Six Days to Sundown

by Paul Lederer

  Casey shifted his sights.

  As he had expected, the lone guard had located the source of the trouble, spotted Casey’s muzzle blast on the ridge above the camp. He heard the man shout something, point a finger and go to one knee to better aim his rifle. He was still beside the cedar tree, and Casey, more ready for the exchange than the Shadow Rider, fired three rapid shots in and around the raider, one of these tearing a huge chunk of meat from the old tree. The rifleman changed his mind about fighting in the open, yipped, and dove for cover. The raider might have been tagged by one of the bullets though Casey had not tried to shoot him dead. It was hard to be sure, and it was of no consequence to him at that moment.

  The other Shadow Riders tried to rise from the tangle of their beds, grab for their weapons and return fire, but they were half-asleep, had no idea where the shots were coming from, and half of them were still unarmed. Casey continued to pepper the camp with rifle fire until the barrel of his Henry was hot. Then he calmly reloaded while the Shadow Riders took to their heels, nearly trampling one another as they fought their way toward the cover of the woods in wild retreat.

  Casey eased his way back from the edge of the outcropping. This was the second time he had warned them to keep away from the settlers. Maybe this time the message would stick.

  Walking back to where he had left Checkers, Casey untied the Appy and turned its head southward. He rode slowly through the night, the moon descending now, showing its face prettily through the tips of the pine trees. He found the stack of weathered boulders where the leaning pine grew, found his own tracks, made only the night before, and guided Checkers up and over the knoll toward Sundown on this last night.

  Perhaps it was now ended, perhaps the settlers could now have the homes they longed for, deserved. After all, ‘Gervase McCoy’ was no more, and that meant there would be no more wages to be had, and once the Shadow Riders realized it, understood that there could be a deadly price to pay if they continued, they might see the sense in dispersing, satisfied to take whatever they had already earned and proceed to their next job. Perhaps.

  Joe Duggan, Casey felt sure, would not quit. But what could Duggan do now? The bag of tricks seemed empty.

  Unless Genevieve McCoy had somehow managed to leave a legacy of evil behind her.

  TEN

  They had made it through. Coming down from the snowy knolls in the dawn light, Casey Storm saw the horses, tended by kids, lined up along the river-bank to drink their fill from the sparkling, quietly flowing waters of the river. The morning sky was flushed orange and pale crimson, the new snow shimmering silver in the light of the coming sun. The wagons were haphazardly circled, and at least three camp-fires were burning brightly. The settlers were gathered around these talking, laughing with relief, discussing their recent past while planning for their future.

  Casey trailed in on the weary Appaloosa. The eyes that met his now were no longer hostile, and here and there a man raised a hand in greeting. He found the Landis wagon near the river, in the cool shade of a trio of wide-spreading oak trees. Swinging down from Checkers’s back, he simply dropped the reins and walked stiffly toward the rear of the wagon. He hesitated, wondering many things. Was he even welcome now that the job had been completed? Was the colonel even alive? Did Marly feel …?

  ‘Are you going to stand out there all day!’ the colonel’s voice boomed and, grinning, Casey levered his weary body up into the wagon where he found Landis in his bed, Marly crouched beside him with a cup of coffee. Her wide eyes met his with deep pleasure as she rose and, as she came to him and placed her slender arms around his waist, all of his previous fears seemed foolish.

  ‘We’ll need another cup of coffee,’ the colonel said. He stretched his wounded leg uncomfortably beneath the blankets and told Casey, ‘Sit down,’ as Marly exited through the box to go to their small camp-fire for more coffee.

  ‘Have any luck?’ Landis asked.

  ‘I had a conversation with the Shadow Riders. Whether it did any good or not, only time will tell, sir. You got the wagons through – I knew you would.’

  ‘I wasn’t so sure myself,’ Landis said quietly, sipping at his coffe. ‘You know, Casey, that bellowing I do is all just for show. Something I learned in command school. Around the dinner table, women and kids, I’m not that way. Not at all. It’s just that most men, whether they admit it or not, need to have someone in charge to tell them what to do. And the loudest voice is the most effective when people are standing around indecisively.’

