Killer Take All

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chugwater

  Duff, Meagan, Elmer, Vi, Wang, Mae Win, and Pete were having dinner in Lu Win’s Chinese Restaurant.

  “It’s quite simple, my dear,” Pete said as he was explaining to Vi how to use chopsticks. “You keep the bottom stick pressed up against your thumb so that it doesn’t move. The other stick moves with your forefinger so that the sticks become, in effect, your thumb and forefinger. That way you can pick something up as easily as you can with your fingers.”

  “Oh, yes!” Vi said after she tried. “Why, that’s marvelous.”

  Elmer chuckled. “Now she’ll be serving her apple pies with chopsticks.”

  They had gathered for the dinner to commiserate with Wang, who was feeling remorse for having killed the friend of his youth. Both Mae Win and her father, Lu, had assured him that he had no other choice, but expressed their understanding of his regret.

  “All here are my friends,” Wang finally said. “I have lost one friend, but I have gained many. I thank you for sharing my sorrow, but now my sorrow is ended.”

  “To friends, new and old,” Pete said, raising his glass of wine.

  As they drank their toast, the Western Union delivery boy came in, walked over to the table, and handed a telegram to Pete. He read it, smiled, then passed it around the table for others to read.

  NORMAN JAMISON IN JAIL FOR ATTEMPT TO DEFRAUD THE BANK STOP WILL FACE EMBEZZLEMENT CHARGES WHEN YOU RETURN STOP HE WILL BE IN JAIL FOR VERY LONG TIME STOP THANKS FOR COOPER STOP KEITH DUNAWAY

  Shortly after the Western Union delivery boy left, Biff came into the restaurant.

  “Biff, ’tis a fine thing you have decided to join us,” Duff said in greeting.

  An enormous smiled played across Biff’s face. “It’s a finer thing than you can know.” He stepped back to the door, then made a motion to someone.

  Jake and Kay stepped in through the door.

  “Jake!” Pete shouted, standing so quickly that the chair tumbled over behind him.

  “Pa, you’re here?”

  “I thought you might appreciate the surprise,” Biff said as father and son met halfway between them in a warm and welcome embrace.

  “Pa,” Jake said after the greeting. “This is Kay Greenly. She is the young woman who saved my life.”

  “Miss Greenly,” Pete said warmly.

  “No, Pa, it’s Kay,” Jake said. “If she’s going to be my wife, don’t you think you should call your daughter-in-law by her first name?”

  Cheyenne

  “What do you mean you can’t honor my draft?” Collins demanded after the teller at the Cheyenne Bank and Trust refused the transaction. “I know for a fact that I have almost two hundred thousand dollars in my account.”

  “Perhaps you had better speak to our president, Mr. Walker,” the teller said.

  “I damn well will speak with him.”

  “Mr. Poindexter, I’m afraid your account has been withdrawn,” Robert Walker said.

  “Withdrawn? Who the hell withdrew it?”

  “It was withdrawn by the New York Bank for Savings. There is no money in your account.” Walker grunted what might have been a laugh. “Actually, there isn’t even an account anymore.”

  “What are you talking about? I deposited forty thousand dollars, in cash, no more than two days ago! Are you telling me those funds aren’t available?”

  “I’m afraid they aren’t.

  * * *

  “You mean we’ve done all this for nothin’?” Caldwell asked when Collins informed the others that there was no money to divide.

  “It has to be Poindexter,” Collins said bitterly. “Somehow that miscreant has closed the account.”

  “If we still had him we could maybe force ’im to put the money back,” Mitchell said.

  “’N if a frog had wings, he wouldn’t bump his ass ever’ time he jumps,” Nichols said. “Either Hawken ’n Flannigan has already kilt Jake, or he’s kilt them the way he done Butrum. It don’t matter which. We don’t have him no more.”

  “I know how we can get the money,” Streeter said. “I’ve done it before, ’n I was by myself. With five of us, it’ll be easy.”

  “If you’re a-talkin’ about robbin’ this bank, they ain’t goin’ to be nothin’ at all easy about it,” Caldwell said. “It’s on the busiest street of the biggest town around here. Why if we was to try, they’d be on us like ducks on a june bug.”

