MacCallister Kingdom Come

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jaco said.

  “When?”

  “How many days of groceries do you think you’ve got left?”

  “I don’t know. A week, I reckon. Could be maybe a week and a half.”

  “Then it ain’t a big deal yet, is it?”

  “Not yet. But it’s goin’ to be.”

  “Like I told you, I’ll take care of it.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  As Rafferty left, Val Cyr approached the table. “Hey, Jaco, you know the Philbin ranch?”

  Jaco found himself needing a black eight, and he looked through the facedown cards until he found one. Slipping it out from the pile, he put it on the red nine. “Ha,” he said as he connected an entire string of cards to it, opening another space. “Yeah, I know it. Only it ain’t the Philbin place no more. It’s my place. I got me a quitclaim deed on it.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s somebody livin’ there now.”

  Jaco looked up, irritated by the information. “What do you mean somebody is livin’ there? There ain’t nobody goin’ to live there without I tell ’em they can live there.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. But someone’s livin’ there.”

  Jaco needed a red queen, and again, he had no compunction about mining the facedown cards until he found it.

  “You shoulda burnt that house down the moment Philbin moved away,” Cyr said. “That way there wouldn’t o’ been nobody that come to live in it.”

  “It ain’t too late to burn the house down. It’s too early.”

  “Too early? What do you mean, too early?”

  “We’ll wait until it’s dark tonight.” Jaco made the last connection of the cards. “Ha! I won again.”

  The Garrison farm, 11:30 P.M.

  Ten-year-old Ethan opened his eyes, puzzled by what he was seeing. The wall in his bedroom was glowing orange. Turning in his bed, he saw a brighter glow through the window.

  He got up and moved quickly to the window, and saw that the barn was on fire. “Pa!” he yelled. “Pa! The barn! The barn is on fire!”

  Ethan ran out of his room and saw that his father was already responding to the alarm. Though he was still dressed in his long johns, he ran to the front door. “How in the world could the barn catch on fire?”

  His question was answered as soon as he opened the door. At least four riders were illuminated by the light of the burning barn.

  He stepped out onto the front porch. “Here! What do you men think you are doing?” he shouted angrily.

  “Mister, you’re trespassin’ on land that ain’t your’n,” one of the riders called back.

  “This here is too my land, ’n I got the deed to prove it!” Matt held out his arm and pointed. “Now you men get off my land!”

  Watching through a window, Ethan saw a muzzle flash, then heard a gunshot. Matt tumbled back into the house in the glow of the burning barn, which had cast a golden bubble of light through the whole front of the house.

  “Pa!”

  “Matt!” Jennie screamed.

  “Get out of here, now,” Matt said in a strained voice. “Go out through the back door.”

  They could hear the screams of the terrified horses.

  “Pa, the horses. They’re still in the barn. If we don’t get them out, they’ll get all burnt up.”

  “Leave the horses,” Matt said. “Jennie, bring me my rifle, then take the boy and go, like I told you.”

  “I can’t leave you here. Besides, we’re not dressed.”

  “I’m done for anyway,” Matt said. “There can’t no doctor do anythin’ for me, even if I could live long enough to get to a doctor. Now, please, Jennie, if you care anythin’ at all for me, do what I say. Bring me my gun, then you ’n Ethan skedaddle on out the back!”

  “Ethan, get dressed as fast as you can,” Jennie said. “I’ll get your pa’s rifle and my own clothes.”

  As soon as the rifle was put in Matt’s hand, he began firing through the front door. As he was shooting, Ethan and Jennie were getting dressed. By now the screaming of the horses had stopped.

  “You ’n your family better come on out of there now,” a voice called. “On account of, if you don’t come out right now, we aim to burn you out.”

  Matt fired again. “Go, please go,” he said, his voice much weaker. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “You heard what they said, Matt,” Jennie said. “They’re goin’ to burn the house down. I’m not goin’ to leave you alone in a burning house.”