  ‘How’s your leg?’ Casey asked, as Marly, having slipped quietly back into the wagon bed, handed him a steaming cup of strong coffee.

  ‘I don’t know. Hurts like hell still. Doc is of the opinion that I ought to try to make it to Fort Benton and see the army surgeon there.’

  ‘Will they take it off?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the colonel said soberly. ‘I do know I can’t go on like this – confined to a bed. By the way, now that I think of it: I’ll never ride again, this I am sure of. If you and Checkers get along … well, keep him for your own, Casey.’ There was a soft sadness in the colonel’s eyes. Who knew how many trails Landis and Checkers had ridden together.

  ‘I’d be honored,’ Casey said sincerely.

  ‘For now, you’d better see if Marly is in the mood to rustle you up some breakfast. You must be hungry. You two probably have things to talk about anyway.’ Did they? Casey didn’t know. It seemed he knew so little about women sometimes. It was only now that he realized that Marly’s hair, tangled and twisted on the plains, was brushed into a shimmering fall, highlighted by the low rays of the sun. She must have caught his eyes on her.

  ‘I finally found the time to unpack my hairbrush,’ she said, looking down and away. Casey suspected that Marly had done it just for him, but he said nothing.

  ‘Go on, you two,’ Landis said wearily. ‘Leave me alone to get some rest.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Casey said, rising. He had only barely reached his feet when the cry came from the camp.

  ‘Incoming riders!’

  ‘Please,’ Marly whispered, ‘not again. Not now!’

  Outside, Casey found Doc, Jeff Dannover, Art Bailey and half-a-dozen other men standing in a silent circle. Their eyes and the hunch of their shoulders were those of defeated men who could endure no more.

  ‘Joe Duggan’s back,’ Doc told Casey as he arrived; and indeed, lifting his eyes, Casey could see the dark-eyed, handsome man walking his horse toward them, a thin smile on his lips. He was flanked by two rough-looking men they did not recognize and, in the shadows of the tall pines along the snowy knoll above them, Casey saw another ten men patiently sitting their horses, waiting to be called into action.

  ‘You still here?’ Duggan snarled at Casey without swinging down from his horse. His hands were crossed on his saddle pommel. The thick-legged roan he rode blew steam and shifted its feet. The two men flanking Duggan had their coats unbuttoned, the skirts flipped back for easy access to their sidearms.

  ‘The question is – why are you here, Duggan?’ Casey asked. He stood with his legs slightly spread, his Henry rifle loose in his hand.

  ‘We just came by to request politely that these people keep moving. This is now our land,’ Duggan announced. From an inside coat pocket he withdrew a long envelope. ‘Gervase McCoy’s claim. Would you like to examine it?’

  ‘No need to,’ Casey said. ‘I can think of two reasons why that claim’s invalid off the top of my head. One – you can’t have failed to notice that these people have taken possession of the land, and by doing so, they’ve abided by the requirements of the Homestead Act. Much as you and your men tried to keep them from arriving, here they are.’

  Duggan’s voice became cunning. ‘A day late, Strong. They didn’t make it on time. McCoy’s claim will stand up. I’ve a dozen men to swear that you never arrived at all.’

  ‘You’re a black-heated turncoat!’ Art Bailey shouted. ‘Here we are and here we’ll stay.’

&nb
sp; ‘Not above ground,’ Duggan promised darkly. ‘McCoy’s claim will prove to be the only valid one, as soon as you people hitch your teams and move on. I suggest you start as soon as possible. Otherwise,’ Duggan promised, glancing toward the knoll where the Shadow Riders waited, ‘my witnesses might get a little aggravated, and who knows what they might do if they get aggravated.’

  ‘I’m damned if I’ve come all this way to run again …’ Jeff Dannover spluttered. Casey placed a restraining hand on the mustached freighter’s arm.

  ‘Easy, Jeff,’ he said. Duggan was basking in his smug confidence. The cold-eyed riders flanking him seemed to be equally savoring the moment. Casey was far from finished. He took a step nearer to Joe Duggan. ‘That claim’s no good, Joe.’

  ‘It will be – and soon!’ Duggan promised.

  ‘No, never,’ Casey said frankly. ‘Gervase McCoy is dead. She was killed back along the trail.’

