Bull's Eye Stage Coach Page 6

  Val Lindquist appeared abruptly and silently beside him. ‘All quiet so far,’ he said.

  ‘So far,’ Dwight agreed.

  ‘Everyone in place?’

  ‘They’re all there.’

  ‘At least it does not resemble a circus this morning.’

  ‘I’m surprised half the town didn’t beat the sun up this mornin’, just to get in the way.’

  ‘I am not complaining.’

  ‘Here it comes.’

  Both men turned their heads to watch the approach of the armored stagecoach that had entered town only the night before. A fresh team of eight horses seemed to pull it with ease, in spite of the weight of its iron sides and top. The reinforced strongbox securely welded to the iron plate that covered the top added considerably to that weight. Even so, the vehicle rolled with what appeared to be surprising ease. ‘They must have awful good races in them wheels,’ Dwight observed.

  ‘A great deal of axle grease, too, I’m sure. It would be my guess they will wear out rather quickly, nonetheless.’

  The conveyance halted amidst a cloud of dust in front of the Headland Land & Mineral Bank. Immediately Clem Adkins, general manager of the Wells Fargo stage line climbed to the top and removed the padlocks from the strongbox. He had no sooner done so than several men began a bucket brigade style line, passing gold bars from hand to hand, then up to the top of the stagecoach. There they were stacked into the strongbox.

  Dwight smiled as he watched the course of the first gold bar. Every man who took it nearly dropped it, surprised at the weight of such a small ingot of metal. After that first one, they were all much better prepared for the weight, and passed each along easily.

  After the gold was loaded, three bags of money were passed along the same way, all under the watchful eyes of Hiram Birdwell, president of the bank.

  ‘I don’t understand why they ship bags of paper money in, then turn right around and ship bags of paper money back out again.’ Dwight muttered.

  ‘Don’t try to understand the ways banks work,’ Val advised. ‘You’ll only get more confused.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Birdwell proclaimed when the last of the money was in the strongbox.

  As if that were the signal, the stage driver yelled, ‘Heeyah, fellas. Hie on there!’ as he slapped the backs of the horses with the reins.

  The horses leaned into their harnesses as Dwight scanned the doors and windows of the empty street. All was quiet. It was far too quiet. It was going far too well.

  ‘Something is coming,’ Val said softly.

  Dwight’s eyes jerked up to follow the direction of the smaller man’s pointing finger. A small dust cloud was approaching from the south. ‘Wagon,’ Dwight said.

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Four riders as well.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘It wouldn’t likely be a rancher, with four riders staying with the wagon.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘I’ll make sure the men at the other bank are ready, just in case.’

  Dwight began to gesture to his men, alerting them to the approach of some unidentified arrivals.

  It might have been the warning that gave two men the opportunity they needed. On each of two of the balconies, a man stepped out and summarily shot the man Dwight had stationed there.

  The two shots were so closely spaced that Dwight wasn’t sure whether it was two, or whether it was one shot and an echo. His gun was in his hand instantly. As if it had a mind of its own, it lifted to the balcony from where he had seen, from the corner of his eye, his man topple. He fired at the gunman an instant before the gunman’s second shot hurtled toward him. That split second caused the gunman’s shot to go wide. The bullet from Dwight’s gun shattered his heart and drove him backward into the room from which he had just emerged.

  Lost in the roar of those shots was the slightly lighter report of Val Lindquist’s forty-one-caliber Colt. He just as quickly sent two bullets into the heart of the man who had murdered the guard on the second balcony.

  On a third balcony, Frank Singler had spotted a gun as it emerged from a second story window across the street, just before it spouted fire and lead in his direction. He flopped to the floor and with some part of his mind noted the glass shattering where he had been an instant before. He fired three rounds into that window in extremely rapid fire. He was rewarded by a yell of pain, and the disappearance of the gun barrel.

  The other members of the ad hoc posse ducked for cover, guns at the ready, scanning around for any others bent on robbery.

  The approaching wagon was already at the end of Main Street, the driver urging the horses to top speed. The extra man on the driver’s seat aimed a rifle toward one of the posse members. Half a dozen bullets instantly riddled his body.