  Matt didn’t answer.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going to leave you in a burning house!”

  Matt still didn’t answer, and Jennie moved closer to him. She saw that his eyes, though still open, were fixed in a blank stare.

  He was dead.

  “Matt!” she screamed.

  “Pa?”

  A blazing torch was tossed onto the front porch, and as soon as it landed, the flames leaped up.

  Somewhere, Jennie found the courage she needed, and she reached for Ethan’s hand. “Your father is dead. Come, Ethan, let’s leave through the back like he said.”

  “No, Ma, they’ll be back there, too.”

  “We can’t stay in this house! It’s on fire!”

  “I know another way out. It’s in here.” Ethan raced into his room.

  Jennie followed and watched as he lay on his stomach and reached under his bed. “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a trapdoor here,” Ethan said.

  “How do you know about this?”

  “I found it first night after we moved in. I didn’t tell nobody about it, ’cause I’ve gone through it sometimes when you ’n Pa thought I was in bed. You ain’t mad it me for that, are you, Ma?”

  “No, Darlin’, I’m not mad at you. I’m proud of you.”

  Ethan and his mother dropped down through the trapdoor then crawled under the house and he pointed to a natural crevice. “This here draw will take us behind the machine shed, and they won’t never even see us. You have to stay real low.”

  “All right. You lead the way,” Jennie said.

  “You folks must be gettin’ awful hot in there!” a voice called. His shout was followed by high-pitched laughter.

  “What are you goin’ to do? Just stay in there and burn up?”

  The voice was ameliorated by distance. Ethan and his mother were at least a hundred and fifty feet away from the burning house and from those who had the house surrounded.

  The fire cooked off the rounds that remained in Matt’s rifle.

  “Damn! They shot themselves!” someone whined.

  Nobody had seen them. When they reached the back of the machine shed, they dropped down into a ravine and followed it for more than a mile before they stopped.

  Not until then did Jennie allow herself to cry over her dead husband.

  Fredericksburg, Texas

  Since Crump and Forney were wanted men in Wyoming, they had made the decision to go to Texas. Neither had ever been there, so they were sure they wouldn’t be known. After several days of travel, which they financed with the money the Englishman had given them when they’d tried to rob him, they were sitting in a saloon in Fredericksburg.

  Conversation floated around them and they learned about the town of Shumla.

  “Ain’t no law there,” they were told. “Ain’t no law there at all.”

  “What if someone was a wanted man?” Crump asked the man standing next to him at the bar. “Not me or Jones. We ain’t neither one of us wanted. But say someone was wanted up in Wyoming or someplace like that?”

  “Or Alabama or, say, Ohio?” Forney added. “Me ’n Jones ain’t wanted in none of them places, neither.”

  “I thought he was Jones.” The man pointed to Crump.

  “We both are,” Crump said quickly. “Only we ain’t no kin.”

  “Well it don’t matter where you’re wanted, not even Texas. They don’t allow no law to come into Shumla. I
t’s called a outlaw town, ’n from what I’ve heard, there’s a fella down there puttin’ himself together a gang.”

  “A gang of what?” Crump asked.

  “It’s an outlaw town, ain’t it? He’s puttin’ together a gang of outlaws. I s’pose a man could make hisself quite a bit of money ridin’ with an outlaw gang like that. They was a bank holdup a while ago, ’n it’s said that the bank robbers got twenty thousand dollars.”

  Forney whistled. “Twenty thousand dollars? Was it this gang you’re a-talkin’ about?”

  “They don’t nobody know for sure, but if you was to ask me, I’d say it was them.”

  “I say we go to Shumla,” Crump said.

  “You think whoever it is puttin’ together that gang will let us in?” Forney asked.

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Well, we ain’t ever actual done anythin’ real big.”

  Crump smiled. “He don’t have to know that.”

  On the road to White’s Mine

  “Mama, I’m hungry,” Ethan said. He and his mother were afoot on the road, having walked several miles since escaping from the men who had attacked their farm.

