Stranglehold

by William W. Johnstone

  “Damn!” Beans said. “How many were with you?”

  “Only four. ’N I’ll be for askin’ ye to help me get these brave lads back home. Their horses ran away, ’n I’ll not be leavin’ them out here for any critters as may come around.”

  “Yeah, all right. We’ll toss ’em up on top o’ the coach.”

  Beans, Hogjaw, and Sheriff Campbell dragged all four men up to the coach, then Hogjaw climbed up on top of the coach as Beans and Campbell started to pick up the first body.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” That indignant question came from Lennie, one of the two drummer passengers.

  “It should be clear to ye,” Sheriff Campbell replied. “For ’tis obvious that we are loading these bodies on top o’ the stage so as to take them back home.”

  “I paid good money for passage on this stagecoach, and I’ll not be sharing a ride with dead bodies.”

  “Ain’t no need for you to be sharin’ a ride with these dead men, mister,” Beans said. “It’s only about five more miles to Antelope Wells. You can prob’ly walk it in no more ’n a hour, or maybe an hour ’n a half at the most.”

  “What? Why, I’ll do no such thing!” Lennie said, his irritation growing.

  Unlike Lennie and Bert, Ethel Marie had not stepped down from the coach when the sheriff arrived. While she was alone inside, she reached down between the seat and the side and recovered a wad of money bound by a red ribbon. She had hidden the more than two hundred dollars the moment she realized that the stagecoach was being robbed.

  Once the bodies were loaded, and with Sheriff Campbell riding as escort, the coach resumed its trip to Antelope Wells.

  “I shall most assuredly register a complaint with the headquarters of the Lordsburg Stage Coach Line,” Lennie said in a self-righteous grumble.

  “What good will that do?” Bert asked.

  “Those robbers took forty dollars from me. I intend to petition the stage line to return the money.”

  “Don’t know as they’ll do it,” Bert said. “But I reckon I might try the same thing.”

  Ethel Marie thought of the two hundred dollars she had saved, and smiled.

  The remainder of the trip back to Antelope Wells was uneventful.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “’Twas nothing I could do about it,” Campbell told Duff and McGregor that evening when he reported on the results of his encounter with the uniformed men of Schofield’s Legion who robbed the stagecoach. “The blaggards were waiting on us, ’n we rode into an ambush. They knew we were coming.”

  “How is it that they knew?” Duff asked.

  Campbell shook his head. “I’m not sure I know the answer to that, Captain, but ’tis thinking I am, that somehow Bailey got word o’ what we had planned, ’n he told the others.”

  “Four killed,” McGregor said.

  “Aye, four, ’n good men they were, too,” Campbell said. “We’ve nae that many to defend the town as it is, ’n to lose four of them weakens us even more.”

  “And poor Mr. Dunnigan had a wife ’n two wee ones,” McGregor added.

  “Leftenant Colonel, ’tis thinking I am, that ’twould be a good idea to have an army of our own,” Duff suggested.

  “Aye, ’tis a great idea,” McGregor agreed.

  “M’ friends Elmer, Wang, and I will train them.”

  “I’ll be glad to help you, Captain,” Campbell offered.

  “Nae, let the captain do it, Sergeant Major. Ye would be of more help by continuing on as sheriff.”

  “I agree. We will be needing civil authority now, more than ever,” Duff said. “’Twould make the training easier if I know that you’re still in charge of the law.”

  “Aye, then that is what I’ll do,” Campbell agreed.

  * * *

  That evening four men were sharing a table in the Hidden Trail Saloon.

  “Four of ’em,” Anton Drexler said. “The sheriff took four men with ’im to set a trap for some of Schofield’s men, onliest thing is, it was Schofield that actual set the trap, ’n how it wound up is, we had four men kilt.”

  “What about that feller McGregor sent for?” Morley was a former soldier and shotgun guard for the Desert Stagecoach Company. Now he was a wagon mechanic.

