Dead Before Sundown

by William W. Johnstone

  “What happened to that other fella?” Salty asked as Frank came up to them.

  “Don’t know,” Frank replied with a shake of his head. “I lost sight of him, but he’s got to still be around somewhere close by.” He nodded toward Salty’s wounded limb. “How’s the arm?”

  “Aches a mite, but it’ll be fine.”

  “How about you?” Frank asked Meg. “Are you hurt?”

  “Well, my ears are still ringing a little from all that racket, but other than that I don’t have any complaints,” she told him, returning his smile.

  Salty asked, “What’re we gonna do now?”

  Frank grew solemn. “I’d like to go after that bunch. I don’t much cotton to being shot at, so I reckon they’ve got a whole heap of marks chalked up against them right now.”

  “Dang right,” Salty agreed with an emphatic nod. “Besides, if what we was sayin’ earlier is right, there’s a chance Palmer is with ‘em, and I still got a score to settle with that polecat.”

  Frank looked at Meg. “What do you say?”

  “I say I don’t like being shot at, either,” she answered.

  “You know the odds are against us. We downed a few of them, but they still outnumber us.”

  “And they got them devil guns,” Salty said. “But I vote we go after ‘em anyway.”

  Meg nodded again, and Frank said, “I reckon it’s settled then—”

  The sound of hoofbeats nearby made him turn toward the brush piled in front of the canyon. It had been shot up so much by the Gatling gun that it wasn’t much of a barrier anymore. They could see the rider reining in there. Frank covered the man as he swung down from the saddle and pushed through the branches into the canyon.

  “Howdy,” the stranger said with a friendly grin. “Looks like you folks are all right. I’m glad to see that.”

  “Well, I’ll swan,” Salty said in surprise. “What circus did you escape from, mister?”

  Chapter 19

  Charlotte looked like she was going to be sick, and Joseph Marat felt that way himself. He had not expected the sort of wanton slaughter that he had witnessed.

  And yet, he told himself, the change that he and his friends wanted so fervently could not come without violence. The oppressive representatives of the British Empire understood only one thing—deadly force.

  But despite the firepower they possessed, things hadn’t worked out exactly like Owen Lundy and Joe Palmer thought they would. Those people in the canyon, Palmer’s enemies, had put up more of a fight than they expected.

  So now, as they retreated, the only ones who had died were some of Lundy’s men. Three of the outlaws had failed to come back: the one who had ventured through the brush barrier, and the two men Lundy had sent up onto the rimrock to ambush the people inside the canyon.

  Lundy was angry about it, too.

  “You cost me three men with that wild scheme,” the white-haired man complained to Palmer as they rode along at the head of the little column. Joseph and Charlotte were right behind them, then the other outlaws strung out in a line, leading the pack mules that were loaded down with the disassembled Gatling guns.

  The rapid-firer they had put together earlier was still on its wheeled carriage. It had been turned around and the rear brace had been lifted so it could be tied to one of the mules. The stolid animal pulled the gun behind it.

  “They must have had some place to fort up in there,” Palmer responded bitterly. “Otherwise we would’ve gotten them. We poured enough lead into that canyon to wipe out anybody in it.”

  “Yeah, well, that ain’t the way things worked out, is it?” Lundy snapped. “From now on, Joe, I’ll be doing all the thinking around here.”

  Palmer bristled. “Damn it, going after Stevens and his friends was your idea, Owen.” He waved a hand behind him at Joseph and Charlotte. “You wanted to show off for these two.”

  For a second, Joseph thought Lundy was going to reach for his gun. He was ready to grab Charlotte and hustle her away from the line of fire if gunplay broke out between Lundy and Palmer.

  Instead, after a moment Lundy grunted and said, “I guess that’s three less shares we’ll have to take out of the gold.”

  Palmer gave him a curt nod. “That’s the best way to look at it, all right.”

  Lundy didn’t rein in, but he turned halfway around in the saddle to look at Joseph. “Speakin’ of gold, where are those friends of yours? I’d like to get this over with.”

