“Do you really have to ask such a thing? With the mayor and sheriff both being Scotsman like yourself, how could I not have any? Would Glenlivet be to your taste?”
“Aye, ’tis as fine a drink as can be made. I’ll have a wee dram if ye please. ’N I should have known that the leftenant colonel and the sergeant major would have demanded such.” He chuckled as he realized that he was still thinking of them by the military ranks they once held.
Both men were civilians now, and both had honorable civilian titles. McGregor was a mayor, and Campbell was a sheriff. Duff would have to keep that in mind when thinking of them, and certainly when speaking to or about them.
Mack had watched MacCallister and Gleason take their drinks over to an empty table. “We got the sons of bitches now.” Slowly and unobserved, Mack pulled his gun from his holster.
“How we goin’ to do this?” Foster asked. “Are we goin’ to just commence a-shootin’?”
“Yeah, but first the rest of you sort of scoot down so’s that we’re spread out all along the bar.” Mack said.
After the five men moved down to the other end of the bar, Mack held his pistol pressed up against the side of his leg so it wouldn’t be seen.
“Duff,” Elmer said. “They’s somethin’ funny ’bout the way them five men at the bar just spread out like they done—Tarnation! You know who them men are?”
“Aye, I recognize them. I suggest ye draw your gun and be ready. If there is shooting, you start from this end, I’ll start from the other end.”
“Now!” one of the men at the bar shouted, and all five brought their pistols to bear.
Duff and Elmer had their own guns drawn, and suddenly the room was shattered with the roar of several pistols being engaged simultaneously. The other patrons in the saloon yelled and dived or scrambled for cover. White gun smoke billowed out from the guns, coalescing in a cloud that filled the center of the room. For a moment, the cloud obscured everything.
When the cloud of gun smoke rolled away, the five men who had been standing at the bar were on the floor. Duff and Elmer made a quick, but thorough perusal of the rest of the room, checking to see if anyone else was laying for them. Their pistols were cocked and they were ready to fire again if they encountered another adversary, but no additional shots were necessary.
Seeing no other threats, Duff and Elmer holstered their pistols. Slowly the other patrons began to reappear from under tables, behind the bar, and from under the staircase.
At that moment Sheriff Campbell pushed in through the batwing doors. “Here, what happened here?”
Everyone started talking at once. In the cacophony, it was impossible to understand anyone.
Campbell held his hands up, palm out, then addressed the bartender. “Barkeep, would ye be for tellin’ me now what happened?”
“These men here,” the bartender said, pointing to the men lying on the floor, “commenced shootin’ at Cap’n MacCallister’n Mr. Gleason.” He pointed to Duff and Elmer. “’N I’ll be damn if them two didn’t put all five of ’em down.”
“These men shot first?” Campbell asked.
“Yes,” the bartender replied.
Half a dozen more patrons of the saloon shouted their confirmation.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it,” one of the other patrons said. “It was like a battlefield with all the shootin’ ’n such, ’n so much smoke that they didn’t nobody know for sure what was goin’ on. But when all the smoke cleared, well, it was them two still a-standin’, ’n them five that started it lyin’ dead on the floor.”
Campbell looked over at Duff. “Sounds to me like ’twas a pretty close call ye had, Captain.”
“Will there be need for an inquest, Sergeant Major?” Duff asked.
“I see nae need for such a thing. ’Tis clear from all who saw the shooting that ’twas clearly justified. ’Tis wondering I am, though, why these men would come here just to shoot you.”
“They are the same men who tried to ambush us on our way here,” Duff said.
“Aye, then ’tis sure I am that they were . . . soldiers . . . in Schofield’s Legion.” Campbell set the word soldiers apart from the rest of the sentence, showing his scorn for the concept.
McGregor came into the saloon then, and took a quick glance at the men lying on the floor. “Some of Schofield’s men, are they, Sergeant Major?”
“Aye, ’tis sure I am that they are.”