  “That would be MacCallister. Only he didn’t go with ’em, it was just Sheriff Campbell, Peabody, Slater, Logan, and Dunaway. ‘N all of ‘em but Campbell got killed,” Anton Drexler said.

  Of the conversationalists, Morley and Ed Truax worked in the freight wagon yard. Jay Collins worked in the feed and seed store.

  “Why do you reckon he sent for MacCallister, if MacCallister didn’t even go along with the sheriff to help ’em out?” Truax asked.

  “Well, hell, I can tell you that,” Morley said. “Ain’t you heard? This here MacCallister feller is a-plannin’ on raisin’ up an army here in Antelope Wells. McGregor’s thinkin’ is that if this feller MacCallister can raise up an army, why, it’ll help us stand up agin Schofield.”

  “Yeah, well, Paul Carson sure don’t think we can stand up agin ’em. Carson says what we ought to do is just surrender to ’em,” Drexler said.

  “Wait a minute. Are you tellin’ me we should just walk out to the edge of town holdin’ up a white flag whenever Schofield rides in ’n tellin’ ’em we give up?” Truax asked.

  “That’s what Carson says. He says they ain’t nobody goin’ to be able to stand up agin Schofield ’n his army,” Drexler said.

  “That’s the whole idea, ain’t it?” Morley asked. “I mean ain’t that why we’re goin’ to get us our own army, so’s we can stand up to ’im?”

  “Hell, Schofield’s Legion is a real army. He’s got hisself men with uniforms ’n officers ’n all that,” Truax said.

  “Instead of just surrenderin’ to ’im, like Carson wants, or tryin’ to fight agin ’im the way the mayor wants, seems to me like maybe it might be that the best thing we could do would be to just join up with ’em,” Drexler said.

  “Wait a minute. Are you sayin’ we should join up with the army that’s comin’ to attack us?” Truax asked.

  “Well yeah, but I ain’t talkin’ ’bout joinin’ up with ’im ’n fightin’ agin our own,” Drexler said. “What I’m talkin’ about is joinin’ up with ’im, so’s maybe I could talk to ’im some. ’Cause I don’t know if you’ve heard anything or not ’bout them other towns he’s done attacked, but more ’n half the men was kilt in ever’one of ’em. Could be that joinin’ up with ’em might be ’bout the only way we have of savin’ the town.”

  “It ain’t the only way for me,” Collins insisted. “’Cause I don’t want nothin’ to do with Schofield, or none of his army, neither.”

  “Hell, they don’t nobody that actual wants that, but the way I’m lookin’ at it, we may not have no choice in it,” Drexler said. “I’m thinkin’ that maybe Carson is more ’n likely right. Seems to me like Schofield’s Legion is goin’ to be takin’ over this town whether we like it or not.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t plan to stand by ’n let Schofield just ride in ’n take over,” Morley said. “I fought agin’ the Injuns when I was in the army before, ’n there ain’t nobody that’s a better fighter than an Injun. I reckon I can fight again. I aim to join up with the army that this MacCallister feller is raisin’ up.”

  * * *

  Word had gone out all over town for every male citizen between the ages of fifteen and sixty to gather in the street at two o’clock that afternoon. Forty-eight men answered the call, though there were a few who looked younger than fifteen, and an equal number of those who looked to be older than sixty.

  Duff culled them out right away, then he ordered those who remained, the number now cut to thirty-six, to form into three rows of twelve men each.

  Once more Duff walked by inspecting the men, stopping often and touching someone on the shoulder. “Step out, please,” he said to each of the men he had touched so that he had two groups. Those he had touched were gathered in
a disorganized group to one side, leaving twenty-four who were still standing in formation. He had used no specific procedure in making his selections. He had just relied upon some sort of gut instinct to help him separate the two groups. He turned to the ones he had touched out—the ones that he thought would not make very good fighters.

  “All ye lads in this group can go back to your work or families,” he said. “I’ll not be needing ye.”

  Most were pleased to have been eliminated, though one or two felt they had been slighted by the procedure. Once they were gone, Duff turned to address those who remained.