  Two men carrying bags of money from the Wells Fargo Bank stopped in mid-stride, gaping at the sudden burst of activity, clearly undecided whether to hurry to the stage or duck back inside the bank.

  Clem Adkins grabbed the lid of the strongbox, jerking it from the hands of the two men holding it, slamming it shut with a resounding clang. He grabbed one of the padlocks, fumbling frantically to get it into the loop of one of the heavy hasps. He grunted, dropped the padlock, took a step backward and toppled from the top of the stage, into the street.

  Dwight took aim at the rider beside the approaching wagon who had shot Adkins. Before he could fire a sharp voice behind him hollered, ‘Hold it right there! Everybody hold your fire, or the woman gets her head blown off.’

  Dwight whirled. His heart instantly dropped to someplace in the bottom of his stomach. Val Lindquist, who had whirled in the same instant, swore softly.

  Jarvis McCrae gripped the back of Belinda Holdridge’s dress with one hand. In the other hand he held a short double-barreled shotgun.

  Dwight assessed the situation and swiftly lowered his gun. ‘Hold your fire!’ he ordered at the top of his voice.

  ‘You’d better all hold your fire!’ McCrae yelled, triumph unmistakable in his voice. ‘I’ve got the triggers of this shotgun wired back. My thumb is all that’s holding the hammers back. Both barrels are against this woman’s head. If anything causes me to relax my grip, or slip in any way, both barrels will go off, and it will blow her head clear off her shoulders.’

  A dozen pair of bulging eyes quickly ascertained that he was telling the truth. Mouths gaped. Guns lowered. All eyes turned to Dwight.

  Clearly torn between his duty and his love, Dwight already knew he was incapable of causing the death of his beloved. Even if it had been a stranger he would have had no less choice. He could not willingly sacrifice a life to save a pile of gold.

  Belinda’s eyes looked at Dwight imploringly. ‘I … I’m sorry, sweetheart! I didn’t even hear him come into the house. The first thing I knew was the gun against the back of my head.’

  Dwight holstered his gun, but kept his hand near it. He prayed that in the minutes to come Mac would grow careless enough to move the gun away from the back of Belinda’s head momentarily. All he needed was a split second.

  He made no plea to the gunman. He knew anything he could say would fall on deaf ears.

  ‘That’s Rivers, on the right side of the wagon,’ Val spoke softly beside him.

  ‘Likely Bandy drivin’ the wagon.’

  ‘That would be my guess. He fits the description.’

  McCrae ignored them. ‘You boys on top o’ the stage, lay your guns down and climb down.’

  They did so, glaring helplessly at McCrae. When they were off the stage and lined up along the front of the bank, he yelled, ‘Now you – the driver. Get that brake set and wrap the lines around it.’

  The driver complied.

  ‘Now you and the shotgun guard drop your guns off the side and climb down.’

  They complied wordlessly.

  The wagon passed the stage, wheeled in a wide circle, drove up almost against the side of the stagecoach and halted. Instantly half a dozen men, including Les Goo
de and Walt Tighson, climbed into the wagon, then up on to the stagecoach. They swiftly removed the gold bars and money bags from the open strongbox and transferred it all to the waiting wagon.

  ‘That’s all of it,’ one of them announced to the man on the wagon’s driver’s seat.

  From the wagon, Bandy called to McCrae. ‘Bring the woman.’

  Instead of speaking, Mac jabbed Belinda in the back of the head with the shotgun barrels. She started to whirl toward him in anger, but he shoved her forward, jabbing her again with the gun barrels. Her eyes blazed, but she complied.

  She considered defying him, daring him to shoot her, but she was certain he would do so without hesitation. She briefly considered just relaxing and falling straight downward. She knew Dwight only needed one brief instant of opportunity. The tight grip Mac maintained in the twist of her dress, right between her shoulders, convinced her that she couldn’t accomplish that either.

  At the back of the wagon she hesitated. Dwight had carefully edged closer as the treasure was being transferred. He was less than twenty feet from the back of the wagon. Belinda looked into his eyes, her own pleading silently.

