Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1)

by A. M. Van Dorn

  Pulling out his six-gun, Riker drew close to the edge once more but remained back far enough that he would be out of the line of fire. He cupped his free hand next to his mouth and hollered.

  “Hold your fire! I mean you no harm!”

  A silence hung in the air for a long moment before he shouted again. "I'm coming down there. If you're in trouble, I want to help!" Again, silence reigned. His eyes flicked to the opposite side, and he saw McKenna hunched low, having circled and approaching the edge of the gully on the other side. He made a few tentative steps forward, but the sound his boots made prompted another blast from the wagon, the gunman firing blindly towards the sky. Who the hell was in that wagon? As he stepped back again, he saw McKenna had vanished from view, and he knew what was going to happen next.

  ***

  When she scrambled down her side of the embankment, McKenna swallowed hard at the sight that greeted her. A pair of oxen, both shot in the head, lay still attached to their traces as five to six cawing vultures now pecked away at them, tearing strips of flesh free from the carcasses. The vile birds either immediately wolfed down their meal or took flight to enjoy it elsewhere in peace. Her eyes flicked up for the briefest of seconds as she saw even more vultures circling now. Like some airborne version of the telegraph, word had gotten out.

  Stealthily she pulled herself up onto the bench seat of the canted wagon and peered around the edge of the similar upside down ‘U’ shaped opening that lay just behind the driver’s seat. Though the light was dimmed, she could make out two figures amidst a score of boxes and other belongings jammed in the wagon. They had their backs to her, but even though she was one herself, she was surprised to find them to be women. The shorter of the pair to her left had her hair hidden in a bonnet, and the other, who was ominously clutching a shotgun pointed outward and due to the angle upward, had long flowing ebony hair hanging down her back.

  As she reached to flip open a special pouch on the side of her holster that held a six-shooter, she heard her brother's voice calling out to the wagon's occupants warning them to cease fire. As the gun-wielding woman fired again, from her pouch, she removed a special Belgium-made weapon known as an Apache Knuckleduster revolver. It was for sure a curiosity to all those who saw it and a frequent conversation starter whenever she wished to engage in conversation with a handsome man that piqued her desires.

  Her fingers clasped around the familiar feel of the pistol that had the unique ability to combine the effective elements of brass knuckles, a knife, and a small caliber revolver capable of snapping off a 7mm shell. McKenna favored the weapon for its ability for her to choose which one of the foldout weapons for close combat, personal defense. The men she had shown it to were either awed, or they dismissed it as likely to be underpowered and inaccurate. Others had tried to point out that without a trigger guard, a user was likely to fire it accidentally. Her answer to such dismissals was always the same. You just have to know when and how to use it, and McKenna Riker absolutely knew how to use it and use it well.

  Slipping the brass knuckles on her right hand after extending the blade, she paused for a moment listening to her target, the figure with the bonnet speaking, “I don’t know, Sara, maybe he really doesn’t mean us any harm!”

  “You willing to bet your life on it? Now hush up, Lilybelle!”

  As the woman worked to reload the shotgun, McKenna crept with the stealth of a cat stalking its prey into the wagon. Perched on a box that was slanted upwards like everything else in the wagon she struck. At the same moment, she drove her left arm outward and yanked it back so the woman in the bonnet was locked into the crook of her arm, her right hand brought the tip of the blade up and held the point a fraction of an inch from her neck. The woman gave a terrified yelp and her companion next to her snapped her head around, her eyes growing three times their size as her mouth fell open.

  “Drop the shotgun or I drop her!” McKenna hissed. Though she’d never accidentally pulled the trigger on her trick weapon, she didn’t see any reason to take a chance, so the knife would suit her purposes. The blade she was holding was more of puncture weapon, but it would do the job if necessary, not that she had the intention of hurting anyone, but she would see the women disarmed.

  “Who … where did you …” the woman began, but McKenna cut her off.

  “Toss the gun out the back of the wagon now!!”

