Day of Reckoning

by William W. Johnstone

  Millersburg, Wyoming Territory

  It was eleven o’clock at night and the entire town was closed, except for the North Star Saloon. Even here, at the last bastion of people who were reluctant to let the night pass, there were only a few patrons remaining. At the moment, Callahan, Manning, Cooper, and Morris were in the Uva Corral. The air was heavy with the smell of horse droppings and hay. A full moon cast a bar of light a few feet through the large opening of the front door. Beyond that silver splash of moonlight, though, the barn was pitch-dark.

  “You got that candle with you, Cooper?” Callahan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Light it.”

  Cooper struck a match and held it to the candlewick. A little golden bubble of light disclosed a row of stalls on each side. The horses, curious by the midnight entry, had come to the edge of the stalls and were peering over the gates, their eyes reflecting the orange glow of light.

  “Here, you men, what are you doing?” an angry voice called out to them. Looking toward the speaker, they saw someone dressed only in his long johns underwear and boots.

  “We didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” Callahan said. “We’re just looking for my horse. Oh, I see him. How much do I owe you?”

  “I ain’t seen you before. Which horse is yours?” the stable attendant asked.

  “It’s that one down at the far end,” Callahan said. When the liveryman looked away, Callahan pulled his pistol and brought it down hard over the man’s head.

  Ten minutes later the stableman was bound and gagged, and left in an empty stall. With the three horses they had selected now saddled, the four men left the stable, then retrieved their own horses that were tied outside. Leading the three just acquired horses, they rode down to the city marshal’s office, also the jail, which was at the far end of the street from the stable.

  “Cooper, you come with me,” Callahan said. “Manning, you and Morris wait here. If you see anything you think we should know about, give us a whistle.”

  “We will,” Manning said.

  “All right, Cooper, you know what to do.”

  Dismounting, Callahan and Cooper stepped into the marshal’s office. Cooper had Callahan by his collar, and he was jamming the barrel of his pistol into Callahan’s back. Their abrupt entry awakened the deputy.

  “Here!” the deputy demanded. “What’s goin’ on? What do you mean bargin’ in here like this?”

  “I mean to collect me some reward money,” Cooper said. “In case you don’t know it, Deputy, this here feller is Clay Callahan. Him ’n another feller escaped from jail down in Cheyenne a week or so ago, ’n I caught this one. I want you to keep ’im in jail here ’til I can send off for the reward.”

  “How am I supposed to know this is who you say it is?” the deputy asked.

  “Well, hell, Deputy, look at ’im,” Cooper said. “You know anybody who looks like this?”

  The deputy studied Callahan. In the lamp light of his office, Callahan’s deformed nose and scrunched-up ear were clearly visible.

  “Now that I look at ’im, he does look like the descriptions I’ve heard,” the deputy said. “Uh, how much money you reckon you’re goin’ to be a-gettin’ for ’im? The reason I ask is, if I’m goin’ to keep ’im here for you, seems like you might be willin’ to share a little of the reward with me ’n Marshal Williams.”

  “Yeah, I will. Just get the keys, ’n let’s get this man in jail.”

  The deputy got the ring of keys down from the wall, then started toward the back. “Just bring ’im along and we’ll take real good care of ’im for you.”

  The deputy marshal turned his back on Callahan and Cooper as he led them to the cell area. Callahan waited until they reached the cell block, then Cooper handed him a knife and Callahan reached around to cut the deputy’s throat.

  Five minutes later with the deputy lying dead in a pool of his blood, the seven fugitives rode out of town.

  Near Cummins City, Wyoming Territory

  Founded in 1879, Cummins City was a Wyoming Territory gold rush town. There were thirty-one houses, four stores, and four saloons, with a population that was very close to three hundred. That figure wasn’t entirely representative of the town, though, because neighboring ranches, farms, and mines brought the number of people who actually did business in the town to nearly double that of the posted population.

