Day of Rage

by William W. Johnstone

  He was up early the next morning. By sundown, if everything went as planned, the main threat to the gold would be eliminated, so he told Della, “I’m going to stop by the saloon and let Royal know that he can come here this evening and get you. It’ll be safe by then for you to go back to the Silver Spur.”

  “What if your plan doesn’t work and Gilmore gets away with the gold?”

  “Well, in that case, you won’t really be a threat to him anymore,” John Henry said. “Either way, you ought to be safe again.”

  “But you’ll probably be dead if that’s the way it turns out.”

  “I suppose you can’t have everything,” John Henry said.

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  John Henry went downstairs to the dining room to get a breakfast tray. The redheaded waitress was there, and she said, “If I didn’t know better, Mr. Sixkiller, I’d say you have someone else up in your room.”

  “You’re welcome to come take a look for yourself,” he told her with a meaningful smile.

  As he expected, she got a little skittish when he pretended to take her flirting seriously and returned it. She said, “I, uh, can’t do that. I have to work.”

  “That’s a real shame.”

  “Goodness, I can’t stand around talking all day!” She bustled off, and John Henry tried not to grin at how well his ploy had worked.

  After breakfast he told Della, “Sorry, but I’m going to have to leave you now. I have a lot to do this morning, between now and the time I need to be at the bank.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get ready to give Gilmore and his men a warm welcome this afternoon,” John Henry said. He didn’t go into detail, and Della didn’t press him.

  She looked nice, wrapped in her robe and sitting up in the bed. John Henry went over to her, bent down, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

  “That’s the best I’m ever going to get, isn’t it?” Della asked with a sigh. Without waiting for him to answer, she went on, “Whoever that girl is, back where you come from, she’s mighty lucky.”

  “I hope she feels the same way,” John Henry said. “Don’t forget what I told you about Royal. You ought to give him a chance.”

  Della still didn’t look convinced that the saloon keeper could really care about her, but she promised, “I’ll think about it.”

  Figuring that a man who ran a saloon might still be asleep at this time of day, John Henry’s first stop was the general store. In a town like Purgatory that depended heavily on the mines in the area, the store naturally carried quite a bit of mining equipment, and it had what John Henry needed. He was sure the clerk was curious about what he intended to do with his purchases, but John Henry didn’t offer any explanations.

  And since he was known as the man who had survived a bushwhacking by two of Billy Ray Gilmore’s outlaws, none of the citizens were about to give him any trouble over anything he did.

  With the things he had bought in a canvas sack, he stopped at the livery stable to check on Iron Heart. The horse nuzzled his hand happily, glad to see him again.

  “You’ve been stuck in here the whole time we’ve been here, haven’t you?” John Henry said. “If I’d known I wasn’t going to be riding the range any, I might not have brought you. You’re probably ready to get out and stretch your legs again. Soon, old friend, soon. This is almost all over.”

  He hoped that turned out to be true.

  From the stable he went down the street to the undertaking parlor, where he introduced himself to Cy Shuster. Most people thought of undertakers as cadaverous themselves, but Shuster was short, plump, and jolly. Bouchard had kept John Henry’s name out of the ruse concerning Della, so Shuster didn’t know about his connection to that. He knew who John Henry was, though, just like nearly everybody else in Purgatory.

  Since part of the undertaker’s job was making coffins, he was good at carpentry and working with wood. As John Henry explained what he wanted, Shuster frowned, obviously puzzled, but he nodded and said, “Sure, I reckon I can do that, Mr. Sixkiller. How soon do you need those things?”

  “Just as soon as you can have them ready,” John Henry said. “Later this morning, if possible.”

  “Well, if I hurry that much, it won’t be a fancy job.”

  “It doesn’t have to be fancy,” John Henry said. “It just has to work.”

  Shuster nodded and said, “All right. Give me an hour.”

  John Henry carefully lifted the canvas sack and asked, “Can I leave this here until I come back for the other things?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t look in it or jostle it around,” John Henry warned.

  Shuster held up his pudgy hands and shook his head. He said, “Whatever’s in there is your business, not mine.” He hesitated. “It won’t bite, will it?”

  John Henry chuckled.

  “No, but you still wouldn’t want to stick your hand in there.”

  He left the undertaking parlor and spent the next hour strolling around town, apparently idly. Actually, he was studying everything about Purgatory as he had before, making sure he had things clear in his mind. Once the trouble started, he might not have time to wonder where he was or which way he needed to head next.

  He also went by the Silver Spur and talked to Royal Bouchard, telling him that it would be safe that evening for Bouchard to bring Della back to the Silver Spur.

  “You’re sure about that?” Bouchard asked.

  “Positive,” John Henry said. “One way or another, she’ll be out of danger by then.”

  Bouchard shook his head and said, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you’ve done for that girl, John Henry.”

  “Give me one of your cigars, and we’ll call it square.”

  “A cigar?” Bouchard asked as his eyebrows rose in puzzlement. “That’s not much.”

  “It’s enough,” John Henry insisted.

  “Well . . . all right.”

  Bouchard handed John Henry a cigar. John Henry smelled it appreciatively, then slid it into his shirt pocket.