  With no choice, the woman still in stunned wonder pitched it through the back opening. As McKenna demanded to know if there were any more weapons, they heard it clatter to the ground followed by approaching footsteps.

  “That’s it. That’s the only weapon our uncle brought with us!” the woman said in a quaking voice. McKenna lowered the knuckleduster’s blade and let go of her captive. The terrified woman glanced back at her, shocking McKenna to see she was little more than a fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl. Still, she ordered them out of the wagon.

  A few moments later, all three of them stood before Nash, who had the woman's rifle slung over his shoulder and behind his head. McKenna watched as he gave them an easy smile, attempting to put the women at ease. None knew her brother better, so she also saw his look of interest as he took in the well put together brunette.

  “You ladies care to tell me why you decided today of all days to use me as target practice?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Soon the quartet had adjourned to sit in the shade underneath the few trees of any considerable height near the gully. Introductions were made along with sheepish apologies mostly from the two young women, though McKenna did apologize for the fear of God that she’d put into them when she’d materialized behind them in the wagon like a wraith.

  The twenty-five-year-old brunette and the sixteen-year-old were named Sara and Lilybelle Keene. Until the day before, they had been part of a wagon train from Dallas, Texas, that had been traveling for many weeks across the Nevada and Arizona Territories before ending up in California. From there the train was to make their way northward to their final destination, a settlement on Victoria Bay along the Oregon coast.

  “Why aren’t you ladies with the wagon train and how-” Riker began.

  “-did you wind up in that gully with a team of oxen carrying a fresh load of lead in their skulls?” McKenna finished. As always concluding each other’s sentences came second nature.

  "The quick and dirty answer is I wasn't ready to give up my virtue to some no-good, filthy jasper!" Lilybelle cried out as she snatched her bonnet off her head and threw it to the ground in anger. As she did so a cascade of ginger hair tumbled down to her shoulders. Riker and McKenna briefly glanced at each other and then turned back, awaiting a further explanation.

  “Forgive Lilybelle. She has always been of a short temperament but what she says is true,” Sara said apologetically leaving Riker to wink at her.

  “I’d say you have a bit of a hair trigger temperament yourself the way you were slinging buckshot in my direction earlier.”

  Bashfully, she looked down, and then when she was able to look at him again, there was a crimson hue to her face. “As said before I am dreadfully sorry about that. But our nerves were on edge having been abandoned out here.”

  “Miss Keene, I think it’s high time you backed up and painted us a pretty little picture just what this is all about,” McKenna pushed gently.

  Sara laid her hand on Lilybelle’s shoulder and then fixed the Riker twins with a hard look on her porcelain features. Her green eyes flashed with fire.

  “The wagon master and his sons. That’s what this is all about. Forgive me for the language but the bastard’s name is Langston, Dieter Langston, and his devil spawns go by the name of Jet and Cole. Our elderly uncle came from Oregon to collect us and take us to meet up with our father who’d resettled there last year to get things in order before we joined him.”

  “Our ma, she’s dead. Been dead for years,” Lilybelle added.

  "We signed up with Langston's wagon train. He sure seemed nice at first, but along the
way, he became a tinhorn tyrant. Uncle Don clashed with him a-plenty, but it didn't do no good."

  Lilybelle bobbed her head up and down. “That wagon master was slick. He didn’t show his true colors until we were deep into Nevada. There was no demanding he open his strong box where he kept all the money from us settlers and refund us. There was no turning back at that point.”

  “She’s right,” Sara frowned. “Said we had to stick with him. Especially when we entered Arizona. Langston said anyone stupid enough to strike out on their own would deserve the scalping they were sure to get if they stumbled across Black Hawk and his Omegas!”