  “I ain’t talkin’ about this one. I’m talkin’ about the one in Chugwater.”

  * * *

  It was just after ten o’clock in the morning when Meagan heard the door of her shop open.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, her words somewhat muted because she was on her knees pinning up a dress and some of the pins were in her mouth. She heard someone coming toward her.

  “Hell, I ain’t in no hurry, miss,” a man said.

  Looking up from her task, Meagan saw one of the men who had been passing themselves off as railroad police. He was holding a pistol.

  “I’m not sure which one you are,” Meagan said. “Hawken?”

  “Nah, we ain’t found ’im yet, but that skunk is more ’n like lyin’ dead somewhere. The name’s Caldwell, if you really want to know.”

  “What do you want with me, Mr. Caldwell?”

  “My friends is goin’ to be doin’ some business down at the bank in a few minutes then when we leave town we plan to take you with us. We figure that’ll stop anyone from shootin’ at us while we’re leavin’.”

  “While we’re waiting, you don’t mind if I finish pinning up Mrs. Underhill’s dress, do you?”

  Caldwell laughed. “You’re a calm piece of work, I’ll give you that.”

  * * *

  At that same moment, Collins, Streeter, Nichols, Dixon, and Mitchell came riding into town.

  “Streeter, since I’ve never done anything like this before, for this operation you will have tactical command,” Collins said.

  “All right. Ever’body keep your eyes open,” Streeter said. “Make sure there ain’t no one that’s takin’ a particular interest in us.”

  “There’s a couple of old men over there playin’ checkers,” Nichols said.

  “Yeah, and there’s a couple more men over there, sittin’ out on the porch in front of the store,” Mitchell added.

  “Yeah, well, the checker players is too old, and them other men is more ’n likely waitin’ out front while their wives is inside spendin’ their money,” Streeter said.

  “There’s the bank,” Mitchell said, pointing to the building ahead.

  “Ain’t no need for you to be a-tellin’ us that, Hank. We’ve all seen the bank before,” Streeter said.

  The four men rode down Clay Avenue, the hoof-beats of their horses making a hollow, clopping sound.

  “Gentlemen, I don’t mind telling you, I have a most disquieting feeling about this,” Collins said.

  “Collins, you’re the damndest talker I’ve ever knowed,” Streeter said. “What does that mean, you’re feelin’ quiet?”

  “Disquieting. It means that there is something about this that’s bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” Collins replied.

  “Well we ain’t goin’ to back out, are we? I mean, we are goin’ to do it, ain’t we?” Mitchell asked.

  “Yes, we’re going to do it,” Streeter said. “And remember what I told you. When we leave, start shootin’ up the place. We’ll stop long enough for Caldwell ’n the woman to join us, ’n that’ll give us cover as we ride out.”

  * * *

  At that moment Duff was riding up Lone Tree Road, coming into town to discuss the reorganization of the C&FL Railroad with Pete and Jake. As soon as he got into town, Lone Tree Road became Clay Avenue, and he saw Collins and three of the railroad police at the far end. At first he wondered what Collins was doing back in Chugwater. Was he unaware that Jake was here and had exposed him for the fraud he w
as? Then he saw them ride up to the front of the bank and swing down from their horses, handing the reins over to Collins, who remained mounted.

  As soon as Streeter and the others were inside the bank, they pulled their pistols. Streeter shouted, “This is a holdup! You, teller, empty out your bank drawer and put all the money in this bag!” He handed the bag to the teller.

  “There’s no need for you to start shooting,” the teller said as he began putting the money in the bag. “I’ve been told to cooperate if anything like this ever happens.”

  “Who told you?” Streeter asked suspiciously.

  “I told him,” Dempster said, stepping out of his office. “I told him that if we are ever robbed, to cooperate fully. We can replace money, but we can’t replace a life.”

  “Yeah,” Streeter said. “That’s just real smart of you.”

  A moment later the teller handed over the sack filled with money.