  “Captain MacCallister?” One of the men who had been touched out questioned Duff before he could begin his talk.

  “Aye?” Duff replied, turning toward him.

  “I’ve no wish to bear arms against my fellow man, but I would be remiss if I didn’t offer my services in some other capacity.”

  “And would ye be for telling me what capacity that might be, sir?”

  “I am Reverend Ken Cooley, pastor of the Antelope Wells Christian Tabernacle Church.” He took in the formation with a wave of his hand. “Many of these men are valued members of my congregation, and I would like to be chaplain for your army, if you would have me, sir.”

  Duff smiled and extended his hand. “Chaplain Cooley, ’tis indeed an honor to have ye join us. Would ye be for rejoining the formation, please?”

  Duff turned to the men who had remained after the thinning out. “I’m thanking you for answering the call of duty, for ’tis from your group that we will build an army that will stand off Schofield. Who among ye has been in the army?”

  A few of the men raised their hands.

  “Were any of ye officers?”

  No hands were raised.

  “Noncommissioned officers?” Duff asked

  “I was a sergeant with General Nelson Miles up on the Yellowstone,” one of the men said.”

  “What’s your name?” Duff asked.

  “Morley. Chris Morley.”

  “Now, ye be Sergeant Morley once again,” Duff said. “And ye can help in the training of the others.”

  “Look here,” one of the others asked. “Are we goin’ to have to learn to march ’n salute, ’n do all such things?”

  “There’ll be nae need for salutin’, as we’ll be fighting. But we will learn how to drill. Drilling together instills discipline, order, and the ability to act together,” Duff replied.

  “What’s drill?”

  The men who had served with the army laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Sonny,” one of the veterans called out to him. “I figure you’ll be learnin’ about it soon enough.”

  The other veterans joined the first in laughter.

  “There will be other things ye need to learn. How many among you own a rifle?”

  Fourteen hands were raised.

  “Are there any among you who has less than fifty rounds?”

  “Fifty what?” someone asked.

  “Bullets,” Sergeant Morley said. “Does ever’one have at least fifty bullets?”

  “Oh, yeah. I got near on to two hunnert bullets. Forty-four forties, they are.”

  An inventory showed that there were fourteen rifles and four hundred rounds.

  “Cap’n.” Sergeant Morley pointed to one of the soldiers. “Hawkins there was a bugler.”

  “A bugler?”

  “Yes, sir. I know we won’t be havin’ no need for the soundin’ of ‘Charge,’ or ‘Reveille,’ or ‘Taps,’ or nothin’ like that. But iffen you was to need us to all come a-runnin’ when you wanted, why ole’ Hawkins there could get it did.”

  “What is the call you would use to get everyone gathered?” Duff asked.

  Hawkins smiled. “Assembly.”

  “Do you have a bugle?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Go get it, and return as quickly as you can.”

  “Sergeant Morley, ’tis unfamiliar I am with the American bugle calls.” He smiled. “I’m more familiar with the sound o’ the pipes. But there would be a couple that I would want the men to learn. To call them together in a formation so I can talk to them, ’n another one that would tell the men to prepare for battle.”

  “Yes, sir,” Morley said. “Them two calls would be ‘Assembly,’ ’n ‘To Arms.’”

  “I’m goin’ to leave you in charge of the men now, while I see if I can round up a few more rifles ’n a lot more ammunition. I want enough ammunition that we can have some of the lads practice shooting without fear of runnin’ out of bullets. While I’m looking around, I’d like ye to teach the men these two bugle calls, ’n also put them through a few drills.”

  “Yes, sir!” Morley replied, boasting a proud smile.

  * * *

  “I checked with Alfred Sikes. The lad has seven Winchesters, four Henrys, and one thousand rounds of ammunition,” McGregor reported a short while after having received the request from Duff to see what he could find in the way of additional weapons and ammunition.

  “That’s good. And does the city have sufficient funds to make the purchase of rifles and ammunition so that our army will be fully armed?”