  Doubt flickered across Joe Duggan’s eyes and then doubt deepened into something darker and more dangerous. He could have doubted Casey’s words, but when he had added that she had been killed back along the trail, Duggan knew that what he had been playing as a pat hand was possibly a busted flush. He looked around warily.

  ‘Where’s Holly?’ he asked.

  ‘I just told you, Joe,’ Casey replied, and Duggan could see where the last card had fallen. Without Gervase McCoy, the land claim he held in his hand was only a worthless piece of paper. The dead can’t claim land in Montana or any other place Casey knew of. The two men riding with him exchanged uneasy glances.

  ‘It can’t be!’ Duggan said defiantly.

  ‘It is, Joe. Mike Barrow can tell you the truth of it.’

  ‘Mike, they tell me, was killed in a raid last night.’ Duggan rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, trying to think of a way to turn the tables, but he was no Genevieve McCoy and that sort of manipulation was beyond him. When his hand fell away from his face, he looked more angry than defeated, however. There was dark fury in his eyes and it was directed at Casey Storm.

  ‘You’re behind this, Storm!’ he said, as if he had been unfairly treated. For a moment, Casey thought the handsome, dark-eyed man was going to go for his gun, and he tensed. But, as the standoff threatened to become a gunbattle, a voice from the north of the camp called out again, ‘Incoming riders!’

  All eyes turned that way. Casey saw no one at first; he did see a flurry of activity on the knoll beyond Duggan. Men there had turned their horses and spurred them into motion. Now Casey saw the blue uniform of the approaching men. At the same time Duggan’s companions recognized the cavalrymen for what they were, and they yanked their ponies’ heads around, turning them on their heels. Whipping them with their reins, stinging their mounts with rowels, these two charged back up the knoll in the tracks of their companions.

  Joe Duggan’s hand fell away from his holster. He watched the approaching soldiers bleakly for a moment before he let the envelope containing McCoy’s claim fall to the snowy earth. His sorrel trampled over the papers as Duggan rode off slowly, angling away from the Shadow Riders as if he did not wish to face their possible wrath. He had led them a long way, promised them much and delivered nothing but deprivation. No, they would not be pleased with Joe Duggan.

  Casey turned to face the inriders. Marly had appeared to stand at his side, so near that her shoulder was pressed against his arm.

  A man Casey recognized lifted his hat and waved it. ‘Hello, Casey!’ Bill Hampton called out, ‘anything new?’

  What the Shadow Riders had assumed to be a contingent of cavalry from Fort Benton proved, in fact, to be only three men, two officers and a sergeant, riding with the man from the Reese-Fargo company. Of course, the outlaws could not know that there was not a full company of men behind these three and they didn’t stick around to find out. Even if the raiders were not shot down in battle, the army would not treat the deserters with kindness. If captured they could expect only the favor of a last meal before a date with the firing squad.

  The morning was cool, but the sun shone brightly and the wind had been reduced to a rustling breeze shifting the high branches of the trees. The company had assembled near the oaks behind the Landis wagon and introductions had been made. The commander of Fort Benton, Captain Demarest, was there along with a handsome blond lieutenant named Shores who wore the insignia of the army corps of engineers. Presumably, he was there to evaluate the proposed landing site. With them was a three-stripe sergeant called Pierce who stood by at an uneasy parade rest the entire time, his experienced eyes lifting occasionally to the knoll beyond the camp. Captain Demarest was speaking, his words chiefly addressed to the colonel, who had been provided with a wicker chair from one of the wagons.

  ‘I believe Storm here and you have given me a fair enough outline of what has happened. Lieutenant Shores and Sergeant Pierce here have discovered the other three claim monuments and retrieved the notices you placed there, and all seems in perfect order.’ The long-jawed officer went on, ‘And obviously you are present on the land,’ he said, in what might have been an attempt at a joke. ‘I will have an entry made in my log to that effect in case some question should arise at a later date. Pierce?’

  ‘I’ll see to it, sir,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘That being the case, let’s proceed with the business at hand.’ Demarest leaned forward on the oak log where he and Lieutenant Shores were seated side by side and said to the colonel, ‘The construction of the riverboat landing is highly important to the army. You, sir, can understand the imperatives of winter provisioning better than most.