  “Let’s go,” Streeter said as, with guns drawn, he and the three men with him backed toward the door, then turned and stepped outside.

  They saw that Collins had dismounted and was holding his hands in the air. Duff was there, holding his gun on Collins.

  “I’ll thank you lads to be for dropping your guns, laying the money bags down, ’n comin’ with me to the jail.”

  “Do as he says, men, my life is at forfeit,” Collins said.

  * * *

  “Damnation!” Caldwell was looking through the window toward the bank and saw Duff confront the men as they were leaving the bank.

  “You,” he called to Meagan. “Come with me.”

  With his gun held to Meagan’s head, Caldwell stepped outside. He mounted his horse then ordered her into the saddle just in front of him. Holding his pistol to her head, he rode toward the bank.

  Sensing the movement, Duff looked toward the approaching horse and, for just a moment, he thought Meagan was coming toward him. Then he saw someone behind her, and he knew she was being used as a shield.

  “All right, boys, pick up the money ’n get mounted,” Caldwell said to the others. “MacCallister ain’t goin’ to do nothin’, long as I’m holdin’ on to his woman.”

  “Good job, Caldwell,” Collins said.

  Caldwell waited until the others had retrieved their guns and the money. “Get mounted. Not you, Collins,” he said as Collins approached his horse. “We don’t need you no more, ’n with you gone we’ll have one less to divide the money with.”

  “What? See here, I am in charge of—”

  Collins’s protest was interrupted when Caldwell shot him.

  “Ha! I never did like that windbag!” Streeter said.

  “Now, Duff!” Meagan shouted.

  Looking toward her, Duff saw her slide off the horse, leaving Caldwell exposed.

  He was the first person Duff shot. Then, taking advantage of the confused surprise of the others, Duff shot two more of them. Marshal Ferrell, who had come up when he saw what was developing, shot the remaining two.

  When all the shooting was over, Collins and what remained of the phony railroad police lay dead on the ground in front of the bank.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  The entire town turned out to welcome the arrival of the first commercial train to run on the newly laid tracks of the Cheyenne and Fort Laramie Railroad. Cong Sing and the Chinese workers whose physical labor had built the railroad were honored guests of Lu Win.

  “Here she comes!” Fred Matthews shouted, but no human announcement was necessary as the approaching train made its presence known by the two-tone whistle.

  The locomotive that rolled into the station was a 2-2-0 Baldwin with a green boiler, brass banding, red driver wheels, and a cab of polished cedar. The first car behind the coal tender was a private car, the Emma Marie.

  “Oh, look!” Meagan said. She took hold of Duff’s arm. “Duff, wasn’t our time in there the most elegant of anything we have ever experienced?”

  “Aye, lass, that it was.”

  When the train stopped, the first person down from the Emma Marie was Preston Poindexter himself.

  His arrival was applauded by all, even by the ranchers such as Dale Allen, David Lewis, and others whose initial setbacks with the C&FL had been made good by Jake, once he took over and started the actual construction of the railroad.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Pete said. “I appreciate the welcome, but now I would like introduce the man who oversaw the building of the C and FL, my new executive secretary, Jake Poindexter.”

  Everyone looked expectantly toward the car, but Jake didn’t appear.

  “Pa,” Jake called from within the car, “you didn’t finish the introduction.”

  “Indeed, I did not,” Pete replied with a little chuckle. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce my son and daughter-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Poindexter!”

  Jake and Kay stepped down onto the brick platform of the brand new Chugwater Depot of the C&FL Railroad.

  “Oh, Duff, isn’t she just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?” Meagan asked.

  “Nae, lass, ’tis yourself that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She tightened her grip on his arm.

  Keep reading for a special excerpt of The Backstabbers!

  National Bestselling Authors

  WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE

  and J. A. JOHNSTONE

  THE BACKSTABBERS

  A Red Ryan Western

  FIRST RULE OF JOHNSTONE COUNTRY: TRUST NO ONE

  No one knows the dangers of driving a stagecoach better than Red Ryan. Especially when the passenger’s a dead man, the payoff’s a gold mine, and the last stop is death . . .

