Dead Before Sundown

by William W. Johnstone

“We’ll find it, all right. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Wish we had one of those Gatling guns,” Lundy said. “Wouldn’t have to worry about anything then.”

  Palmer wished he had one of the rapid-firers, too. He would have gladly cut Frank Morgan and that other man into little pieces if he did.

  But the Gatlings were gone, God knows where, he thought, and the only weapon he had other than a knife was his cunning.

  That had been enough in the past, Palmer told himself, and it would be again.

  To his great relief, Morgan and the other man mounted up without searching the saddlebags on the dead horse. An ugly smile tugged at Palmer’s mouth. Morgan was probably helping Stevens try to recover the money Soapy had stolen from him.

  Dumb son of a bitch didn’t have any idea how close he’d been to what was left of that loot.

  Instead of heading east, as Palmer expected them to, Morgan and the other man turned around and rode west, back up the valley in the direction they had come from. They must have left the old-timer behind and were going back to get him now, Palmer figured. In the long run, it wouldn’t really matter.

  “You just take it easy now, Owen. We’ll make our move tonight.”

  “Good …” Lundy sounded as if he was about to doze off. “I want to get that gold back.”

  “We’ll get it back,” Palmer promised. “This thing is a long way from over.”

  “Can you tell who they are?” Charlotte asked.

  “A woman and an old man,” Joseph said as he peered around the edge of one of the rocks where he and Charlotte had hidden with the pack mules. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  “What about the two men who left?”

  Joseph shook his head. “Strangers.”

  His nerves were pulled as tight as a barbed-wire fence. The two people who sat their horses out there in the open didn’t look particularly dangerous, but it was difficult to tell about such things. Joseph was acutely aware that the four Gatling guns were loaded on the mules behind him.

  If anything happened to those guns, the rebellion was probably doomed to failure. Joseph wished that Mirabeau and the others hadn’t ridden off and left him and Charlotte responsible for the safety of the weapons.

  The two men who had ridden off earlier had gone in the direction of Wolverine Rock. They might run right into Mirabeau’s party. Joseph listened for the sound of more shots but didn’t hear any.

  Two men wouldn’t be any match for Mirabeau and the others, he told himself. Everything would be all right. All he and Charlotte had to do was be patient.

  And hope that none of the mules decided to let out a loud bray. If that happened, the old man and the woman were bound to ride over to the boulders and investigate.

  Joseph’s hands sweated on the Winchester he clutched as he considered that possibility. One by one, he wiped them off on his trousers. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a revolutionary after all, he thought.

  Frank was relieved when he and Reb came in sight of Salty and Meg. He hadn’t heard any more shooting and figured they were all right, but it was always good to see that with his own eyes.

  “Any problems?” he asked as he and Reb rode up and reined in.

  “Nary a one,” Salty replied with a shake of his head. “What’d you two find up yonder?”

  “Three dead men,” Frank said.

  Salty didn’t look surprised by the news. “Any idea who they were?” he asked.

  “Not really, but from the looks of them, I figure it’s likely they were part of the same bunch that attacked us earlier.”

  “Palmer’s bunch, you mean.”

  “I doubt if Palmer’s the leader of the gang. I think he probably just joined up because he knew some of them.”

  “I’m just glad he wasn’t one o’ them corpses you found. I’d like to see to it my own self that the varmint gets what’s comin’ to him.”

  Reb smiled. “You sound a mite bloodthirsty, amigo.”

  Salty snorted and said, “You’d be bloodthirsty, too, if a bunch of polecats stole ever’thing you had and dang near ruined you.”

  “I suppose you’re right about that.”

  Meg asked, “What do we do now?”

  “This doesn’t really change anything,” Frank said. “Palmer’s still somewhere ahead of us, as far as we know. We stay on his trail.”

  With that settled, the four of them set out again. By late afternoon, they had passed the spot where the three dead men lay and ridden past the giant boulder that was shaped something like the head of a predatory animal.