  The Rikers again exchanged a glance. There were few in the West who hadn’t heard of the notorious Yavapai and his war on the Arizona Territory. His band of killers was made up of Indians of every stripe united in their hatred of the white man. They had been dubbed the Omegas after the last letter of the Greek alphabet thanks to their vow to fight to the last man if it meant ridding Arizona of the last white settlers. In their patrols through the West, they'd never encountered an Omega warrior, and they were quite happy to keep it that way. However, if the day ever came they crossed path with one, brother and sister were ready to go toe to toe in the name of justice for all the murdered settlers that had fallen to Black Hawk's crusade.

  They turned their attention back to Sara, who was telling how things grew worse after Donald came down with cholera after drinking from a contaminated spring as they neared the Arizona/California border. Shortly afterward the nieces had grieved at having to bury him with a simple wooden marker alongside the trail in an Arizona valley that had no name. With their male protector out of their way, a constant unwanted flirtation from the pair of younger Langstons directed towards the Keene sisters blossomed into full-blown harassment.

  It seemed that thirty-five-year-old Jet Langston had an eye for the teenagers amongst the pioneers but had always been kept at bay by fathers and their firearms. But now it was open season on Lilybelle. Unlike Sara, Lilybelle had favored their late mother with her ginger hair and her well-developed bosoms. Pass after pass Jet had kept making at the young girl, but Sara had done her best to become a buffer between the two. Divide and conquer had become the order of the day as Jet had enlisted Cole to keep Sara busy as he had hassled Lilybelle.

  Other men in the party had tried to intervene, but Dieter Langston was quite content to let his sons run amok. Any opposition was met by a threat that the wagon master would banish the offender from the wagon train and to the mercy of Black Hawk and his band if they were out there lurking somewhere. Even the toughest men had to yield and look out for their own wives and daughters. The Keene women, for all practical purposes, were defenseless.

  As they listened, Riker could see that McKenna was seething as her clenched fists had turned white. His sister at the young age of eleven had developed her large breasts and shapely curves early, and that had immediately made her the target of every horny boy at the schoolhouse. The magnet McKenna had become didn’t stop there. At church on Sundays, the priest had made sure that the Riker family had the first pew in front of the pulpit. His excuse had been he wanted to reward the devoutness and volunteer work of their step-mother Abbie-Maria.

  In retrospect, it had become clear a year later that he had just wanted a good view of McKenna when the clergyman lost his crown jewels from a blast of buckshot when an angry father had caught the clergyman molesting his twelve-year-old daughter in the shed behind the church. It had shocked McKenna to her core as the kindly man had asked repeatedly for her to help clean the same hut, but for various reasons, she had always been unable to. Riker's fists had a put a stop to the harassment at school, but at least they were her peers, but he knew it rankled his twin to this day when older men targeted young girls.

  “This Jet,” McKenna began fuming, “How far did he push this?”

  “It all came to a head yesterday. Jet had tied his horse between one of the wagons, and while I was driving, he snuck into the wagon in a manner like you did, only through the back. Lilybelle was resting.” She turned and looked at her younger sister.

  "Next thing you know I wake up and one hand is over my mouth, and the other was under my dress making its way towards my …" she looked at Riker, embarrassed to be speaking of such matters in front of a man. "My, well, you know."

  “Womanhood.” McKenna rescued her. Lilybelle flashed her a smile of thanks as her sister continued, angrily spitting out how Lilybelle had managed to burst out with a stifled scream that she had heard. Sara had dropped her reins and pulled out Uncle Donald’s rifle she kept under the seat and pointed it at the Langston brother in the back of their wagon. Unfortunately, with no one controlling the reins, the oxen started to veer to one side, jostling her as she pulled the trigger. She’d missed Jet and before she could react, he had let go of Lilybelle and scrambled forward and yanked the rifle out of her hand.

  "After that, there was hell to pay," Sara said solemnly

  “And not by him,” Lilybelle murmured in a low voice.

  “Dieter said as wagon master he was law and he was charging us with the attempted murder of his son. The punishment was banishment! Everyone got all up in arms, but the Langstons fired their weapons in the air and said the next person who protested would join us in exile.”