  “They should be along soon,” Joseph said, hoping that nothing had happened to Anton and the other members of the group.

  The plan had been that Anton and the others would keep the gold with them while Joseph and Charlotte met the men who were bringing the guns across the border and would examine the merchandise. When Joseph was satisfied that the guns were what they had been promised, he would signal Anton and they would rendezvous to make the payment and take delivery of the Gatlings.

  A short time after riding away from the canyon, Joseph had given the signal: three quick shots, a pause, then two more shots. Anton should have been alert for it. He had to know that something was going on. The noise of the Gatling gun had been so loud it seemed to Joseph that it could have been heard as far away as Calgary.

  Anton Mirabeau was a cautious man, though. That was why he had been entrusted with the safekeeping of the gold. He was probably watching them right now, Joseph thought, waiting to make sure that everything was all right before he showed up with the payoff.

  Joseph hoped that was the case, because Lundy was getting impatient. He had seen with his own eyes how ruthless the American could be, and he was worried about what might happen to him and Charlotte if everything didn’t go as planned. Lundy might seek vengeance if he didn’t get his hands on that gold soon.

  “Who do you reckon was in that canyon with the old man?” Lundy asked Palmer, putting aside the matter of the gold for the moment.

  Palmer shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. The last time I saw Stevens before I ran into him in Powderkeg Bay was over in Skagway, and then he was hanging around with a fella named Morgan. I don’t know if the two of them are still pards or not.”

  “Not Frank Morgan, I hope,” Lundy said.

  “Well … yeah.”

  That was enough to make Lundy haul back on his reins and bring his horse to a stop. He turned angrily toward Palmer and demanded, “Frank Morgan the gunfighter? The one they call the Drifter?”

  Palmer looked distinctly uncomfortable as he nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “You loco son of a bitch!” Lundy burst out. “Frank Morgan’s one of the most dangerous men west of the Mississippi. Don’t you think it might’ve been a good idea to tell us exactly who we were goin’ up against?”

  “I don’t know for sure that Morgan is still traveling with the old man,” Palmer argued. “Morgan wasn’t with him in that saloon in Powderkeg Bay.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere close by.”

  Palmer shrugged and tried to sound unconcerned as he said, “Frank Morgan’ll die just as quick as any other man if he goes up against one of those Gatling guns.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. If he was back there in that canyon with Stevens, he’s probably still alive.” Lundy swore. “I never bargained on having Frank Morgan on my trail.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Palmer said. “Pretty soon you’ll have the gold those half-breeds promised you, and you can get out of this part of the country.”

  Joseph felt a surge of anger at the contemptuous way Palmer referred to him and his people, including his sister. But he suppressed the urge to say something. There was already enough tension in the air without adding to it.

  “Jericho and me had a pretty good setup in Calgary,” Lundy said with a frown. “I’m not sure I want to leave it behind just like that.”

  “You’ll be rich enough to go wherever you want,” Palmer argued. “Hell, the two of us could go back to Chicago. We’d be big men there now
, Owen. We’d be running all the gangs on the south side within a year.”

  Lundy didn’t look convinced of that at all. He said, “We’ll see. First we’ve got to get our hands on that gold we’ve been promised.”

  He turned in the saddle again to give Joseph a hard, meaningful look.

  “The gold is coming,” Joseph said. He lifted a hand to point at the riders he had just spotted emerging from a thick growth of trees up ahead. “There.”

  Beside him, Charlotte said excitedly, “It is Anton and the others.”

  It was accepted by many who knew them that Charlotte and Anton would be married someday. Joseph wasn’t so certain that was a good idea. Anton Mirabeau was a good man to have as an ally, brave and devoted to the Métis cause, but he was also reckless and could be brutal at times. Joseph wasn’t sure he wanted his sister to be married to a man like that.

  Charlotte had a mind of her own, though, and a stubborn streak a mile wide. Joseph was content to bide his time, hoping that eventually Charlotte would come to realize Anton wasn’t the right man for her.