  Frank kept a close eye on the rock as they approached it—if it had been used for an ambush once, it could be again, he reasoned—but nothing happened.

  He called a halt when they were past the rock and said, “Salty, let’s go take a look around over there and see if we can find any tracks. I’d like to know how many bushwhackers there were.”

  “Good idea,” the old-timer agreed. “We’re liable to run into the varmints ourselves sooner or later.”

  Frank nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

  He didn’t mind leaving Meg with Reb Russell this time, since he and Salty would be close by, but as it turned out, Reb said, “Meg and I will ride along with you, Frank. I’d sorta like to know the odds we might be facin’, too.”

  Frank didn’t object. The four of them scouted around behind the huge boulder until Frank spied some hoofprints. He dismounted and hunkered on his heels to study the marks on the ground.

  “Looks like half a dozen riders,” he announced. “One man stayed here to hold the horses.” He looked up at the rugged rock looming above them. “I figure the rest climbed up there and waited for those dead men to come in range.”

  “You reckon anybody escaped that ambush?” Reb asked.

  “I don’t know. They could have, I suppose.”

  Salty said, “What I can’t figure out is who this bunch is. They ain’t the hombres who had the Gatlin’ gun with ‘em. That gang is the bunch that got bushwhacked.”

  “Maybe the ambushers stole the Gatling gun,” Meg suggested. “That could have been the reason for the ambush in the first place.”

  Frank considered the theory and nodded slowly. “Yeah, it could’ve happened like that,” he said. “The only way to find out is keep trailing them.”

  “Why do you care about that Gatling gun?” Reb asked bluntly. “I thought you were just after this fella Palmer who helped steal Salty’s money.”

  “I don’t know how they plan to use the Gatling gun, but it can’t be anything good,” Frank said. “I don’t want to see a bunch of innocent blood spilled if there’s anything I can do about it.”

  “That’s sort of an odd way for a notorious gunfighter to feel, ain’t it?”

  Frank regarded Reb coolly. “So you do know who I am,” he said.

  The young man shrugged. “I recognized the name. Shoot, anybody who’s lived in the West for very long has heard of Frank Morgan. To tell you the truth, if anybody had asked me before today, I would have said it was likely you were dead by now.”

  “Not hardly,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Reb smiled. “I don’t mean any offense, Frank. It’s just that gunfighters are usually pretty good at killin’.”

  “I don’t care what you’ve heard about me. I’ve never killed anybody who wasn’t trying to kill me, or somebody else who didn’t deserve it. I’m not a hired gun and never have been, no matter what the law thinks of me.”

  Reb nodded. “Fine. Like I said, I meant no offense. I just didn’t know. Now I do.”

  “That’s right,” Frank said in a flat voice. “You do.”

  Probably in an attempt to change the subject, Salty said, “I don’t see no blood on the ground or up on that rock. I reckon none o’ the bushwhackers got winged.”

  “Those fellas tried to scatter before they were gunned down. They may not have even gotten any shots off of their own.”

  “That’s just pl
ain murder,” Meg said.

  Frank nodded. “It sure is.”

  “And those are the people we’re trailing now.” Meg paused. “But I don’t understand. If Palmer was with the men who were ambushed, he wouldn’t be with this gang now. So where is he?”

  Frank didn’t have an answer for that, except to say, “He’s not here. Maybe he’s trailing the same bunch we are.”

  “Which would put us on the same side?”

  “Nope,” Salty said. “There ain’t but two sides … us and ever’body else. We got no friends out here.”

  Frank couldn’t argue with that. He had a feeling that whoever they might run into between here and Calgary would just as soon see them all dead.

  Chapter 24

  They rode on, leaving the bodies behind them. That bothered Frank, but they still didn’t have a shovel and there were no handy canyon walls to collapse on the dead men.

  Even though the gap through which they rode marked the end of the really rugged mountains, they were still miles from the actual plains. In between were foothills, many of which were almost as tall and rocky as the peaks behind them.