  “I’ll smoke it later,” he said. “There’s one other thing, Royal.”

  “Anything,” Bouchard said.

  “If I was you, I’d get around to telling Della how you really feel about her sooner rather than later.”

  He left Bouchard staring after him in surprise.

  When John Henry returned to the undertaker’s, Shuster greeted him with “Was this what you wanted?”

  John Henry looked over the hastily fashioned items for a moment before nodding in satisfaction.

  “These ought to work for what I need,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

  Shuster waved away the offer of payment and said, “I used scraps for most of it, so it didn’t really cost me anything but time. I’m just curious to find out what you’re planning. Or do you intend to keep it a secret?”

  “Not for too much longer,” John Henry said. “Do you have something I can use to wrap all this up?”

  “A burial shroud. Would that do?”

  “Strangely appropriate,” John Henry said with a nod.

  This time when he left Shuster’s place, he went out the back. Carrying the bag from the general store and the shroud-wrapped bundle of the things the undertaker had made for him and sticking to the alleys, he made his way to the rear of the bank and gently set everything on the ground. He had noticed a ladder leaning against the wall a few businesses away, so he fetched it now and leaned it against the bricks.

  Being careful, he took the things he had rounded up this morning up the ladder to the building’s flat roof. Staying low and keeping to the middle of the roof so no one on the ground would be likely to notice him, he catfooted to the front of the building and made a few more preparations, then left them there where they would be ready for him later.

  Since he couldn’t materialize a troop of cavalry or a posse of deputy U.S. marshals out of thin air, he had done what he could to get ready for wh
at was going to happen today, he told himself as he climbed down the ladder.

  He just had to hope it would be enough.

  * * *

  John Henry checked his pocket watch: eleven o’clock. The wagons bringing down the first load of bullion from the mountains ought to be here soon. He’d really expected them to show up earlier than this.

  “I know,” Mayor Cravens said as John Henry put his watch away. “I thought they’d be here by now, too.” The banker took out a handkerchief and mopped sweat from his forehead, even though the day was cool. “Maybe Gilmore decided one load was enough and hit them in the mountains.”

  “I don’t think so,” John Henry said. “He wouldn’t be satisfied with a third of what he could get if he waited until all the gold is here.”

  The bank was closed for business today, and the front door was locked. The head teller, Harley Smoot, had come in to work, though, and stood at the windows looking out at the street. He turned suddenly and said in an excited voice, “They’re here, Mr. Cravens!”

  “Thank God!” Cravens muttered. “It’s about time.”

  He hurried toward the door to unlock it.

  John Henry was right behind the banker. He stepped out onto the boardwalk to watch the impressive procession coming down the street.

  Two wagons drawn by teams of six strong mules rolled toward the bank, each driven by a hardfaced man who wore two revolvers. Beside each driver rode an equally grim guard also armed with a pair of six-guns and a double-barreled Greener. Two Winchesters lay on the floorboard. That was a lot of firepower.

  It was just the start, though. Four men, each of them heavily armed as well, rode in front of the lead wagon. Four more guards were positioned between the wagons, and a final four brought up the rear. Twelve guards on horseback, four more on the wagons themselves, counting the drivers. If they were attacked, they could put up a fight, that was for sure.

  In front of both wagons and all the guards came a buggy with two more men in it. One was another shotgun-wielding guard. The man holding the reins was Jason True, and he handled the team of two black horses pulling the buggy briskly and efficiently. So the first load of bullion came from True’s San Francisco mine, John Henry thought.

  He looked along the street and saw that the boardwalks were unusually empty. Once he thought about it for a second, he understood why. Rumors must have been flying about the gold being brought to town today; with that many guards working for the mine owners, it would have been impossible to keep the schedule a total secret. And the townspeople had to figure that Billy Ray Gilmore probably had his eye on the bullion. The citizens of Purgatory were going to keep their heads down, well out of the line of fire, until that gleaming fortune was gone from their town.

  That was good for his purposes, John Henry told himself. When hell broke loose, there would be less chance of an innocent bystander getting hurt.

  And hell was going to break loose. He had no doubt of that.

  Jason True brought his buggy to a halt in front of the bank. The gold-laden wagons pulled up behind him. John Henry could see now that canvas was stretched over the bed of each wagon, but there were enough gaps around it that stacks of wooden crates were visible. Each crate would have several ingots of bullion inside it, he knew.

  “Thank God you’re here safely,” Cravens greeted True. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Not a bit,” True said as he looped the reins around the buggy’s brake lever. With the agility of a younger man, he jumped down from the vehicle. “We just got a bit later start than we’d intended.” True looked at John Henry and nodded to him. “Sixkiller. How does everything look?”

  “Good,” John Henry said. “I don’t think you’re going to have any problems.”

  He knew good and well that wasn’t true, but he didn’t see any harm in saying it.

  Jason True grunted and said, “I’ll believe that when I see it.” He turned and gestured to his men. “Let’s get it unloaded and inside the bank.”

  The guards dismounted. Half of them arranged themselves around the wagons, holding rifles slanted across their chests and facing outwards so their eyes could constantly scan the buildings along the street, alert for any signs of trouble. The other guards began hauling the crates into the bank.

