As they had lain together in the quiet times between their several bouts of lovemaking throughout the night he had described what it would be like to start constructing individual pieces of the framework that when assembled would form a windmill at a homestead not far from Pepper Hill. McKenna had wished him well and said perhaps they would run into each other later when she arrived in town as well.
Truthfully, it seemed unlikely as he would be engaged outside of the town and she would be busy trying to get answers at the Cape Girardeau mining company. Still, one never knew. She hoped she would see him again, but she, like her brother, would take their lovers but knew that their life on the trails of the western side of the American continent wouldn't allow for any long-term commitments. It was live for the moment the pair had always agreed, especially in their dangerous line of work, when tomorrow might never come.
Rising she took a drink from her canteen that lay nearby and then poured some of the water in a pan she traveled with and let Cain lap it up. She also pulled out a bag of oats from her saddlebag and gave him a snack. Once they got to Pepper Hill, she'd see him properly fed at the livery. With her animal attended to, McKenna set out for the small waterfall she remembered seeing just before she had come upon Sam Belfry, the soon-to-be victim of the sinister events swirling around the freight company and the mine.
Rounding the bend, she looked up beyond the earthen embankment that rose alongside the trail and saw the water cascading downward. Making her way over the bank, she climbed down and walked to where the wall of the canyon met its floor. Her eyes saw that as the water hit the ground, it traveled a short way to the right before it vanished down into a hole in the ground to become a subterranean stream where no man would ever know where it wound up. Dropping the blanket, she stepped into the cascade and gave a shiver at how cold the mountain water was, but she quickly adjusted. In her hand was a bar of soap nearly worn down to wafer thin and she went to lathering herself up.
Her hand with the soap traveled the curves of her body. Slowly she brought the bar up and rotated it around on her breasts. They had come early, and they had come large when she was just a mere eleven years old. It had brought her a lot of unwanted attention in the various schoolhouses she had attended. McKenna felt she had been blessed that there had been a barrier against that unwanted attention and that had been Nash. Her twin had made quick work of any of the schoolboys that got too fresh, drawn by her bulging mounds above her waist when the other girls had, for the most part, remained flat as the Kansas plains.
As the sound of the pouring water drowned out all the sounds of the rest of the world, she looked down for a moment and shook her head, laughing to herself as she closed her eyes. When she had moved into her later teenage years and found the attention was no longer unwelcome, Nash had become a liability then, and she had to explain which boys not to get into a row with trying to keep them away from her.
When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, she gasped because, at just that moment, Matt Markham lurched over the top of the rise separating the trail from the natural shower. Both of them froze, wide-eyed in shock. Being a gentleman, he quickly backed away and disappeared back down behind the small ridge. McKenna hurriedly finished her shower and wrapped herself in her blanket and scrambled over the rocky barrier where Markham stood pacing about with his head down, seemingly unsure of what to do. Just then, the light of the sun brightened the canyon as it rose into view overhead.
"Ma'am, I am terribly sorry," he said, removing his hat and holding it before him. "Didn't you hear me calling?"
"No, the water …," she said her voice trailing off. He perched the hat back on his head and looked her in the eye.
“I was worried something fierce. Butler and I arrived with the new wagon wheel and we saw the fire damage to the wagon and you nowhere around. Butler’s searching the other direction and I came this way shouting out your name, then I saw the tracks leading towards the waterfall. McKenna, are you all right?”
Her teeth shone as she flashed him a smile, “Matt, I’m fine. I’ll tell you all about it, but don’t you think I should get a little more attire than this here blanket?”
***
A short while later, they had regrouped with Butler, whose roaming eyes had swept over her form that the blanket did little to hide. As she had gone off to the far side of the wagon to dress, the men busied themselves preparing to replace the broken wheel with a new one. As they worked, McKenna relayed the night's events but left out exactly when Red Horse had left after coming to her aid preferring to let them draw their own conclusions that he had simply moved on after his timely arrival. It was her business, after all.
As the men finished their labors, she handed Markham one of the arrows and relayed how the fabricated weapons were on sale in the area and, according to Red Horse, that included Pepper Hill.
Shaking her head, she opined, "These aren't the brightest ducks in the pond with this clumsy attempt to pin it on Indians, who from what I gather from Red Horse, are few in number around here these days."
"That's right. You won't find many of those savages in these parts now," Butler said as he mopped his brow that had become coated in sweat from his exertions fixing the wagon. McKenna turned away from him, knowing that this man had yet to learn what Red Horse had learned. All peoples had their bad apples amongst them. To brand an entire group of people as nothing more than savages was a folly.
Markham stared into the back of the wagon looking at the undamaged goods. Peering back at her, she saw the gratitude outlined on the man’s face.
“Thank the good Lord above you called it correctly about someone making an attempt on the wagon.”
“Did you happen to get a look at these two varmints that attacked?” Butler wondered.
“I’d like to say that I did, but no, between the gunfire, the darkness, and the distance, the opportunity didn’t present itself.”
“Damn shame!” Butler growled, “We need to get these jaspers and put them out of business.”