  Since the party led by Lundy and Palmer had already halted, they waited where they were and let Mirabeau and the others come to them. Joseph counted the riders and realized with a shock that one man was missing. Joseph hoped the man was just out scouting and that nothing had happened to him.

  Mirabeau and the others reined in when they were about twenty yards away. The big, black-bearded man raised a hand in greeting and smiled.

  “Joseph! Charlotte! It is good to see you again. You are all right?”

  Joseph nodded. “We’re fine, Anton. You heard our signal?”

  “Yes. We heard what sounded like a little war, too. What happened?”

  Lundy said, “We were just demonstrating the Gatling guns for your friends.”

  “Burning up ammunition that we will be paying for,” Mirabeau said with a frown.

  “You’re still getting a damned good deal,” Lundy snapped.

  “Perhaps in light of these developments, the deal should be changed,” Mirabeau suggested.

  Joseph stiffened with worry. This was just like Anton, he thought, going off on some wild tangent that would just wind up causing trouble.

  Lundy didn’t like it, either. Joseph could tell that from the way the outlaw straightened in the saddle and moved his hand slightly toward the butt of the gun on his hip.

  The Métis outnumbered the Americans, six to five. Eight to five if he and Charlotte were counted, Joseph thought.

  But Lundy, Palmer, and the other men were all hardened criminals, well-versed in the art of killing. Mirabeau might succeed in refusing to hand over the gold and take the Gatling guns anyway, but it would be at a high cost in human life. In fact, they might all die, which would do nothing to help the cause.

  “Anton,” Joseph said sharply. “There will be no change in our arrangements with these men. Mr. Lundy has kept his part of the bargain, and we will keep ours.”

  Mirabeau frowned at him. He didn’t like being spoken to that way, and Joseph knew it. Joseph felt that he had no choice but to put a stop to this trouble before it blew up into violence.

  After a moment, Mirabeau shrugged brawny shoulders and said sullenly, “Fine. If you want to pay for bullets that have already been fired, it’s your decision, Joseph. You’re our leader, after all. You’re the educated one.”

  The scorn in Mirabeau’s voice was plain for all of them to hear, including Charlotte. Anger and resentment burned inside Joseph, but he forced it down. More important things than his pride were at stake here.

  “If your men will open the other crates, Mr. Lundy,” he said, “we will unload the gold.”

  “You don’t trust us that those other crates have Gatling guns in them?” Lundy asked with a tight, humorless smile.

  “As much as you trust us that we brought the right amount of gold,” Joseph said.

  Lundy grunted. “Fair enough.” He gestured toward the pack mules. “Break ‘em out, boys.”

  During the next ten minutes, Lundy’s men took down the crates from the pack mules, pried off the lids, and unwrapped the other Gatling guns. They opened the crates that contained thousands and thousands of rounds of ammunition, as well.

  “Well?” Lundy asked when they were finished. “Are you satisfied?”

  Mirabeau had dismounted. So had Joseph. Together they examined the guns.

  “You know more about these things than I do,” Mirabeau admitted grudgingly. “Does everything look as it should to you, Joseph?”

  He nodded. “Yes. We have what we need here to assemble four Gatling guns, as agreed.”

  “Then let’s see that gold,” Lundy rasped. “We’ve been patient long enough.”

  Joseph didn’t think Lundy had been all that patient, but he kept that opinion to himself. He and Mirabeau went over to the pack horse the other Métis had brought with them and lifted down the chests, using the leather straps on their ends.

  Joseph knelt beside one of them and unfastened the catches that held the lid down. He opened it, revealing the gold bars stacked within.

  Palmer let out a low whistle. “That’s mighty nice,” he said. “Where’d you get those bars?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Joseph said.

  As a matter of fact, it had taken a number of train holdups and bank robberies in various Canadian cities to assemble this much gold. In the eyes of the North West Mounted Police, he and his comrades were simply outlaws, common thieves out for themselves.

  The Mounties had no idea that the men who had taken these gold bars were revolutionaries, men who would forge a new nation for their people.

  “Open the other chest,” Lundy said.