  SECOND RULE: WATCH YOUR BACK

  Red Ryan should’ve known this job would be trouble. The first stop is a ghost town—in a thunderstorm—and the cargo is a coffin. But things start to look a little brighter when Red and his stage guard, Buttons Muldoon, deliver the corpse to a ranch run by the beautiful Luna Talbot and her gorgeous crew of former saloon girls. Luna asks the boys to help them find the Lucky Cuss Gold Mine, using a map tucked inside the dead man’s pocket. Buttons can’t refuse a pretty lady—or the lure of gold. But Red has a feeling they’re playing with fire. Especially when the map leads them straight into the crossfire of a ferocious range war and the path of a 400-pound load of pure evil known as Papa Mace Rathmore—and his backwoods clan of sadistic, kill-crazy hillbillies . . .

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  Chapter One

  Beneath a black sky torn apart by a raging thunderstorm, the side lamps of the Patterson stage were lit as Red Ryan and Patrick “Buttons” Muldoon approached the town of Cottondale, some sixty miles east of El Paso, Texas.

  Buttons drew rein on the tired team and shouted over a roar of thunder, “Hell, Red, the place is in darkness. How come?”

  “I don’t know how come,” the shotgun guard said. Red wore his slicker against the hammering rain. “The place is dead, looks like.”

  “Maybe they ran out of oil. Long trip to bring lamp oil all this way.”

  “And candles. They don’t have any candles.”

  “Nothing up this way but miles of desert,” Buttons said. “Could be they ran out of oil.”

  “You said that already.”

  “I know, and that’s still what I reckon. They ran out of oil and candles, and all the folks are sitting in their homes in the dark, sheltering from the rain.”

  “Or asleep.” Red said.

  Lightning scrawled across the sky like the signature of a demented god, and for a second or two, the barren brush country was starkly illuminated in sizzling light. Thunder bellowed.

  “Buttons, you sure we’re in the right place?” Red yelled. Rain drummed on the crown of his plug hat and the shoulders of his slicker. “Maybe this isn’t Cottondale. Maybe it’s some other place.”

  “Sure, I’m sure,” Buttons said. “Abe Patterson’s wire said Cottondale is east of El Pa
so and just south of the Cornudas Mountains. Well, afore this storm started, we seen the mountains, so that there ahead of us must be the town.”

  Red said. “What the hell kind of town is it?”

  “A dark town,” Buttons said. “Remember the first time we seen that New Mexican mining burg, what was it called? Ah, yeah, Buffalo Flat. That looked like a dark town until you seen it close. Tents. Nothing but brown tents.”

  “With people in them as I recollect.” Red said. “Well, drive on in and let’s get out of this rain and unhitch the team.”

  “Yeah, the horses are tuckered,” Buttons said. “They’ve had some hard going, this leg of the trip.”

  “So am I tuckered. I could sure use some coffee.”

  Buttons slapped the ribbons, and the six-horse team lurched into motion. Lightning flashed and thunder banged as nature threw a tantrum. As it headed for a town lost in gloom, the Patterson stage was all but invisible behind the steel mesh of the teeming downpour.

  Cottondale consisted of a narrow, single street bookended by rows of stores, a hotel, a saloon, and a livery stable. A large church with a tall bell tower dominated the rest. The town was a bleak, run-down, and windswept place. The buildings huddled together like starving vagrants seeking comfort in each other’s company. It was dark, dismal, and somber. Silent as a tomb, the only sound the ceaseless rattle of the relentless rain.

  Buttons halted the team outside the saloon. A painted sign above the door, much faded, read THE WHEATSHEAF. “We’ll try in here.”

  Red shook his head. “Try in here for what? Buttons, this is a ghost town. It’s deader than hell in a preacher’s backyard.”

  “Can’t be. Ol’ Abe said we have a passenger . . . what the hell’s his name again? Oh yeah, Morgan Ford. He’s got to be here and a whole passel of other folks.”

  Thunder rolled across the sky.

  When it passed, Red looked around and said, “Then where the hell are all them other folks?”