  As the sun lowered toward the Canadian Rockies, the four riders found a place to camp at the foot of a ridge. Frank and Reb tended to the horses while Salty and Meg gathered wood for a fire and got started on supper.

  Sensing that they were still in hostile territory, Frank suggested to Salty that they keep the fire small tonight. The old-timer agreed and used a flat rock to scrape out a small depression where he arranged the wood. More rocks piled around the shallow pit would serve to shield the flames from easy view. Once they had boiled up some coffee and cooked bacon and biscuits, the fire could be allowed to burn down.

  While they were eating supper, Frank indulged his curiosity and said to Reb, “You sound like you’re from Virginia. Is that right?”

  The young man shook his head. “No, but my ma and pa were, and they raised me, of course.” He grinned. “My pa had a farm near a little place in Virginia called Culpeper, not far from Bull Run. He fought in the war, fought all over the place, in fact, and when it was finally over and he got back home at last, he found that the farm was ruined. The Yanks had burned down everything and tore up the fields. He might’ve tried to rebuild the place, but some carpetbagger judge took the land away from him on account of taxes.”

  Frank nodded. “That happened a lot. Same thing went on in Texas, where I’m from.”

  “I know. It was all over the Confederacy, I reckon. Anyway, my pa had himself a sweetheart, a gal who lived on one of the farms close by, and when he decided to leave Virginia and light out for some place where he could make a fresh start, he asked her to marry him and come with him. Her daddy didn’t like the idea, but they ran off and got hitched anyway.”

  “That’s very romantic,” Meg said.

  “Maybe so, but it was a hard life for ‘em, for a while, anyway. They wound up in Arkansas and eventually moved on to Texas. Settled in a place called Cross Plains.”

  Frank nodded. “I’ve been there.”

  “That’s where I was born,” Reb said. “I saw plenty of carpetbaggers there while I was growin’ up, but Pa said it wasn’t as bad as it was back in Virginia. He worked on a ranch and saved up his money until he could afford a place of his own. I was ridin’ a horse before I could walk, so naturally I helped him out as much as I could. Had a handful of little brothers who pitched in, too, as soon as they were old enough. We got by. More than that, really. The Russell spread wound up bein’ one of the best ranches in that part of Texas.”

  “That’s a nice story,” Meg said. “I’m glad your mother and father finally had a happy ending.”

  “Yeah. When they didn’t really need me around anymore, I decided to do some travelin’. I was always a mite fiddle-footed. That’s how I wound up goin’ around to all the rodeos.”

  Reb Russell clearly didn’t mind the sound of his own voice, Frank mused. But the talkative young man seemed friendly enough.

  The problem was that Frank’s instincts still told him Reb was lying about something, or at least not telling the whole truth. But when he tried to figure out how Reb might be connected to that Gatling gun, or to Joe Palmer for that matter, he couldn’t make the pieces of the picture fit.

  He would just stay on his guard, he decided. He would be doing that anyway, as a matter of habit.

  When it came time to turn in, Frank said, “Salty and I will take turns standing watch.”

  “You really think we need to do that?” Reb asked.

  “You saw those bodies back there. This can be dangerous country.”

  “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that. I can take my turn.”

  Frank shook his head. “Salty and I can handle it.”

  “You’d get more sleep if you let me help out.” Reb paused, and when he went on, his voice had taken on a harder edge. “That is, unless you don’t trust me, Frank.”

  “Nobody said that,” Meg put in. “You trust Reb, don’t you, Frank?”

  “He hasn’t given me any reason not to,” Frank replied, which didn’t really answer the question.

  “We can share a turn,” Meg suggested.

  Reb smiled in the fading light of the fire. “I never turn down the company of a pretty gal,” he said.

  Frank was uneasy about the arrangement, but he didn’t want to press the issue. He nodded and said, “All right. I’ll stand the first watch, Salty the middle one, and the two of you can finish out the night. That agreeable to everybody?”

  The others all nodded.