  The town wasn’t served by railroad or telegraph, and as a result it was isolated from the rest of the country, except for the daily stagecoach run between Cummins City and the considerably larger railroad town of Laramie, which was twenty miles north.

  Because of its isolation, Callahan and the six men who were now riding with him were able to move through the town with little danger of being recognized as wanted men, even given Callahan’s unusual looks. They were in the Lucky Nugget Saloon when they heard the conversation from an adjacent table.

  “They say it’s five thousand dollars’ worth,” one of the conversationalists at the other table said. “It’s all the gold that’s been took out of North Star Mine this month.”

  “Yeah, I heard that, too. They shipped it up to the assay office on the stage yesterday.”

  “That’s funny, I didn’t see no extra guard when the coach left yesterday,” one of the others said. “All I seen was just the regular shotgun guard.”

  “No, ’n you wouldn’t have, not for the shippin’ up. The gold ain’t even been extracted from the ore yet, ’n there ain’t no bandit worth his salt would want anything to do with it. But now ever’time a shipment goes up, they’s always from five hundred to as much as twenty-five hundred dollars that comes back down the next day so’s there is enough money that ole John Cummins can keep workin’ the mine.”

  “How much money you think’ll be comin’ down today?”

  “I’d say at least two thousand, seein’ as they was five thousand dollars’ worth of ore that went up. But they ain’t likely to have no extra guard this time, either, ’ceptin’ for the regular shotgun guard. They ain’t goin’ to have no extra guard lessen they’s at least ten thousand dollars bein’ shipped.”

  Callahan finished his beer. “Let’s go,” he said to the others.

  “Damn, I was waitin’ to see Velma,” Cooper said. “She’s busy right now, but she said I would be next.”

  “You can see her later,” Callahan said. “We got business to take care of.”

  * * *

  “How much money you reckon this coach will be a-carryin’?” Pardeen asked when Callahan proposed that they hold up the stagecoach.

  “Accordin’ to what them men was sayin’ in the saloon, the coach tomorrow is more’n likely to be carryin’ two thousand dollars.”

  “What if it ain’t carryin’ no money at all?”

  “Then we’ll take whatever money the passengers has,” Callahan answered.

  “That ain’t likely to be much.”

  “Well, let me ask you this, Pardeen. How much money do you ’n Bates ’n Donner have now?”

  “We ain’t got nothin’ at all now, ’n you know that. We wouldn’t even be able to stay here without you payin’ for it.”

  “Then no matter how much we get, it’ll be more’n you got now, won’t it?”

  “Yeah, well, you already know that. Uh, look, seein’ as me ’n Bates ’n Donner ain’t got no money at all, you reckon you could see clear to lend us a little ’til tomorrow? I mean, just enough to maybe buy a drink or two ’n sit-down supper in a restaurant, ’n maybe even get a woman? I ain’t had me no woman in a month o’ Sundays.”

  “Yeah, all right,” Callahan agreed. “I’ll give you boys twenty dollars apiece. That ought to hold you ’til tomorrow when we take the stage, then you can pay me back.”

  The place where they were staying was a large room filled with sleeping cots.

  Gent’s Lodging

  Cot—15 cents

  Pillow—5 cents

  Blanket—5 cents

  After supper that night at Audr
ey’s Beanery, Callahan, Manning, Morris, Bates, and Donner gathered around a table at the Lucky Nugget Saloon. Cooper had been with them until Velma was available, and with a big grin on his face, he followed her up the stairs to her room.

  Only Pardeen wasn’t with them, choosing to check out the Cow Palace, which was a saloon at the opposite end of town from the Lucky Nugget. Cummins City was too small to have streetlights, so except for a square of light cast through a window now and then, the street was totally dark. As Pardeen rode through the darkness, a dog came running from the space between two of the buildings yapping and snapping at the heels of his horse. The horse grew skittish and began kicking at the dog, prancing away from it, and since the horse was relatively new to Pardeen because it had been stolen on the night he escaped from jail, he had a difficult time calming the animal.

