels, and Mulgrave felt torn apart by hundreds of tiny lead slugs. Blood sprayed the walls of the corridor as the impact hurled the rancher against the wall. He slid to the floor and a convulsion passed through him as he bled from countless holes.

  The hero of Little Round Top wheeled into the room and looked at his vanquished foe. Mulgrave’s lashes fluttered as he tried to say something, then his eyes glazed. The range war was over.

  ~*~

  Eunice saw her worst nightmare through the spyglass. Terrific explosions and withering gunfire blew the gunfighters apart, the backyard littered with their bodies, evidently all killed.

  She didn’t know where to go next, with no ranch, little money, and no prospects. I’d better get out of here. She turned away from the ranch and touched spurs to her horse’s flanks. The animal wandered aimlessly toward rolling hills, and Eunice slouched in her saddle. My mistake was I trusted my husband.

  Once, long ago, she wanted to own a ladies’ dress shop in a fine city. But she grew older, Mulgrave came along, and she snatched him, desperate to get married. Now she wondered what all the anxiety was about. If I stayed single, I could’ve done much better.

  She cursed herself for the mistakes of her life as she rode alone through the wilderness. She felt defeated, humiliated, empty, and vulnerable. Everything went so well before John Stone came along.

  She racked her brain for a way to get even with the big gunfighter, and then, in the depth of her confusion and despair, she remembered John Stone’s young wife.

  With a sour smile, she inclined her horse’s head toward the little town on the plain.

  ~*~

  Lieutenant Daltry sat at his desk, trying to read On War. Outside his window, a guard mount marched past, their corporal counting cadence. Lieutenant Daltry’s mind was scattered at a crucial moment in his career. Woodlawn’s under martial law, and I can’t even think straight because of that damned woman. The words blurred before him.

  .. . he who uses force unsparingly, without reference to the bloodshed involved, must obtain a superiority if his adversary uses less vigor in its application.

  The point was of extreme importance to one who dreamed of high command, but it flew over his head as he recalled Leticia Stone. I’ll put in for a transfer, and go to another post. Why’d I open my big mouth? He sat erectly, squared his shoulders, tucked in his chin, and tried to concentrate on the Prussian officer who jolted the world with his startling new military theories.

  Sergeant Baxter poked his head into the office. “Lady to see you, sir.”

  Daltry raised his eyebrows. “Send her in.”

  He expected Mrs. Blodgett, or maybe the preacher’s wife, but to his astonishment and mounting horror, Leticia Stone materialized. He jumped to his feet, knocking over von Clausewitz, forgetting his wire-rimmed eyeglasses and all recent resolves. “Please …” he said jerkily, “allow me to apologize for this morning. I really ...”

  “No,” she replied, moving closer to his desk. “I’m the one who should apologize, because I hav
en’t been honest with you.”

  He swallowed the boulder that became lodged in his throat. “You ... haven’t?”

  “This isn’t easy for me, Lieutenant Daltry, but I must be fair. You see, I’m really not married to John Stone.”

  He felt as though a waterfall dumped over his head. The weight drove him to his chair, and he stared at the corner of her trembling mouth. A horse and rider passed the office window as Lieutenant Daltry and Leticia Pierce gazed at each other fearfully, the walls between them crumbling.

  ~*~

  Eunice withdrew two hundred dollars from a special account she maintained at the bank for emergencies. Then she carried her saddlebags to the hotel and checked in. The clerk recognized her and smiled as he passed the key. “Hope you enjoy your stay with us, Mrs. Mulgrave. How’s your husband getting along these days?”

  Word hadn’t reached town about the defeat of her gun-fighters, and she didn’t want to tell anyone. Mumbling something incomprehensible, she headed for the stairs, and he returned to his magazine. She found her damp little room, and the stained bedspread exuded the bitter odor of men’s sweat. What’ll become of me? She had family back east, but they didn’t give a damn about her. Friends had been few and far between, because of her difficult personality. She’d schemed and plotted all her life, and banked everything on the wrong man, her heart a dried eggshell.

  No gunfighter, no matter how skilled, will take money to kill John Stone. But I can shoot his little wife on my own, and that’ll even the score. He’ll regret the day he ever went up against me.

  ~*~

  Stone saw the vague outlines of Woodlawn take shape near the edge of the horizon. He wanted to see Leticia, and wanted to go into the ranching business with her. The more he knew about her, the more appealing she became, and he didn’t want to waste the rest of his life searching for Marie. Leticia’s enthusiasm and bright mind dispelled gloom. The fountain of youth is youth.

  I’ve been hard on her, but I’ll make it up. Every woman wants her man to treat her like a queen. He wished it were spring, so he could bring flowers. Maybe I’ll buy a box of candy at the general store. And a bottle of whiskey.

  Stone felt at peace with the world as Warpaint stepped closer to Woodlawn.

  ~*~

  Mayor Blodgett looked up from his desk and saw Leticia. “You wanted to see me, dear?”

  “Something important I’d like to speak with you about, confidentially, if you don’t mind.”

  “Can I have my wife bring you a cup of coffee.”

  “I’m afraid you won’t think very highly of me, after I tell you my situation.”

  “Nothing could shake my confidence in our new school-marm. You haven’t killed anyone, have you?”

  She smiled. “It’s not that serious, but troublesome nonetheless. You see ... I’m really not married to John Stone.”

  “My wife and I never thought you were. Somehow the both of you didn’t go together.”

  “John Stone helped me once, and I like him very much, but I’ve fallen in love with someone else, and want to marry him. How can I divorce a man I’m not even married to?”