McGregor chuckled. “Well, if he keeps sending his men in a few at a time, we’ll have nae problem in dealing with them. Barkeep, would ye be for providing one round of drinks for everyone in the house, on me?”
“Hurrah for the mayor!” someone shouted as everyone rushed to the bar, stepping over and around the bodies as if they weren’t there.
Chapter Sixteen
Cottonwood Springs
“He killed all five of them, did he?” Schofield asked after he heard the report given him by Captain Bond the next morning.
General Peterson was standing beside Schofield’s desk as Bond rendered his report.
“Yes, sir. Well, according to Sergeant Martell, who I sent in just to keep an eye on Mack and the others, there were two of them, MacCallister and Gleason. Gleason is one of the two men who came to Antelope Wells with him. But, Martell said that Mack and the others already had their guns out and it was they who initiated the shooting.”
“Well, Mack had already shown his incompetence, so I’m not really surprised,” Scofield said, showing no more agitation in his response than he would have, had he been told it was raining. He held his cup out for Frederica to refill it. “Gracias, my dear,” he said as the dark brown liquid poured from a silver pot.
“De nada,” the beautiful young woman replied.
“You said MacCallister was going to be a hard man to kill, and you were right,” Bond continued. “Now, thanks to him, we’ve lost five men.”
“I’m sure you realize, Captain Bond, that Mack and the four men who were with him were expendable,” Schofield replied. “They had rendered themselves so when they failed on their first attempt. I didn’t really expect them to succeed, but I wanted an accurate gauge of what we’re dealing with in our encounters with MacCallister.”
“I can tell you right now, we don’t have anyone who is capable of going up against him, one-on-one,” Bond said.
“Nor do I intend to attempt such a thing. From now on, MacCallister and the people he brought with him, will be dealt with tactically.”
“Yes, sir, and that’s another thing. Do we actually know anything about the others?” Bond asked. “I mean other than the fact that one is an old man, and the other ’n is a Chinaman.”
“Lieutenant Mack said that it was the Chinamen who neutralized three of them during the attempted ambush,” Lieutenant Miles said.
“Have you forgotten that Mack was no longer an officer?” Schofield asked.
“Uh, yes, sir. I meant Sergeant Mack.”
Schofield turned to Peterson. “General, please tell the others what we have learned about those who came with MacCallister.”
General Peterson set his coffee cup down and patted a napkin against his lips before he spoke. “The older man, Elmer Gleason, fought as a guerilla with William Quantrill, Wild Bill Anderson, and others during the war. He has been a longtime associate of Duff MacCallister, and has proven himself quite capable in circumstances that may require armed confrontation.
“The Chinaman, apparently, is exceptionally skilled in some sort of Chinese fighting that is extremely effective and very different from anything with which we might be familiar.”
“What about the woman that’s with him?” Lieutenant Miles asked. “Is she some sort of really good shot or something?”
Peterson shook his head. “As far as we know, she is only here because of some relationship that exists between her and MacCallister.”
“Thank you, General,” Schofield said. “Gentlemen, from this point on, we will not think of any of these peopl
e as individuals, but only as a military unit. And in developing our strategy for the final attack on Antelope Wells, we will take that into consideration.”
“When are we going to attack them?” Bond asked.
“Have patience, my good man,” Schofield replied. “General Peterson and I have been developing the tactics we will use when we engage the enemy.”
“What about the other things we’re doing?” Bond said. “Are we goin’ to keep doin’ them? Or are we goin’ to stop everything and just concentrate on capturing Antelope Wells.”
“By other things, I take it that you mean our tax collections and the occasional forced confiscation of money from reluctant contributors to our cause?”
“Yes, sir. Especially the, uh, forced confiscation.”
“You do agree, do you not, Captain Bond, that we must maintain our source of operation funds?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I quite agree.”
“Good. That being the case, we will continue all ongoing revenue enhancement operations,” Schofield said, definitively.
Antelope Wells
Duff, McGregor, and Campbell were gathered in McGregor’s office.
“I’ve been talkin’ to the prisoner, Frank Bailey,” Campbell told the others. “’Twould seem that Schofield plans to send some of his men out to rob the Lordsburg stagecoach on its next trip down.”