  “How many men are you leaving with me?” Cravens asked True.

  “There will be four guards around the bank.”

  “Four?” Cravens repeated. “Is that all? Gilmore has at least a dozen men!”

  “That’s all we can spare,” True said. “Not as many men showed up as we were expecting. I suppose they decided double wages weren’t enough for risking their lives.” He nodded toward John Henry and added dryly, “But you have your own special guard as well.”

  “It’s not enough,” Cravens insisted.

  “We do the best we can. There are a lot more places up in the mountains where Gilmore and his gang could ambush the wagons. We need the guards there. I’ll be staying here, too, Joe. We’ll be all right.”

  Cravens sighed and said, “I don’t know why Wells Fargo couldn’t just meet you here today and take charge of the gold right away.”

  “They have limited manpower as well, and besides, they couldn’t leave with it until tomorrow morning anyway.”

  “I suppose. I won’t rest, though, until it’s out of my safe and on its way to Lordsburg.”

  Neither would he, John Henry thought.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The air of tension inside the bank and elsewhere in town grew even stronger as the day went on. By the time the second load of bullion arrived shortly after one o’clock in the afternoon, this one from Arnold Goodman’s El Halcón mine, the boardwalks were completely empty.

  Except for the activity around the bank, Purgatory looked like a ghost town.

  “Did you encounter any trouble?” Jason True asked Goodman as they watched the guards unloading the gold.

  The stocky, bulldog-like mine owner shook his head.

  “No sign of Gilmore or any other desperado,” he said. He looked at John Henry and went on, “This is the gunslinger Cravens hired?”

  “That’s right. John Henry Sixkiller, this is Arnold Goodman.”

  Goodman didn’t offer to shake hands. He looked at John Henry with narrow, suspicious eyes and said, “I don’t like the idea of trusting a man who makes his living with a gun.”

  “Some people feel the same way about men who make their living sitting in boardrooms,” John Henry said.

  Goodman’s heavy features flushed with anger.

  “I didn’t always sit in a boardroom,” he snapped. “If you want I’ll prove it.”

  “Settle down, Arnold,” True said. “Let’s worry about Gilmore, not about fighting with someone who’s here to help us.”

  “How do we know he’s here to help us?” Goodman demanded.

  True looked at John Henry and said, “If he’s not, then God help him, because he’ll regret it.”

  John Henry kept his face impassive and didn’t say anything. They would all know the truth about him soon enough, he thought.

  Once Goodman’s gold was unloaded and stowed away in the safe, the wagons and their accompanying guards would head up into the mountains once more, bound for Dan Lacey’s Bonita mine where they would pick up the final load of bullion.

  Four guards posted around the bank wouldn’t be enough to fight off Gilmore’s gang, John Henry thought. Cravens had been right about that. He checked the street again, then went over to True and Goodman.

  “I think you ought to leave more men here this time,” John Henry told them. “Since there’s more gold here now than the wagons will be bringing down, the odds have tipped the other way. This is where the greatest danger is.”

  Of course, he knew from talking to Gilmore when the outlaws planned to strike, but he wasn’t quite ready to reveal that. For one thing, he was convinced that Gilmore had another inside man, and John Henry didn’t know that man’s identity. He didn’t
want anybody tipping off Gilmore that the plan was compromised.

  Also, there was always the chance that Gilmore had lied to him and planned to rob the bank before the third load got here. In that case, having some extra guards on hand might save the day.

  Goodman said, “I’m not sure we should be taking advice from a—”

  “Hold on,” True broke in. “Sixkiller may be on to something there. If Gilmore was to hit the bank after the wagons start back up to Lacey’s mine, he could get twice as much bullion here than he could if he made a try for the wagons.”

  “He wants it all,” Goodman insisted.

  “You’re probably right. But it won’t hurt to leave a few more guards here. In fact, let’s split them and keep eight men here while eight go with the wagons.”

  Goodman didn’t look happy about it, but he reluctantly went along with the idea.

  “This had better not backfire, though,” he said. “If it does, I’m blaming you and Sixkiller.”

  John Henry didn’t give a damn about blame. He just wanted to get this over with.

  Something else was nagging at him. He hadn’t seen Sophie Clearwater or Doc Mitchum since the night before last. He didn’t know if they were even still in Purgatory, or if they had given up the idea of stealing the gold and left town. With all the plans he had made, those two were still wild cards, and they could ruin everything if they interfered at the wrong time.

  It was too late to do anything about them. In a few hours, the third load of bullion would be here and Billy Ray Gilmore would make his move. That is, if he didn’t strike before then....

  With approximately half as many guards as they’d had before, the empty wagons left Purgatory and started back up the winding trail into the mountains where the mines were located. The bank’s front door was locked and two of the extra guards were stationed at the door of the room containing the safe. The rear door was not only locked but had a heavy bar across it. No one would be getting in that way without a considerable amount of trouble or a fistful of dynamite.

  Couldn’t rule anything out, John Henry thought with an ironic smile as he looked at that rear door. If Gilmore had been telling the truth, though, he intended to come in the front, after slaughtering the guards.