“We’re going to be out of business with the mine in Pepper Hill if we don’t get this freight over there. It’s a day behind already, and our next run to them is supposed to be tomorrow morning. We need to get moving,” Markham said.
The men had brought with them two horses tied to the back of their buckboard. Quickly they hitched the fresh team to the wagon and tied McKenna's horse behind the buckboard. Butler took his place at the reins of the wagon and set it to rolling as McKenna and Markham followed along in the buckboard. They weren't expecting any brazen attack in broad daylight, but they weren't taking any chances as McKenna cradled her Winchester in her arms, scanning the sides of the pass.
At long last, they emerged out of it and continued on the trail that would end up at the mine operating in Pepper Hill. Finally, McKenna relaxed and allowed herself to converse with Markham.
“How well do you trust your men?”
This question drew a surprised look from the freight hauler, but he answered her quickly. “One hundred percent. Why do you ask?”
“Someone with access to your wagon sawed those spokes while Belfry and Butler were going over the manifest. An inside job is always the easiest explanation,” she mused as she studied his face that quickly became one of resolve.
"No, I trust these men. Most of them came over with me from when I sold my ranch and I started the freight hauling business. Take Butler for example. He hired on as my foreman the last year I was running my ranch."
“A rancher, huh?” she smiled, “Why you give it up? Tired of the long cattle drives?”
Her smile faded instantly as he looked away and dropped a bombshell on her. "No, my heart just wasn't in it anymore. My Nora and I started it together, but when the consumption took her, and I laid my wife to rest, I couldn't do it any longer. Took to bending an elbow at every saloon in town, and the ranch went into a spiral."
The inside of McKenna’s mouth felt to her as if it had run as dry as the Mohave Desert. No
w she knew what Red Horse had meant by the troubles at the freight office being another dark cloud that had descended on Markham’s livelihood, but it had gone far beyond what the carpenter had told her. Matt Markham, a widow, she thought feeling her heart grow heavy for her new acquaintance.
“I’m so sorry for being glib there a moment ago. I didn’t know.”
His somberness abated as he smiled at her reassuringly. “How could you know? Don’t think anything of it. The bottom line is, though, I sobered up when I realized Nora wouldn’t have wanted this for me. So, I sold the ranch before I completely ruined it, and Butler helped me set up the freight hauling business. Everything was going fine until all this started.”
Hesitating only for a moment, she reached out and laid one of her hands atop his that was controlling the team of horses. With eyes that sparkled with their conviction, she made him a promise.
“We will find out what’s going on here and get your business back in apple pie order and make sure whoever is doing this winds up with a nice view through the bars of their prison window!”
CHAPTER 29
DALTON’S CREEK
The morning found Riker and Callie back at her father's ranch. Sitting on the porch, they had just finished a gut-busting breakfast of bacon and eggs Callie had whipped up for them. Patting his stomach, Luther Beckett rose and went around the corner of his home to the woodpile, that leaned against the side of the house. Returning to the porch, a moment later he handed an ax to Riker.
Standing up from his seat in one of the Adirondack chairs the Becketts kept on their porch, he turned the ax over in his hand scrutinizing the blade.
“For the size of the tree we need to cut down, I think that we best sharpen this up before we head over to the woods,” he remarked.
As the men had been discussing, they had hatched a plan to cut down one of the ponderosa pines that rose at the edge of the clearing their ranch house sat on. Riker wanted to cut the trunk into cross-sections for which Callie would then paint on targets with a red bullseye in the center. They would then erect them in the pasture to give the vigilantes that were novices to the ways of the gun something to practice their skills on.
“You’re right, son. Can’t remember the last time that I sharpened the thing. We can head on over to the barn and sharpen it there,” Beckett said just as Callie touched his arm.
“Papa, do you hear that? It sounds like someone is coming. I hear horses.”
The trio looked down the road leading up to the house and now they could all hear hooves clomping along in their direction. A moment later the first rider came into view around the bend, onto the straightaway that led directly up to the Becketts’ front door.
Callie smiled. “Looks like we’re getting our first recruits for this here army Nash is putting together.” She turned to look at Riker, but he wasn’t smiling.
“The plan was for people to arrive at noon. It’s only nine or thereabouts. Folks have their chores and business to attend to. Strikes me as unlikely that they would arrive so early.”
Beckett’s face suddenly became drawn and pale as he pointed towards the large cluster of riders. “It’s not the townsfolks … it’s Dalton’s Peace Officers!”
A split second after the old man had cried out, Riker could see leading the group was none other than Bryant. The man had a cigar clenched between his teeth and a billowing trail of blue smoke followed in his wake.
“This means trouble,” Callie said stonily, and Riker quite agreed, knowing with all certainty someone had sold them out.
“This is no social call. I’m getting my gun.”
Earlier when they had returned, and Callie was preparing the hearty breakfast, Riker had busied himself at a table in the living room, cleaning and oiling his gun, making it ready for the training session at high noon. When Callie had called out the food was ready, he'd left his pistol on the table and the trio had elected to eat out on the porch to sample the crisp spring air that surrounded the homestead. He made all of two steps before the whine of a bullet filled the air and a piece of the door frame he was heading for splintered.