  “I know you are, darlin’, but we’re just going to have to keep going until we can find food somewhere.”

  “You think Pa is in heaven?”

  “I know he is. And I know he is very proud of you for finding a way for us to escape.”

  “What are we goin’ to do now? We ain’t got no farm, we ain’t even got us a place to live.”

  “As soon as we can find a town, I’ll get a job somewhere.”

  “What kind of job will you get?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I can get one at a hotel, cleaning rooms, or with a restaurant, cooking or even washing dishes. You don’t worry about that, Ethan. That’ll be my worry.”

  “Someone’s comin’, Ma!”

  “I see them. But they are in a wagon. I don’t think the men who killed your father and burned our farm would be coming after us in a wagon.”

  Despite himself, Ethan chuckled. “No ma’am, I don’t reckon they would, either.”

  The driver of the wagon, seeing woman and a young boy afoot, called out to his team. “Whoa!” he said, pulling back on the reins. He set the brakes on the wagon. “Ma’am, what are you and the boy doin’ out here on the road, afoot and all by yourselves?”

  “Could you help us, please?” Jennie asked. “Some evil men attacked our farm. They killed my husband, and they burned our home.”

  “Oh, I’m mighty sorry to hear that. Yes, ma’am, I’ll be glad to help you. Come on up into the wagon.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Eagle Pass

  Sheriff Jason Bowles had just poured himself a cup of coffee from the blue steel pot that sat on a grate just outside his office. In the winter, he kept the coffee going on the stove inside, but in the summer the stove put out too much heat. He’d gotten around that by making a concrete fire pit just behind the jail.

  “Billy, you want any coffee?” he called through the back cell window to his only prisoner.

  A red face with white hair appeared in the window. “You don’t reckon I could talk you into puttin’ a little whiskey in that, do you?”

  “Billy, that’s what got you in trouble in the first place.”

  “What can it hurt, Sheriff? You already got me in jail. And I got the cravin’ somethin’ awful, right now.”

  Jason chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Taking two cups of coffee back inside, he poured a little whiskey into Billy’s cup, then walked over to pass it through the bars.

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  At that moment, the front door opened, and Boyd James came in. He drove a freight wagon for Tucker Freight company.

  “Hello, Boyd, what brings you here?” Jason asked.

  “I picked up a couple people out on the road when I was comin’ back from White’s Mine. I think maybe you better talk to ’em.”

  “All right,” Jason said, curious as to what Boyd was talking about.

  He stepped out front. A woman and a young boy about the age of his own son were sitting on the seat of the wagon. It was obvious that both of them had been crying.

  “Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Bowles.”

  “They killed my husband, Sheriff. They killed my husband, and they burned our house down.”

  “Why don’t you ’n the boy climb down and come inside so you can tell me all about it. I just made some coffee, if you would like some.”

  She nodded. “Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful.”

  “You got anything to eat?” the boy asked. “We didn’t have no breakfast.”

  “Ethan, that isn’t polite,” she scolded.

  “You come on in. I’ll get something for you to eat.”

  The two followed Jason into his office, and he pointed out a couple chairs where they could sit. Then he walked over and unlocked the cell.

  “Billy, you’ve got three days left. I’m goin’ to let you out early because I want you to go down to Kirby’s and get breakfast for these people.” He turned to the boy. “I’ve got a boy about your age, and he loves pancakes. Is that all right for you?”

  “I love pancakes, too,” Ethan said with a big smile on his face.

  “We, uh, weren’t able to bring any money with us,” the woman said. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to pay for the breakfast.”

  “Don’t worry about that. The county will pay for it.” Opening the drawer, he took out a dollar bill and handed it to Billy. “Don’t you stop for a drink on the way there or back. If you do, I’ll keep you in here another month.”

  “I’ll be right back, I promise,” Billy said, taking the dollar bill.