  “So, they left without us,” Lilybelle said with her features darkening from the memory of being abandoned.

  “The last wagon was out of sight when Jet comes riding back. I was trying to turn us around to get some distance from him, but he caught up with us and shot our first ox in the side and it went wild and started charging for the gully. We went down into it with the wagon sticking up like it was, and then Jet rode up and shot both oxen in the head saying that was for trying to kill him and we were a good as dead left on our own. He said if the Injuns didn’t get us, the first saddlebum that came along would rape us so hard before he killed us that we’d wish Lilybelle had become his woman,” She looked downcast, “That’s why I shot at you. I guess he scared me enough to think the first person to come along would do us harm. Again, I’m so sorry, Mr. Riker.”

  “Please, call me Nash.”

  Her grin caught his attention, there was a little something extra in it and her eyes seemed to convey a warmth towards him, but she immediately became serious.

  “That scoundrel was right about one thing. He did leave us pretty much as good as dead with no way to move our wagon, and the Lord only knows how far away we are from a town. We thought about trying to walk the trail but …”

  “We were afraid,” Lilybelle said flatly.

  A warm breeze that swept through the valley seemed as if it carried away the worries of the Keene sisters as the Rikers assured them that everything was going to be all right. In actuality, they weren't too far away from a town called Bullet, which was a community the convoys plying this wagon trail often stopped at to re-provision before continuing their northwestern trek to Oregon and even as far as British Columbia. Before they had left Apache Junction, they had overheard the telegraph operator in the general store where McKenna had been buying a slab of ham and bread, sharing some information. He was telling a friend a wagon train was currently held up in Bullet as they waited for the wagon master to recover from a bout of fever. Riker was certain they could join up with that party.

  When Lilybelle had reasonably asked how they would get their wagon to Bullet, Mckenna proposed that while Cain and Abel were no draft horses, they could be temporarily pressed into service to pull the wagon to Bullet. Lilybelle had perked up at this idea saying before their uncle Don had died he had given them all the money he was carrying. With that, they could get some more oxen or horses. Riker rose and said they should set about untethering the covered wagon from the dead oxen and prepare to use their mounts to pull it back out of the gully. A grateful Sara rose and threw her arms around him. Her breasts weren't big enough to truly register as large as her chest crushed against his body, but that hadn't mattered to the marshal.
He enjoyed women of a variety of shapes and sizes and the fact the dark-haired woman was a true beauty further enticed him.

  "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" she looked McKenna's way and immediately became embarrassed. "Both of you." She pulled away from Riker but was slow to do so, and for his part, he was sorry to see the embrace ended. He could sense in the air the burgeoning attraction between them and he welcomed it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Riker had awoken the following morning next to the ash-gray remnants of the campfire the foursome had bedded down beside with a feeling of accomplishment. Everything had gone smoothly in freeing the wagon from the gully, but it had taken some time to achieve. Once their straining horses had pulled it up and out and its wheels touched down on flat earth, McKenna had noticed something none of them had. When it had crashed into the ditch, one of the spokes had broken on the front wheel on the right-hand side.

  Armed with a hatchet, Riker had busied himself hacking off one of the limbs of the nearby dead tree and managed to fashion a crude replacement spoke for the Keene's wagon. By the time all that had been completed the sun had dropped behind the mountains and twilight was swiftly approaching. It was too late at that point to set out for Bullet, so the group resolved themselves to move the wagon towards the edge of the valley close to the wall of the Beaumont Escarpment. Riker had explained that it made sense for safety's sake, eliminating one flank for anyone, Indian or otherwise that wished to do harm to travelers.

  As the wagon now pulled by the two brothers rolled to a stop between a cluster of small hills and the wall of the escarpment Riker had found that Sara had brains as well as beauty. The Texan had remarked his decision about being strategic when setting up a camp sounded like that of a man with a military background like their father, who as a very young man, had fought Mexico to establish the Republic of Texas before it was absorbed into the United States.