Bull's Eye Stage Coach

by Hall, Billy

  The voice behind Mac was soft and just as carefully proper as the pressman’s. It nonetheless held a distinct edge. ‘I do not think that is at all called for. You had no right to hit the boy. Now give him back his hoop.’

  Mac whirled to face whoever dared to interfere. Facing him was Val Lingquist, the new clerk at Glendenning’s Mercantile Store. Val’s expression was almost bland, but his eyes flashed with anger. Mac’s own eyes bulged with elevated wrath. That someone would take the boy’s side in the matter was unforgivable. That this puny, immaculately dressed little man, half his size, would dare to stand up to him was more than intolerable.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ he rumbled.

  ‘I believe I just decided to make this my business,’ Val replied, his tone mild, his voice even. ‘When a grown man assaults a child as you just did, I believe that ought to be the business of any decent citizen.’

  ‘I didn’t do half what I should to the little whelp,’ Mac fumed. ‘I ought to beat him within an inch of his life.’

  ‘You have already done far more than you had any right to do,’ Val disagreed. ‘Now give the boy back his hoop and be on your way.’

  ‘What? Who are you to try to tell me what to do?’

  ‘Well, who would you like for me to be?’ Val asked with a tight smile. ‘I will be happy with whatever pleases you, just so long as you do as I say.’

  ‘It’ll be a cold day in July when a sawed-off little pilgrim like you tells me anything,’ Mac declared, stepping forward toward the much smaller man.

  It probably wasn’t the first time that Mac had badly underestimated someone. It may well have been the time he regretted the quickest. At the threat, Val moved forward instead of backing away. His right fist connected with Mac’s nose with stunning force. Blood flew in all directions.

  A small crowd had begun to gather as soon as Val confronted the bigger man. As the blood flew, a collective gasp escaped from almost every mouth.

  Before Mac even had time to react, Val connected twice more with blows that felt like sledgehammers into Mac’s mid-section. The breath went out of him with a whoosh as he bent forward.

  Momentarily helpless to straighten up, Mac’s face was the target of half a dozen well-placed blows in the space of two heartbeats. He staggered backward, blood already coursing down his face from cuts that the small man’s iron hard fists had opened up on his eyebrows.

  Even as he staggered back, one of Val’s fists connected with his ribcage with a crack that indicated a fractured rib. Mac grunted, fighting to keep his balance.

  The next blow seemed impossible to come from anyone Val’s size. A straight right to the chin lifted the big man off his feet. He crashed backward to the sidewalk, spread-eagled and unconscious. The entire episode had taken no more than two minutes.

  Ignoring both his supine antagonist and the excited buzz of the small crowd that had gathered, Val turned to Billy. His voice was still calm. He seemed not in the least out of breath. ‘Are you all right, young man?’

  Billy looked back and forth from Val to the unconscious form of Mac several times, as his mouth hung open. He shut his mouth, opened and shut it again, then said, ‘I – I – uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m OK. Wow! I ain’t never seen nobody hit anyone that hard in my life. How’d you do that? You ain’t very big. I – I mean, beggin’ your pardon, sir.’

  Val smiled. ‘You don’t have to be a big man to be a good man, son. Don’t ever forget that. Now you had best get your hoop and head toward home. And you might be a little more careful after this, huh?’

  ‘Uh, yessir. I will. And … thanks, mister.’ He headed down the street at top speed.

  ‘That was quite a display,’ a voice behind Val observed.

  Val turned, moving on the balls of his feet, obviously prepared to face a new challenge. He relaxed when he recognized Dwight Stern. ‘Ah. Good afternoon, Marshal,’ he offered. ‘I hope I am not about to be arrested for public brawling.’

  Dwight shook his head. ‘I saw what he did. I can’t say that I ever saw anybody handle himself quite as well as that, though.’

  Val shrugged, but offered no explanation. ‘I did feel compelled to interfere when he decided to take the lad’s hoop away from him.’

  Dwight nodded. ‘That’s about the only thing that kid has to call his own.’

  ‘I gathered that.’

  ‘You’re new in town. I don’t think I even know your name.’

  With a straight face, but with a dancing light in his eyes betraying him, Val said, ‘I rather suspect that’s true. You don’t.’

  Anger flashed in Dwight’s eyes for the barest moment, then he grinned. ‘Well, then, I’ll ask it a different way. What’s your name, Stranger?’

  ‘No, actually it isn’t.’

  ‘Isn’t what?’

  ‘My name isn’t Stranger. I have heard folks called that, but I’ve never really met anyone actually named that.’

  ‘Keep workin’ on it an’ I may rethink whether I want to arrest you for public fightin’,’ Dwight declared, with just as straight a face. ‘In fact, when that typesetter o’ Newsome’s wakes up, he may wanta press charges.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, in that case, I suppose I should provide a name so you’ll know who you’re arresting.’

  ‘That’d help all right.’