“Aye, ’twouldn’t be the first time the blaggard has done such a thing,” McGregor said.
“I’ve a plan,” Campbell said.
“And what is the plan?”
“As ye know, Colonel, I’ve formed a sheriff’s posse. ’Tis thinkin’ I am that I may take four of them ’n ambush Schofield’s men before they can rob the stagecoach.”
“How would ye be for knowing where they will be?”
“I’m goin’ to allow Bailey to escape. He’ll not know that I’m allowing it, ’n he’ll think what a clever fellow he is for havin’ outwitted me. But my four lads ’n I will be waiting just outside of town ’n when he starts out to join up with the others, we’ll follow him.”
“I’ll go with ye,” Duff offered.
Campbell held up his hand. “’Tis thankin’ ye I am, Captain. But I’m certain that Schofield plans to attack Antelope Wells as he did Cottonwood Springs and La Tenja. And ’twould be better, I believe, for ye to be organizing the defense of the town.”
“Aye, the sergeant major is right,” McGregor said. “The stopping of the villains from holding up the Lordsburg stage is a good thing, but ‘tis even more important to defend the town. As long as Antelope Wells holds out, whatever nefarious plans Schofield may have will be thwarted. I would feel better if ye stayed here ’n organized the men of the town into an army.”
“Very good, Leftenant Colonel. That shall be my task,” Duff said.
Somewhere between Lordsburg and Antelope Wells
Beans Marshall was driving the stagecoach and Hogjaw Magee was riding shotgun. Three passengers were inside the coach—two drummers and a very attractive young woman who had identified herself to the others as Ethel Marie Joyce. She had been a saloon girl in Lordsburg, but an overly aggressive boss, who also happened to be married, caused her to look for employment elsewhere. She thought back to that day just a week ago.
“Come on. You mean because I got little grabby?” Lambert said. “Hell, woman, that’s what you get paid for. It’s your job to entertain the customers.”
“That’s just it,” Ethel Marie replied. “You’re my boss, not a customer. And you are married.”
“What does me bein’ married have anything to do with it? Good Lord, woman, you wasn’t thinkin’ that I might marry you, was you? I was just wanting a bit of fun, is all.”
“No, I wasn’t thinking you might want to marry me. I was thinking of Mrs. Lambert, and what a nice lady she is. And I want no part of you cheating on her.”
“You give yourself too much credit,” Lambert answered, twisting his mouth into a patronizing sneer. “Anyway, you don’t really want to go down into the Bootheel. There’s rumors of bad things going on down there.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those rumors,” Ethel Marie replied. “But what is going on here is also bad. And here, it isn’t just a rumor.”
“All right. Have it your own way,” Lambert said, gesturing in such a way as if he were washing his hands of her.
Riding in the stagecoach and seeing the dust being whipped up by the wheels, she was beginning to have second thoughts. She wasn’t having second thoughts about quitting her job with Lambert—there was no way she intended to keep working for him—but she was having second thoughts about going south. She would have been better off catching a train and going back to Memphis.
* * *
“Here comes the stagecoach,” one of the possemen said to Sheriff Campbell. “What do you think we should do? Think we should ride along beside it and escort them?”
“Aye, that might nae be a bad idea,” Campbell said. “If they see us, perhaps they will nae attack the coach.”
“Too late, Sheriff, there they are!” shouted one of the other men and he started toward the group of uniformed men who were headed toward the coach.
“Nae, wait! You’ll be for givin’ us away. We need to—”
Even before Campbell could finish his warning, Schofield’s soldiers saw the approaching posse and turned to meet them.
Six of Schofield’s men moved quickly into a battlefront formation against the four men of Campbell’s posse. He saw at once the disparity between six well-trained soldiers and four eager but disorganized men.
The battle was brief and fierce, and within a moment, all four of the men of the posse were down.