  After he regained control, he stopped in front of the Cow Palace and tied his horse off at the rail. From inside he heard a woman’s short, sharp exclamation, followed by loud boisterous laughter from several men.

  “That wasn’t funny!” a woman’s voice said. Her protest was met with more laughter.

  Pardeen went into the saloon and stepped up to the bar. The most important thing he had on his mind right now was getting a woman. But even before that, he decided he would have a drink.

  Not one drink, several drinks. He would buy a whole bottle.

  Pardeen was so often broke that he had developed a look that bespoke a man without money. The bartender noticed that look right away.

  “Mister, if you’ve come lookin’ for a handout, you’ve come to the wrong place,” the bartender said. “We don’t give away drinks, ’n we don’t allow bums to cadge drinks for our customers, neither.”

  “Well, it just so happens that I got money,” Pardeen said.

  “What do you want?”

  “Whiskey.” Pardeen put two dollars on the bar. “And leave the bottle.”

  “This is good whiskey,” the bartender said. “It’s going to cost you more than two dollars.”

  “It’s rotgut, colored with rusty nails and flavored with iodine,” Pardeen said. “I’ve tended some bar in my day, so I’m pretty sure you ain’t goin’ to walk away from the two dollars.”

  The bartender thought about it for a moment and, with a shrug, picked up the two dollars and left the bottle sitting on the bar.

  Pardeen poured himself a drink, then turned to have a look around the room. When he caught the eye of one of the bargirls, he nodded. She smiled at him, and he wished that she hadn’t, because the smile exposed at least four missing teeth. When she approached him he saw that she might have actually been pretty at one time, but the dissipation of her profession had taken its toll.

  “What can I do for you, honey?” she asked, smiling again.

  “Don’t smile,” he said. “With them missin’ teeth, your mouth looks like an open barn door.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, honey, but last year a mean man beat me up and knocked out five of my teeth.”

  “Yeah, I thought you was prob’ly missin’ about that many,” Pardeen said. “What will it cost me to go up to your room with you?”

  “Two dollars,” she said, again smiling at him.

  Pardeen corked the bottle and pushed it down into his pocket. “I’ll give you two fifty if you’ll promise to keep your mouth shut so I don’t have to look at them teeth.”

  The girl used her hand to block his view of her mouth.

  “You got it, honey, anything you say,” she said.

  * * *

  Pardeen stood at the window of the second-floor room, looking down onto the street below. The whore was lying on the bed behind him.

  “Do you want to spend the night, honey?” she asked. “It will only cost you two dollars and fifty cents more.”

  Pardeen looked back toward her. It had been awhile since he had a woman, and the thought of spending an entire night with one wasn’t a bad idea. He thought about taking the woman up on her offer, but Callahan had said that he wanted all of them tonight.

  “No, I’d like to, but I got some business to attend,” he said.

  Turning back to the window, he looked down toward the stage depot at the far end of the street. An empty coach sat there, its tongue lying on the ground free of horses.

  Would this be the coach they would be robbing tomorrow?

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a Concord stagecoach, tough and sturdy from its seasoned white ash spokes to the leather boot. It had no springs but was suspended on layers of leather straps, called through braces, and those through braces helped, somewhat, to soften the ride. The body of the coach was red and the lettering on the doors was yellow, although the paint was tired and the colors faded because the coach was at least ten years old and had seen a great deal of use during its lifetime. For all its wear, it was well maintained.

  The coach belonged to the Calloway Express Service, a stage line that connected outlying settlements throughout Wyoming with the railroads that passed through the territory. As the stagecoach came down out of the high country and began rolling across the flats, the six-horse team broke into a lope. The wheels of the swiftly moving stage kicked up a billowing trail of dust to roll and swirl on the road behind them, though a goodly amount of dust also managed to find its way into the passenger compartment.