  Val thrust a hand out to the marshal. ‘Val Lindquist, at your service, Marshal.’

  Dwight took the hand and returned the surprisingly strong grip. ‘You’re new in town.’

  ‘That also is true. I am employed by Glendenning’s Mercantile Store, as of almost a month ago.’

  A curtain clouded Dwight’s eyes instantly. ‘Hmm. That’s a bit of a coincidence. That’s just about the same time that fella came to town.’

  Val’s eyes darted to the prone figure on the sidewalk, just beginning to stir. ‘Is that so?’ he responded. ‘Do you happen to know where he came from?’

  The sudden interest sparked an equal reaction from Dwight. ‘Nope. Newsome said he just dropped in one day and asked if he needed a typesetter. Walt says he’s the best help he’s ever hired, settin’ type an’ runnin’ the press both.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ Val replied, his voice thoughtful. ‘An experienced typesetter and pressman just happens to drift into town and seek work at the local newspaper.’

  ‘Now why would that be of special interest to you?’ Dwight demanded.

  It was Val’s turn to become suddenly cautious. ‘No reason. I was just on my lunch hour, Marshal, so if you don’t mind I’ll head on down to the café and grab a bite to eat so I can get back to work. Good day.’

  Without waiting for a response he turned and walked away. Dwight frowned as his practiced eye noted the bulge in the slight man’s pants pocket, indicating he carried a gun that most folks would never notice. The man was certainly not what he seemed. Just one more thing to add to the list of nagging worries the marshal was beginning to fret more and more about. ‘Too many things just ain’t addin’ up around here,’ he muttered as he too walked away.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘This isn’t news! News is somethin’ that’s happened. This here’s an announcement. It’s an invitation. This is nothin’ but a formal invitation to every outlaw in the country,’ Dwight yelled.

  Walt Newsome held both hands up in front of him, palms toward the marshal. ‘Now, now, Marshal, don’t get apoplectic on me.’

  Dwight waved the latest edition of the Headland Courier as if were a battle flag. ‘Do you realize what this is gonna do? This absolutely guarantees that somebody is goin’ to try to rob that stage before it ever makes its first arrival in Headland.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Marshal,’ the owner and editor of the newspaper scoffed. ‘Do you really think there are hordes of outlaws and brigands lurking about the hills and valleys reading my newspaper to determine where they ought to strike next?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Dwight fumed. ‘Let me put an item in your newspaper that you’re going to be carrying ten
thousand dollars to Cheyenne, then I’ll set you on a horse and head you south and see what happens to you.’

  ‘Come, come now,’ the publisher chided again, ‘that is not a fair comparison and you know it. I am not an armored, fully defended, virtually impregnable mobile fortress, as this new stagecoach is. If I were, I would welcome any such attack as an opportunity to verify the futility of any and all future attacks.’

  ‘And what if they just wait until it gets into town?’ Dwight argued. ‘Are you gonna guarantee someone won’t get the bright idea of hittin’ it when it gets unlocked to deliver those payrolls that you’ve advertised to the world will be on board?’

  Newsome leaned back in his swivel-chair and put his feet up on his desk. ‘Those payrolls being shipped in are a pittance in comparison to the amount that will be going the other direction. There will be over a month’s worth of gold production from both the Gatlin Mine and the Clementine Mine, of the High Country Mining Corporation. There will be the gleanings from three privately owned mines for that same period of time. There will also be a considerable amount from both of our banks, being transported from here to Cheyenne. If someone were tempted to attempt a robbery, it will not be while the stage is approaching, but rather on its outward trip.’

  ‘I am very well aware of all that,’ Dwight retorted. ‘If I hadn’t already been aware of it, I would be now, since you published everything you just said and a good deal more. It wouldn’t surprise me if we had the James gang, the Dalton boys and the Hole-In-The-Wall gang all combinin’ forces to go after this stage. You’ve changed it from a well-armored stage to nothin’ more than a rolling bull’s-eye for every would-be crook in the country.’

  ‘I certainly hope you’re right,’ Newsome responded. ‘If that truly happens, just think how many unsavory and dangerous villains will be eliminated from the surrounding environs. I will make sure to mention to Mr Adkins that the guards will need an inexhaustible supply of ammunition with which to dispatch such a congregated assortment of larcenous miscreants as the country has never seen. And just think, Marshal, what a peaceable and serene territory we shall then enjoy, with all those undesirables summarily dispatched to perdition!’

  Dwight opened his mouth twice to answer the jibes with which the newsman was taunting him, but each time closed his mouth. He wheeled and stomped out of the office, knowing he was about to permanently alter the printer’s expression if he didn’t leave. Halfway out the door he turned and raged, ‘Newsome, if that stage does get attacked and any one of them guards gets killed, it’ll be because of you and this dad-blamed paper. If that happens, I’ll be back to arrest you for the murder of any guard that gets killed.’