  Dwight was watching Mac instead of Belinda. He was certain there would be an instant during her climb into the wagon that those deadly gun barrels would stray from the back of her head.

  He was wrong. With an uncanny ability, Mac kept the cold and deadly steel within an inch of her head as she clambered up and into the back of the wagon. With amazing agility, he followed her into the wagon, the gun never wavering from its deadly focus.

  It was Mac who spoke then. ‘If anybody follows us, or anybody takes a pot-shot at one of us while we are leaving, she gets her head blown off.’

  Bandy slapped the reins and clucked to the wagon’s team. They leaned into their harnesses and the wagon quickly moved down the road, a small cloud of dust marking its progress.

  Dwight watched it draw ever farther away, a feeling of helpless rage making the previous knot in his stomach seem trifling by comparison. He knew, with an utter certainty that he fought with all his will, that he would never hold the woman he loved in his arms again. He knew just as certainly that he would find a way to rescue her, or avenge her, or die trying.

  CHAPTER 11

  Helpless rage held Dwight in its thrall for several minutes. The dust cloud left by the fleeing wagon settled slowly on to the sage and bunchgrass. Half a dozen ideas fluttered through the marshal’s mind, each being discarded as quickly as it arose.

  Val stepped up beside him. ‘Harvey’s gettin’ our horses. You want a posse gotten together?’

  Dwight shook his head. ‘No. Well, yeah, but I don’t want ’em leavin’ yet. They’ll be watchin’ their back-trail. Just as soon as a posse puts up a dust cloud, they’ll kill Belinda.’

  ‘So what’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ve been standin’ here tryin’ to figure out where they’ll stop. They ain’t likely goin’ far with that wagon. Too slow. Too heavy. Too easy to follow. They’ll be stoppin’ to divide up the gold pretty soon. If we can figure out where they’re gonna do that, we might be able to slip up on ’em.’

  ‘Got any ideas?’

  ‘A couple. It looked like they turned off the road a little more than a mile south. Turned east, it looked like, from what dust they was stirrin’ up.’

  ‘Is there a place in that area that would serve their purpose well?’

  ‘A couple at least. The problem is, they’re both where a couple lookouts would see anyone comin’ from half a mile away.’

  ‘That could present a problem.’

  ‘We almost have to figure out how to get at ’em from the far side.’

  ‘And do it before they have opportunity to divide up the loot and split up.’

  ‘Ain’t no way we’re gonna do that. They’ll have that done afore we’re half way there.’

  ‘Are you adept at tracking?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Two of our men are dead.’

  ‘Isaiah an’ Howard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many o’ them?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘That leaves eight, by my count.’

  ‘Four we know, and four we do not.’

  ‘I’ll know ’em all when I see ’em.’

  Harvey arrived just then with their horses. Val’s saddle held two long-gun scabbards. Into one he slid his thirty-thirty. The other was shorter and wider. The Colt revolving shotgun slid into it as if it were made for it.

  ‘You want the rest of us to tail ya?’ Harvey asked.

  ‘Yeah. Mount as many men as you can in a hurry. Wait an hour. Ten to one they’ll split up. Try to have at least two men to follow each one. If you can, have at least one man that’s a decent tracker in each pair. Lindquist and I’ll try to catch up to ’em afore they get split up, but that ain’t likely.’

  Hiram Birdwell arrived somewhat out of breath. ‘Marshal, it is imperative you overtake those brigands and recover my gold. My bank cannot afford to suffer such a loss. I have lost only one of my guards, but I have lost all that gold! And a good deal of money besides! It was all entrusted to me. Your duty demands that you recover it, Marshal!’

  Instead of answering, Dwight swung into the saddle. He slid his forty-four-forty into its scabbard as he nudged his horse forward. At the edge of town he turned at right angles away from the road. A hundred yards from the road he descended into a shallow arroyo. He turned and followed the bottom of it in the general direction the robbers had fled.

  He and Val rode at a swift trot, resisting the urge to run their horses. They knew instinctively they were embarking on a long chase, and stamina would be more important in the long run than speed.