  The mayor held out his hands and smiled benevolently. “Leave it to me, but who do you want to marry?”

  Her eyes became downcast. “You’ll know his name, if you think about it.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Lieutenant Daltry! You couldn’t make a better choice. A fine young man, probably make general someday, mark my words. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart.”

  Dusk came to Woodlawn as Leticia hurried to her hotel room to pick up some items she’d left behind. Now only one major task lay ahead. She had to jettison Stone in a nice way.

  She passed through a back alley, between the general store and the barbershop, when a hand shot out of an alley. She opened her mouth to scream, but sound died in her throat when she saw the tormented face of Boettcher. He let her go as soon as he had her attention.

  “You look a little green around the gills, Ramrod. Can I help you?”

  His eyebrows danced crazily beneath the brim of his hat. “John Stone don’t love you. He’s no better’n a bum. You need a solid steady man. Nothin’ I wouldn’t do fer you, missy.”

  She saw him as a pathetic puppy dog with vicious overtones. “I don’t love you,” she said. “I’d suggest you find another girl. By the way, have you told my father I’m here?”

  “He should be gettin’ a letter from me any day now.”

  “You’re a pig!” she said angrily, losing her temper in a blistering regrettable moment. He looked like a shriveled little boy, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. “I... I’m sorry.”

  He threw her hand off him and ran toward the other end of the alley. His footsteps receded into the sounds of horses’ hooves, children playing, dogs barking. How could I say such a thing?

  ~*~

  Eunice Mulgrave bought a new dress, underwear, and men’s clothes in the general store. The proprietor said his son would deliver the merchandise within a half hour. “How’s your husband, ma’am?” he asked.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  She left the store, and thought of a nice warm bath to calm her nerves for the task that lay ahead. Soldiers, cowboys, and lady shoppers crowded the narrow sidewalks, and she passed silently among them, trying to live with the incredible events of the past few hours.

  The best gunfighters she could buy, all dead. Her ranch burned to the ground, bankruptcy lurking around the corner, Clarence dead. Success was within our grasp, and it all unraveled.

  “There’s the new schoolmarm,” said a man standing at the corner, pointing across the street.

  Eunice spotted a young woman with dark hair on the far sidewalk, headed for the hotel. Gentlemen tipped their hats to the schoolmarm as Eunice moved to cut her off. Eunice reached the front of the hotel, paused, and glanced about casually. Leticia approached, brow furrowed with thought, barely aware of her presence. Very pretty, Eunice thought. I want to see the expression on John Stone’s face when he finds out I killed her.

  ~*~

  Leticia walked down the hotel corridor as she planned her upcoming wedding. She and her dashing cavalier would pass beneath the crossed swords of his fellow officers, climb into a carriage, and ride away on their honeymoon. Lieutenant Daltry said his grandmother left him money, and they could go to London and Paris, stay at military missions and ambassadorial residences, see all the major monuments, cathedrals, and museums. A wonderful and exciting new life spread before her.

  She inserted her key in the lock and opened the door. The fragrance of tobacco and whiskey assailed her delicate nostrils. Sprawled in the corner chair, her erstwhile husband appeared in his cups again, and she hadn’t expected to confront him so soon.

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered as he rose from the chair. Leticia took a step backward, unsure of how to proceed, and he held her in his muscular arms, touched his tongue to her throat. She felt the old thrill. “Stop it,” she said weakly.

  He paid no attention, nibbling her earlobe, while his roving hand unbuttoned the back of her dress. She opened her mouth to protest, and his hungry mouth was upon her, feasting on her tongue.

  He has many shortcomings, but there’s something about him, she thought dizzily. “I have to tell you something,” she tried to say, but it got garbled with his hot kisses.

  She lacked the will to stop him. The angel in her heart told her to run away, and the devil in her belly said let’s stay a while. He lay her on the bed and peeled away her clothing as she ran her palms along his hairy arms. Then he threw off his clothes and crawled under the covers with her. “Let’s get married tomorrow,” he murmured.

  ~*~

  Boettcher sat at a table in the Blue Bottle Saloon, drinking whiskey and brooding. Leticia’s words assailed him again and again. You’re a pig. The insult ripped him apart. He didn’t know whether to rape her, kill her, or kill himself. Maybe I’ll carve a new face over the one she’s got, but she’s
too pretty and I love her too much.

  He wanted to cry, but not in the saloon. A few soldiers drank at the bar, and nondescript cowboys played cards at a table on the other side of the room. If John Stone hadn’t come along, she might’ve married me. The focus of his frustration turned to John Stone. The son of a bitch warped her mind, but he’ll never do it again. Sooner or later I’ll run into him, and that’ll be his funeral.

  ~*~

  They lay together beneath the blankets, entwined in each other’s arms. Night arrived, the hotel room grew dark, and reality gradually returned.

  Leticia stared at the ceiling and wondered if she’d gone insane. What if Lieutenant Daltry finds out? No military wedding, no general for a husband, no trip to Paris in the spring.

  “What’s eating you?” he asked.

  “If I tell you, you’ll get mad.”

  “Nothing you’d say could make me mad.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll understand.”

  “Well, I’ve fallen in love with somebody else, and I intend to marry him.”

  It became silent in the room. A gust of wind rattled the window frame.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Who is he?”

  “Lieutenant Daltry.”

  “You can’t be serious. But he’s just a . . . baby.”

  “That’s what you think I am, but he’s not, and neither am I. You boss me around and tell me how to live. I don’t want a man who acts like my father.”

  Stone picked his clothes off the floor and dressed in silence, unable to conceal turbulent emotions.

  “You promised you wouldn’t get angry, but you are.”