Sheriff Campbell had no choice but to retreat. He galloped away for about half a mile, then he turned and rode back, staying out of sight in the trees. He watched as Schofield’s men hurried out to meet the oncoming stagecoach.
* * *
“What the hell?” Beans said. “Hogjaw, what is that in front of us?”
“I don’t know,” Hogjaw replied. “Look to me like they’re wearin’ some sort of uniform.”
“Don’t look like no uniform I’ve ever seen before. Mexicans, maybe?”
“Could be, I spose, but what are Mexicans a-doin’ up here?”
“I don’t know. You don’t reckon we’ve gone to war with Mexico ’n don’t know nothin’ about it, do you?”
“I don’t have no idee,” Hogjaw said.
The six uniformed men spread out across the road in front of the coach.
One of them, a man with sergeant stripes on his sleeves rode forward a few feet then raised his hand. “Stop the coach right there, driver,” he called out.
“Oh, good. You’re Americans,” Beans said. “Me ’n Hogjaw here was a-feared you might be Mexicans or some such.” He chuckled. “We was a-feared that we might be in some kind of war that we didn’t know nothin’ about.”
“We ain’t Mexicans, ’n we ain’t Americans neither. And there is a war.”
“What kind of war? ’N if you ain’t Mexicans ’n you ain’t Americans, then who the hell are you fellers?” Beans asked.
“It’s a war of liberation, and we are soldiers of Tierra de Desierto. We have stopped the coach to collect a transport and visitor’s tax.”
“I ain’t never heard of no such tax,” Beans said.
“You have now. Private Nelson, Private Hamby, turn out the passengers.”
“Yes, Sergeant Cobb,” Nelson replied as he and Private Hamby moved to the stagecoach to carry out Sergeant Cobb’s orders.
Nelson reached down to jerk open the coach door. “You folks climb down from there,” he called.
“See here, my good man, I happen to represent the Jacob Bromwell Company of kitchen appliances,” one of the drummers said haughtily. “They are the largest kitchen appliance company in American, and they will not be pleased with you treating one of their representatives in such a fashion.”
“Turn out your pockets,” Nelson said
.
“I suggest that we do what he said, Lennie,” the other drummer said. “Look over there.” He pointed to two men who were lying still on the ground.
“Oh, my Lord! Are they dead?” Lennie asked, shocked by what he was seeing.
“That they are, sonny,” Private Nelson said. “Now, turn out your pockets like I told you.”
Quickly Lennie and Bert, the other drummer, emptied their pockets.
Nelson looked at Ethel Marie and smiled. “Well now, little lady, I’m goin’ to give you a choice. You can either open up that there handbag you’re a-carryin’, or you can give me a kiss. Your choice.”
“Hold on there, Nelson, iffen she takes that deal, she’s got to kiss me, too,” Hamby said.
“Clearly, that is no choice,” Ethel Marie said with a disdainful smile. “I would rather you take everything I have.” She pulled the drawstring open on her purse and handed it to Nelson.
“One dollar?” Nelson said, looking into the purse. “One dollar is all you got?”
“I am a poor woman,” Ethel Marie said.
“Yeah? Well, you shoulda give me ’n Hamby a kiss is what you shoulda done.” He took the dollar. “Now you’re even poorer ’n you was, on account of now, you ain’t got nothin’ a’tall.”
“Soldiers, recover!” Sergeant Cobb called, and Nelson and Hamby hurried back to join the others.
* * *
Sheriff Campbell remained in the tree line until Sergeant Cobb and his men had completely withdrawn. He rode toward the stagecoach just as the passengers were reboarding. Hogjaw raised his shotgun.
“Hold on there, Hogjaw. That’s Sheriff Campbell,” Beans said, holding his hand out to prevent Hogjaw from shooting.
“You’re right. That is the sheriff,” Hogjaw said. “Sheriff, where was you just a while ago when we needed you?”
“I was here. I brought some lads with me to try and stop this, but there were too many of Schofield’s men, ’n they ambushed us.” Campbell stroked his chin and shook his head. “Sad to say that all were killed.”
Stranglehold Page 12