"I wouldn't go in there if I was you, stranger! You all get on down off that porch!" Bryant called out as the cigar dangled from his lips. Slowly the triad stepped down as ordered, watching as the six men on horseback parted to allow a wagon that was following behind them draw up and come to a stop by Bryant who leaned back in his saddle as he appraised Riker still holding the ax in his hands.
"Boy, I dunno what you're planning to do with that ax, but I'll wager a month's pay that my steel," he waved his pistol in the air for effect before climbing down from his horse, "bests your steel any day of the week." Bryant looked at his men for a moment laughing and then turned to Riker. "Now what say you put that down … before you hurt yourself with it?"
Riker gave him a hard look and for a moment appeared he was about to let the ax drop to the ground when he suddenly hefted it upward and threw it towards Bryant planting it in the ground directly between the man's spread apart legs. Bryant jumped back, a frightened yelp escaping his lips. One of his men to his left let out a chuckle. Bryant spun around and fired a single shot, clipping the man's hat right off his head. Startled by his near brush with death, the man lost his balance and flipped over backward, crashing to the earth. Callie let out a gasp as the arm the man landed on broke, the compound fracture ejecting the jagged end of one of the broken bones right through his skin.
As the injured man wailed in pain, curling up in a fetal position and rocking back and forth, Bryant spun his six-shooter towards the man who had instigated what had just played out. His hand was shaking, but Riker stood there unflinching.
“I ought to … I ought to blow your head clean off them shoulders of yours, stranger!”
“Then why don’t you Bryant?”
“Nash!” Callie cried out in panic but Riker, unfazed continued his hard gaze towards Bryant.
Slowly, Bryant lowered his gun and looked at Riker, the hatred blazing in his eyes telegraphing to the Becketts that it must have taken all of the man’s self-control not to fire on Riker, who still remained calm.
“Truth is I’ve got orders not to. Besides, I need you to show me where Spencer is at. I’m bringing his body back to Dalton’s Creek.” Bryant plucked out his cigar and threw it to the ground and stomped it beyond recognition. “That’s what I’d like to do to you, Mister Riker, Farley was my friend.”
“Spencer’s body … that’s what the wagon is for?” Luther said, speaking for the first time. Bryant holstered his gun and put his hands on his hips. “Not exactly, old man. Sure, we’ll use it to bring the body back to town, but let’s get to the real reason we’re here. Beckett, go gather up all the men that work for you. There is something they need to hear.”
Signaling that it wasn’t a request but an order, a wave of Bryant’s hand set off a repeat of the day before as his group of mounted riders drew out their weapons. A clatter rose in the air from the sound of hammers being thumbed. Riker gave a nod of his head for Luther to comply.
"Yep, not what you're expecting, was it, stranger. It's six-guns or surrender all right, but it's your six-guns that are being surrendered!" the man sneered, giving Riker the final confirmation from the parroting of his own words that someone at the meeting had either accidentally slipped or purposely sold them out to Dalton.
An uneasy few minutes passed as Luther rounded up the ranch hands, and they all stood in a row in front of the ranch house. Bryant beckoned for Callie, Luther, and Riker to step forward. Theatrically, he swept his arm towards the wagon and the two men and Callie walked past Bryant and peered in the bed of the wagon. Strewn about were all manner of guns from pistols to rifles. Besides the Smith and Wessons, Colts, and Winchesters, there were a few particularly old looking guns that Riker had no idea who might have manufactured them.
Next, to him, Luther's eyes narrowed, and he pointed to a particular gun.
“That monster gun there with the twelve-i
nch barrel. I know that gun! It’s a five shot Colt Paterson! Belongs to Kimble Hancock over at the Long Branch spread!”
Bryant sported a shit-eating grin as he walked up to the wagon and leaned back against it crossing his arms. “That’s right! That was one of the stops that we made before coming over your way. You got any guns, Beckett?”
“Got a Colt and my old Buffalo rifle hanging over the fireplace!” Beckett said coldly.
"Now you folks listen up real close now! Last night in a special session of the council, a new emergency declaration was declared. Under a new law, my men are hereby authorized to confiscate all citizen-owned weapons as protection against any potential bloodshed. Furthermore, anyone caught concealing or carrying a gun in Dalton's Creek will be immediately jailed and fined. Anyone that refuses to cooperate and surrender their guns will also be immediately jailed and fined. Anyone attempting to outright stop us by employing said guns against us will be met with punishment up to and including … death!"
Callie took a step towards Bryant, but Riker stepped in front of her. Calling around from behind him, she screamed at Dalton’s stooge. “You can’t do this! Your so-called council is made up of you, the Judge, and Dalton! No one here elected any of you! Dalton appointed you and Dalton’s father appointed him before he died!”
"Ma'am, it don't matter how the council came to be … only that it's the last word when it comes to the law around here. This is just one of several wagons going all over these parts, collecting up these outlawed weapons!"
Callie’s eyes frantically looked to Riker, and he knew she was waiting for him to say something as the Marshal that he was, but he knew she was acting emotionally. Attempting to resist the Peace Officers now would be just as futile as the day before on the main street.
Six-Guns Or Surrender (Lincoln's Lawman Book 1) Page 18