  “Aye, we can do that. ’Twill strain the budget, that’s for sure, but ’tis better to have a free town that’s in debt, than to have a town that is held in the grips of a tyrant.”

  “Aye, for such are my thoughts as well,” Duff agreed.

  * * *

  For the next two days the town of Antelope Wells was converted into an army training post. The sound of bugle calls was heard and soon after the first bugle call of the day, men began marching up and down the street in formation, their parade witnessed by the citizens of the town.

  Shortly thereafter the sound of gunfire permeated the town and at its beginning some of the townspeople were frightened, fearing perhaps that they were about to experience the same fate as the other towns in the Bootheel, those that had already fallen to Schofield, and at the cost of many lives. They soon learned, however, that they were listening to the sounds of an army in training.

  The Antelope Wells Standard, the local newspaper, published a story on the front page above the fold, extolling the determination to defend the town, and the courage of the young men who had joined the Home Guard in order to do so.

  Home Guard to the Defense

  BY CLINT H. DENHAM

  Listen, my children, and you shall hear

  Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,

  On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:

  Hardly a man is still alive

  Who remembers that famous day and year.

  So, my dear readers, begins the poem of one of the most thrilling times in the history of our Republic. It is a poem which holds reverent the memory, not just of the silversmith who spread the alarm, but of those who answered the call, from shop, field, and farm.

  And now we, the citizens of Antelope Wells, have found within our own population men of courage who are prepared to defend our fair community from the brutal savagery of a despot’s evil intent. Captain Duff MacCallister, late of the Black Watch, the same famed regiment in which our esteemed mayor and sheriff once served, has put together, and is in command of, the Antelope Wells Home Guard.

  Already we have seen clerks and mechanics, blacksmiths and stable hands, cooks and bartenders step out from their daily toil to join with their friends and neighbors in creating a fighting force that stands ready to defend hearth and home.

  Take heed, Ebenezer Schofield, you of infamy and ill repute, you who would turn your back on the nation that once nourished you, know now that your evil ambition will not be satisfied here. We stand shoulder to shoulder as have our fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers before us to say with one, resolute voice, “Here, it will end!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  General Peterson entered headquarters in Cottonwood Springs. “Prime Director, perhaps you should read this article, sir.” He showed Schofield a copy of the Antelope Wells Standard. “Apparent
ly they have organized themselves into a defensive army.”

  Schofield read the article, then lay it aside.

  “They have little hope of putting together any kind of a cohesive defense force,” Peterson said with a mocking laugh. “Clerks? Liverymen?”

  “General Peterson, have you forgotten the lesson that General Grant learned at Petersburg?” Schofield asked. By that question he shifted the blame of the failure in that battle from himself to Grant.

  “Uh, no sir, I haven’t forgotten. I well remember that battle.”

  “Then you understand how a group of determined men, though they may not be trained in the art of warfare, can, with the advantage of position and the leverage of confidence, be quite a formidable foe.”

  “Yes, sir,” Peterson said. “I am well aware of the benefit of such a situation.”

  “How far along are they in their training?” Schofield asked.

  “A few days,” Peterson said. “Less than a week.”

  “I assume they have at least posted a guard,” Schofield said.

  “Yes, sir, they have.”

  “And just how efficient is our contact within the enemy’s lines? Does he know the guard’s duty station?”

  Peterson smiled. “You’re talking about Angus Pugh? Yes, sir, thanks to him, we know exactly where the guard is posted.”

  “Good, we’ll hit them early tomorrow morning. But the first thing we are going to have to do is take care of the sentry.”

  * * *

  Dooley Jackson was on the roof of the McCoy and Tanner building at the extreme north end of Antelope Wells. From there, looking north, he could see at least a mile, which meant that from the first time he saw them, he would have plenty of time to warn the others. The disc of the sun had not yet appeared, but bars of orange color were just beginning to spread above the eastern horizon, announcing the arriving dawn.

  Dooley had come on guard a little over two hours ago and was due to be relieved within another hour. Already he could smell the coffee and the cooking bacon of the early risers, and realized that he was getting hungry.