  Mirabeau opened it. Lundy nodded in satisfaction when he saw the gold bars in it.

  “Looks like we’ve got a deal. We’ll throw in the pack mules. You’ll need ‘em to carry those Gatlings around.”

  Joseph closed the chests and fastened the catches.

  “What are you gonna do with those guns, anyway?” Palmer asked.

  “That is our business,” Joseph said.

  Palmer shrugged. “Sure. I was just curious, that’s all.”

  With the transaction complete, there was no need for the two groups to stay together. As soon as everything was loaded up again, they could go their separate ways.

  Lundy and his men were ready to leave first, since they only had the two chests of gold to deal with. They mounted up and set off without looking back. They continued heading east, toward the edge of the mountains and Calgary on the plains beyond.

  “We will let them get ahead of us,” Mirabeau said. “But not too far ahead.”

  Joseph looked at the man and frowned. “What are you talking about? Our business with them is done.”

  Slowly, Mirabeau shook his head and smiled. The expression was without warmth.

  “Now, Joseph,” he said with a cold chuckle, “you didn’t really think we were going to let them ride off and keep all that gold we worked so hard to steal, did you?”

  Chapter 20

  The last person Frank had seen dressed in such a gaudy outfit was Buffalo Bill Cody, when he had stopped in Chicago on his way to Boston a couple of years earlier. The old scout and buffalo hunter’s Wild West show and extravaganza had been putting on performances at the Columbian Exposition there.

  They were a long way from Chicago now, but the cream-colored Stetson, fringed jacket, tight trousers with fancy stitching, and high-topped boots looked like something Bill Cody might have worn.

  Instead, the owner of the duds was a young man with a smiling, friendly face and wavy brown hair under the thumbed-back Stetson. In his left hand he held a Winchester with a gleaming barrel tipped back on his shoulder. An ivory-handled Colt rode in a holster on his right hip.

  He didn’t seem offended by Salty’s question. “No circus,” he said. “I was just passin’ through these parts and heard what sounded like a mighty interestin’ ruckus.” His voice held t
he soft drawl of a Southerner, possibly from Virginia. “Name’s Russell. Reb Russell, they call me.”

  “You’re too young to have been in the war,” Frank said.

  “Yes, sir. Fact is, I wasn’t even born until a few years after it was over. But my pa, he was an officer in the Confederate cavalry, rode with Jeb Stuart, in fact, so I was sort of brought up in the tradition, you could say.” Russell’s smile widened as he turned to Meg and took his hat off. “We haven’t been introduced, ma’am, but I’m mighty pleased to meet you. Reb Russell, at your service.”

  “I’m Meg Goodwin,” she said, looking a little flustered.

  “It’s an honor.”

  “You ain’t gonna kiss her hand, are you?” Salty asked.

  “Not unless the lady asks me to,” Russell said.

  Frank stepped forward and introduced himself. “Frank Morgan,” he said as he stuck out his hand. “I reckon that was you up on the rimrock, taking a hand in that fight?”

  Russell shook with him. The young man’s grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Yes, sir. I was ridin’ back a ways behind this ridge when all the commotion started, so I thought I ought to see what was goin’ on.”

  “How did you know which side you ought to take?”

  “Well, it’s true I don’t really know who you folks are or why those other folks were tryin’ to kill you, but I just naturally sort of stick up for the underdog.” Russell’s voice hardened slightly as he added, “I guess that comes from growin’ up in the South while the Yankees were havin’ everything their way durin’ Reconstruction.”

  As a Texan, Frank had fought for the Confederacy during the Civil War, but he had long since put that conflict behind him. As far as he was concerned, both sides had been so damned stubborn that war was inevitable, and then to make things even worse, the Yankees had proved to be mighty poor winners. Nothing was going to be gained by dredging all that up now, on either side.

  “Anyway,” Russell went on, “I saw they had you outnumbered and outgunned, and then those bushwhackers climbed up on the ridge and tried to get you in a cross fire. Didn’t seem like a very sportin’ thing to do.”