  ‘Mr Hampton, here, is anxious to speak to you all on the desire of the Reese-Fargo to rent, buy or lease enough property to build the facility they require. He assures me that the recompense will be more than moderate.’

  The captain waved a hand toward Bill Hampton, and he spoke to the settlers, his words falling more easily on the gathered men’s ears.

  ‘Casey has filled most of you in on what the river-boat company requires. It isn’t much, really. Just a place we can safely dock our boats and transfer the supplies to freight wagons to carry them the last few miles to Fort Benton. We will require stables, of course, and a bunkhouse arrangement of some sort where both freighters and riverboat crews can have a hot meal and a night’s sleep when they need it.’

  Sensing an objection, Bill said hastily, ‘Of course, your own homes, businesses and farms once they are marked-out and built will be strictly off-limits.’

  ‘That was one matter that was a concern,’ Art Bailey said.

  When he added no more, Casey told Hampton and the army officers, ‘The McCoy organization, as you may or may not know, intended to eventually build an entire town on the river-front complete with restaurants, hotels, saloons, gambling houses and bordellos. They wanted to profit not only off the rivermen and the freighters, but had hopes that such a town would lure soldiers from the post.’

  ‘We don’t want none of that,’ the taciturn Bailey said.

  ‘Nor do we,’ Bill Hampton said ‘We want our crews to be contented – but sober and contented, not drunk and angry at having their wallets lifted here.’

  ‘I couldn’t express my agreement more sincerely,’ Captain Demarest said. ‘We have beer on the post and card games which I turn a blind eye to. I know the troopers would like to have more in the way of entertainment, but I need my men ready to fight, not wandering dark alleys in some wide-open town looking for trouble.’

  Bill Hampton took over the proceedings again. ‘We’re all agreed, then. From the essentials we have to descend to the basics:

  ‘We need lumber to proceed with our construction. This you have.’

  ‘That lumber is for our homes, our barns!’ Jeff Dannover protested, rising to his feet from the stump where he had been seated, silently listening. Bill lifted an appeasing hand.

  ‘Of course, but here is what Reese-Fargo hopes to do. If you will agree to sell us enough lumber to construct a landing, new
lumber can be shipped by the first riverboat to replace what has been sold, along with as much more as might be required for you to construct your homes. What you have brought overland is quite a bit, but when it runs out, you will face a new dilemma – how to obtain more.’

  Bill said encouragingly, ‘Sell us what we need now, and after the landing is constructed the riverboats can supply you with all the lumber and other goods you need from here on. This can only be mutually beneficial in the long run.’

  Casey had been silent for a long while. Seated on the ground beside Marly, occasionally patting her hand, he had let the others have their say. He, after all, was really not a party to any of this. Now he struggled to his feet.

  ‘Bill, the lumber doesn’t belong to the company in common.’

  ‘Oh?’ Bill’s smile fell away. The point-man for the riverboat company had been certain that his logic was winning the settlers over.

  ‘No. It is all owned by a woman named Emma Troupe. Her husband was murdered along the trail. She’s got a suckling babe and has been terribly distraught. I’m sure if she were spoken to gently,’ he said, glancing at Marly, ‘she would agree to come to terms with you. But the fact is that those three wagonloads of lumber are all hers.’

  ‘You say she’s distraught?’ Bill Hampton asked. Perhaps he had a vision of a madwoman he must deal with.

  ‘Yes, anyone would be. My thinking is, that rather than you deal with her directly at this point, it might be better for her to have someone she trusts, like Doc here, and Marly – a woman should be present – talk to her in private, explain that the reason Virgil Troupe invested all he had in that lumber, brought it all this way, was for only one reason: to build this town.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll listen to reason, Storm?’ Captain Demarest asked, lifting his eyes to Casey’s.

  ‘I don’t know her well enough to predict that, sir,’ Casey answered. ‘I know she’s sad, alone, baby at her breast and utterly without wherewithal if the timber isn’t sold, but when people are distressed they don’t always think clearly. I did have one idea, however, on how you might be able to sweeten she deal.’