  “Sheriff, if you’ve no need for me, I got to report in to Mr. Tucker,” Boyd said.

  “No need for you to hang around,” Jason replied.

  As the wagon driver turned to leave, the woman said, “Mr. James. I can’t thank you enough for your kindness to my son and me.”

  “I was glad I could do it, ma’am,” Boyd said, touching the brim of his hat.

  With Boyd and Billy both gone, Jason was alone with the woman and her son.

  “Now, Mrs.—” Jason paused, waiting for the woman to supply the name.

  “My name is Jennie, that is, Virginia Garrison. This is my son, Ethan.”

  “They killed my pa.”

  Jason turned to Ethan. “Who killed your pa?”

  “Those men who came in the middle of the night. They set fire to the barn and when Pa went out onto the porch, they shot him.”

  “And then they set fire to the house,” Jennie said. “With us in it.”

  “How did you get away?”

  Jennie smiled at Ethan, then she reached out to put her hand on his head. “Ethan saved us.”

  The Garrison farm

  Jaco dismounted as soon as he and five of the gang members arrived at the burned-out place. He started poking around through the charred wood of the burned house. “You’re sure you didn’t see anyone leave?”

  “Nobody left,” Cyr said. “We were watchin’ the front and the back doors. If anyone had left, we woulda seen ’em.”

  “They wouldn’t have just stayed here and burned up in the fire.”

  “They didn’t. We heard shootin’ after the fire got to goin’ good. We figure the farmer shot the rest of his family, then shot his ownself.”

  “I suppose.” Using a long stick, Jaco moved some of the charred wood to one side and looked under it. “You’d think we woulda found more ’n just one body, though.”

  “Not back there.” Cyr pointed to the back of the house. “The fire got real hot back there. Any bodies that was back there woulda more ’n likely burned up to nothin’ more ’n cinders. I doubt you could tell the difference between a burnt body and just a part of the house.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Too bad we had to burn the house, though. I prob’ly coulda got rent for it.”

&nb
sp; “You wouldn’ta got no rent from this here fella. He claimed that he owned the house, ’n he said he had a deed to prove it.”

  “He had a deed, huh?” Jaco asked.

  “That’s what he claimed.”

  “Ha. Where’s his deed now?” Jaco laughed, and the others laughed with him.

  Wyatt Mattoon came riding up then with a big smile on his face.

  “It’s just like you said, Jaco. They’s three wagons carryin’ groceries from Eagle Pass to White’s Mine.”

  Jaco nodded. “Good job of scoutin’. What do you boys say we take those groceries to Shumla?”

  “What will we do with the wagons after we sell the groceries?” Dingo asked.

  “We’ll sell ’em,” Putt said.

  Jaco shook his head. “No, we’ll burn ’em.”

  “Why would we burn perfectly good wagons?” Dane asked. “We could prob’ly get pretty good money for ’em.”

  “We can make good money without worryin’ about the wagons. We’re goin’ to burn ’em,” Jaco insisted.

  On the road to White’s Mine

  The three wagons moved slowly but steadily down the road, the clopping sound of hoofbeats providing a rhythmic background to the crunching music of rolling wheels and the creak and rattle of the wagons.

  Only the drivers were with the wagons. Sometimes, if the wagons carried a special cargo, like guns or industrial dynamite, an armed guard would accompany the driver, but these wagons were carrying flour, sugar, and canned goods—nothing that would present an attractive target to road agents. The three drivers had no reason to be feeling apprehensive.

  As the wagons crested a small rise in the road, they were surprised to see half-a-dozen mounted men in front of them. Seeing that many mounted men wasn’t, by itself, that disturbing. What made it disquieting was the fact that all six men were holding guns, and all six guns were pointed toward the wagon drivers.

  Gib Crabtree, the lead driver, hauled back on the reins to stop his team. “What do you men want? Why are you pointin’ guns at us?” He was a man with a swarthy complexion.