  “Oh, this dust,” a woman, one of the two passengers in the coach, complained. “It is intolerable. I don’t know how anyone can live out here. Why, I can’t even get my breath. George, do something.”

  “Now just exactly what do you expect me to do, Millicent?” George replied.

  “You could tell the driver to slow down. Perhaps if we wouldn’t go so fast the dust wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “I am certain that he would not slow down, and there is no way of knowing just what his response would be. You know how these Westerners are,” George replied. “Lord knows we have encountered enough of them since we left New York.”

  “I don’t know why we had to come out here in the first place.”

  “I have explained it to you. Our bank wants to look into buying the gold mine in Cummins City, and I am to inspect it for them.”

  “It is the absolute end of the world,” Millicent said.

  “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You could have stayed in New York.”

  “Nonsense. You did say we are going on to San Francisco, didn’t you? I don’t intend to miss that opportunity. Please, just tell him to slow down a little.”

  “I told you, that would do no good. You’ll just have to find some way to tolerate it.”

  * * *

  On that same road being traversed by the stagecoach carrying the passengers, which was the road between Tie Siding and Cummins City, Clay Callahan and his men were waiting. At this particular location they were in the shadows of the Medicine Bow Mountains.

  Callahan walked over to a cholla cactus and began relieving himself.

  “Ha, you better watch out there, Callahan,” Morris said. “You’re pissin’ on one o’ them jumpin’ cactuses, ’n one o’ them needles is liable to jump up ’n stick you right in your pecker.”

  The others laughed.

  Finishing, Callahan buttoned his pants and turned toward the others. “Seems to me like you boys could think of somethin’ a little more serious to be concerned about than me takin’ a piss,” he grumbled.

  “Like what?”

  “Like, keepin’ a lookout for the stagecoach.”

  “What if it don’t come?”

  Callahan spit a stream of tobacco into the dirt, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “If the stage comes every other time, just what the hell makes you think it won’t be comin’ this time?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. It coulda broke down or somethin’.”

  “It ain’t broke down. Anyhow, even if it is, they’d just bring another’n along.”

  “How long are we goin’ to wait?” Bates asked.

&nb
sp; “We’ll wait as long as it takes,” Callahan said. “What else do we have to do?”

  * * *

  At that moment, the stage was less than a mile away from where the seven men were waiting. It squeaked and rattled as it made its way along a road that had grown rutted and rough from use. The driver and shotgun guard were in a constant cloud of dust, thrown up by the team of horses, which were traveling at rapid trot. The run from Tie Siding was twenty-five miles, and though the distance between stage stops was normally twenty miles, it didn’t seem prudent to put a stop between Tie Siding and Cummins City. As a result, the horses were always on the edge of exhaustion by the time the run was completed.

  They had already come twenty miles, and the horses’ bodies were covered with foam and sweat, but still they trotted on.

  “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, Adam, but seems to me like you should give them horses a bit of a breather,” the shotgun guard said.

  “I tell you what, Ray. You don’t tell me how to drive, ’n I won’t tell you how to shoot that scattergun of yours.”

  “All right, like I said, you’re the driver.”

  “You’re right though,” Adam admitted. “Problem is, the train was late comin’ into the depot, ’n we had to wait for the passengers. I was just tryin’ to make up for the time. I’ll slow ’em down to a walk for a while.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Millicent said from inside the stage as she fanned away the last of the dust. “Finally, he has slowed down.”

  * * *

  “All right, here it comes,” Callahan said. Donner, you know what to do. Lay down there in the middle of the road.”

  “What if it runs over me?”

  “He ain’t goin’ to run over a body that’s lyin’ in the road.”

  “How ’bout I lie on the edge of the road?”

  “No, we have to make certain they see you, ’n the only way we can do that is for you to be lyin’ right in the middle of the road. Hell, even if he don’t see you the horses will. And they ain’t goin’ to run over you.”