  “Better roll up in your blankets and get some sleep, then,” Frank went on. He reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll just finish off this Arbuckle’s.”

  If it hadn’t been for the faint smell of wood smoke lingering in the air, Palmer might have missed the camp. He was alert for that very thing, though, and when he caught a whiff of the smoke, he followed it to a long, low ridge. Owen Lundy limped along behind him, grunting now and then from the pain in his wounded side.

  It had been a long walk out of the mountains from the spot of the ambush. They’d had to hide once when a group of riders too large for them to attack had ridden past, heading west. A short time later, what could have been the same bunch rode past again, this time going east.

  Damned mountains were turning out to be as busy as State Street back in Chicago, Palmer thought disgustedly.

  Now, Palmer put a hand on Lundy’s arm to stop him and whispered, “I smell a campfire, or what’s left of one, anyway.”

  His eyes searched the darkness along the base of the ridge for flames but didn’t see any. The fire must have burned down to embers. It might have gone out entirely by now, even with the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

  “If it’s the bunch that rode past us earlier, there are too many of ‘em,” Lundy said. His voice was drawn thin and tight with pain and weariness. “We can’t jump ‘em.”

  “Maybe it’s Morgan and the old man.”

  “The shape I’m in, the two of us ain’t any match for Frank Morgan.”

  Palmer was afraid Lundy was right about that. Morgan was hell on wheels all by himself. Throw in the old-timer Stevens, the young woman, and the kid Palmer didn’t know, and those odds were just too blasted steep.

  Unless they could split the group up somehow.

  At least he and Lundy were well armed again. Palmer had scavenged weapons and ammunition from the members of Lundy’s gang who had been killed in the ambush. He had a rifle and two pistols, and so did Lundy. If it came to a fight, they wouldn’t be lacking for firepower.

  Palmer hoped he could figure out some way to avoid most of the gunplay, however. The fewer shots they had to exchange with Frank Morgan, the better their chances were of surviving the night.

  As a matter of fact, most of the night was already gone. It wouldn’t be long until morning. The two men had trudged along for hours in the darkness, guided only by light from the moon and stars. That was enough to ke
ep them on the trail.

  Palmer studied the situation for long minutes, then finally said, “I’m gonna get above them on that ridge. You’ll draw Morgan out, Owen.”

  Palmer halfway expected Lundy to argue with him. Lundy was used to being in charge and might not like the idea of taking orders.

  But he must have been too tired and hurt to care about such things now, because he said, “All right. How do I do that?”

  “You see those dark shapes there at the base of the bluff? Those are their horses. I think their camp is there, too, just to the right.”

  Lundy squinted into the shadows and finally said, “All right, I see ‘em.”

  Palmer didn’t know whether Lundy really saw the camp or not. But that didn’t matter, as long as he aimed in the right direction. Palmer knew Morgan and the others were there. There weren’t enough horses for it to be the larger group camped here.

  “You give me time to get up on the ridge above them,” Palmer said. “Then you open fire on the camp, but aim high. We don’t want to kill any of the horses. We may need them all.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Morgan will come out to see what’s going on. I’ll ambush him if I can, but if I can’t get a shot at him, I’ll slide down the ridge and grab the horses for us. They can’t come after us if they’re on foot.”

  Slowly, Lundy nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.”

  The pain really did have his mind muddled, Palmer thought. He saw several big holes in the plan, but Lundy didn’t seem suspicious.

  Some part of Lundy’s mind must have worked again for a second. He said, “You’ll come back around and get me, right?”

  “Sure. Then we’ll go after those sons of bitches who stole our gold.”

  “Yeah,” Lundy muttered. “Yeah, those sons o’ bitches.”

  He was swaying slightly on his feet. Palmer put the back of his hand against Lundy’s cheek. The outlaw was burning up with fever.

  “What’re you doin?” Lundy said.

  “Checking to see if you have a fever. You’re fine, Owen. Must not be any infection from that bullet hole.”

  “Good. I always was a quick healer.”