  ‘That bunch will raise quite a dust when they manage to ride out of town,’ Val observed when a wide spot in the gully allowed them to ride abreast.

  ‘I’m countin’ on that,’ Dwight replied. ‘If they’re watchin’ the dust cloud comin’ from them, they’re less likely to be watchin’ the direction we’re comin’ from.’

  ‘How far are these places where you presume they will stop and divide their plunder?’

  ‘Not more’n about four miles. They’re likely already there, in fact.’

  As they rode, Dwight watched for spots where the dry gulch’s rim was so low that he could almost see over it. At one such spot he stopped his horse, grasped the saddle horn, placed one knee behind the cantle, then placed the other foot in the saddle. He moved the other foot beside it, removed his hat, then stood, balancing on the saddle, peering over the rim of the gully.

  The horse stood rock still, allowing him to remain balanced. ‘That’s odd,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ Val replied instantly.

  ‘Someone’s comin’ this way. On foot.’

  ‘On foot?’

  ‘Runnin’.’

  He spread his feet apart, allowing him to drop into the saddle, and dismounted swiftly. Val did likewise, and the two climbed the side of the gully. Dwight again removed his hat, but Val decided not to remove his smaller bowler, which he always wore. Both men peered carefully over the gully’s rim.

  ‘It’s a kid,’ Dwight said.

  ‘I do believe it is the Humbolt lad,’ Val offered.

  ‘What’s he doin’ out here?’

  ‘You don’t suppose he followed them, do you?’

  Dwight didn’t answer. He waited until the fleet-footed boy was nearly abreast of them, then called out to him softly. ‘Billy!’

  The boy jerked his head toward the voice, tangled his foot in a clump of sage brush, and fell headlong in a tangle of arms and legs. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wide, head swiveling back and forth, seeking the source of the voice.

  ‘Over here,’ Dwight said.

  ‘Who’s there?’ the boy demanded.

  ‘Marshal Stern.’

  The boy instantly turned and ran toward them. ‘Boy, Marshal! Am I ever glad to see you! Oh, hello, Mr Lindquist. You too.’

 
‘What’re you doin’ out here? What’re you runnin’ from?’ Dwight demanded.

  ‘Ain’t runnin’ from nothin’. Runnin’ after you. I done follered ’em.’

  ‘Followed who?’

  ‘Them guys what stole all the gold.’

  ‘You followed the wagon?’

  ‘Yeah. I stayed way off to the side, like you guys is doin’, so’s they wouldn’t see me. That wagon’s heavy, so they wasn’t goin’ very fast. ’Sides, they was sure you wasn’t gonna chase ’em, since they got your woman.’

  ‘Did you see where they went?’

  ‘Yeah. Well, kinda. That’s what I was hustlin’ back to town to tell ya. They turned off the road there at that big ol’ wide gully that goes east, just afore the road starts up the big hill.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Dwight agreed. ‘They wouldn’t want to make the long pull up Hartwell Hill if they didn’t have to.’

  ‘The wagon wouldn’t be nearly as heavy as the stagecoach,’ Val observed. ‘It’s all the steel that armors the stage that makes it so heavy.’

  ‘Yeah, but that much gold’s plenty heavy all by itself,’ Dwight disagreed. ‘Besides, they only had a two-horse team, and they ain’t near as big as the ones pullin’ the stage.’

  ‘Morgans,’ Val said.

  Dwight simply nodded, confirming that he, too, had made note of that fact. He spoke to the boy. ‘Billy, you go ahead to town. You don’t need to run, and you can stay on the road. You should meet the posse before you get to town. Tell them what you told us, and tell them we’re going to circle around to the east and try to catch up to the robbers before they split up, but we aren’t likely to. Tell them we’ll mark the trail of the ones we’re following, so they can split into pairs and follow the others.’

  ‘You’re gonna get ’em chased down afore they do somethin’ to Miss Holdridge, ain’t ya, Marshal?’

  ‘I’m sure gonna try,’ Dwight assured him.

  Even as he said it, he knew his chances of success were pretty slim.