  He stormed out of the door, slamming it shut, then whirled around and stepped back inside. He waved the wadded paper again as he ranted, ‘And for the price of any horse that gets shot!’

  He slammed the door yet again behind himself and marched down the street. The wadded newspaper in his hand, the forward thrust of his head and his glowering countenance were more than adequate to forestall any greeting from passers-by as he stormed his way back to his office. He walked in and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows. Only then did he notice Val Lindquist sitting beside the desk, regarding him curiously.

  ‘I believe I am glad I am not the last person you talked with,’ Lindquist observed. ‘I’m not too sure I want to be the next one. Perhaps I’ll stop back at a more opportune time.’

  Dwight glared at the smaller man a long moment before his stance and expression began to soften. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Sorry about that,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t know anyone was here.’

  ‘I rather gathered that. If I were to guess, I would say somebody has gotten under your skin rather well.’

  ‘You could say that,’ Dwight agreed, throwing the wadded up newspaper on the desk.

  Val glanced at it, understanding igniting a spark in his eyes. ‘Ah, yes. The newspaper. Such a formidable weapon in the right hands, and a truly frightful loose cannon in the wrong ones.’

  ‘You read it?’

  ‘I did. It is, in fact, the reason for my visit.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I have thought at some length about our previous meeting, and I was not at all sure what impression of me that meeting left you with. I have also considered the events that appear to be transpiring, or about to do so, in this town. I felt the need to drop in and simply let you know that if and when you have a need to know, you must understand that I am firmly and solidly on your side.’

  ‘My side of what?’

  Lindquist studied him for a long moment, then said only, ‘Just be aware I am on your side. That’s really all I am allowed to say, at this point.’

  ‘Do you know somethin’ I don’t know?’

  Again the smaller man was thoughtful for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘I rather doubt it. We shall see.’

  Without any further explanation he stood and walked out the door in a series of moves so smooth and graceful he almost appeared to rise and float out of the office in one continuous motion. Dwight stared after him, his brow furrowed in confusion. He mentally replayed every word the man had said, then shook his head in exasperation. ‘Now how come folks can’t just say what they mean?’ he muttered. ‘I hate it when people talk in riddles.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Dwight stood and looked around his office. Ten men stood leaning against the outer walls of the small room. Behind the desk the two cells of the town’s jail held only one inmate. Obviously a cowboy by his dress, the man was sprawled on the iron bunk, snoring loudly.

  ‘Frenchy get a little frisky?’ Howard Glendenning, owner of the hardware store inquired.

  Dwight smiled slightly. ‘Not really. Just too drunk to know what he was doin’. I figgered he’d be better off sleepin’ it off in here.’

  ‘So what’s on your mind, Marshal?’ Sven Carlsen interrupted. ‘I take it something big is going to happen?’

  Dwight sized up the men he had asked to be there. There was Frank Singler, the gunsmith; Harvey Frieden, owner of the livery barn, Soren Swenson, owner of the feed store, Isaiah Formisch, furniture maker, David Lowenberg, owner of the mercantile store, ‘Dane’ Andersen, the blacksmith, Virgil Zucher, the carpenter, and Ralph Humbolt, sometimes clerk in the mercantile store, sometimes hostler at the livery barn, sometimes anything for which someone wanted to hire an honest and hardworking man.

  Dwight leaned back against the front of his desk. ‘I’m guessin’ you all read this week’s paper.’

  Every man there either nodded his head or mumbled his affirmation.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ Harvey asked.

  It was Dwight’s turn to nod his head. ‘I’ve known about it for quite a while. It’s been in the works for several months, actually. I don’t know how we managed to keep it from the professional nosy neighbor this long, but he finally got wind of it. The more I’ve thought about it, the more concerned I’ve become. It’s better than even money that somebody’ll try to hit that stage before it gets here.’

  A murmur of agreement came from nearly a dozen throats.

  ‘You wantin’ a posse to ride out an’ meet it?’ Soren Swenson asked.

  ‘No,’ Dwight said with a flat finality in his voice. ‘Whatever happens to it outside of town isn’t really any of my business. I care, of course, but I don’t have jurisdiction anywhere but in town.’

  ‘You think they’ll hit it in town?’ Harvey’s voice was incredulous.

  Again Dwight nodded. ‘I do. Think about it. Even if they stopped the stage somewhere else, what are they going to do? The guards inside are behind steel plates. There are eight outriders. And if they managed to kill off all the guards, then what would they do? There’s no way they’re going to get that strongbox open. Not even with dynamite. There’s no way they can carry it off. Without a block and tackle or something they couldn’t even lift it off the stage. So even if someone tries to rob i
t on the way here, it won’t do them any good.’

  He paused to let what he had said soak in, then continued. ‘So the reasonable thing to do would be to wait until it’s unlocked at one of the banks. Then they can just take the money and run.’

  ‘But right in town, that’d be awful risky,’ Isaiah observed.

  ‘Unless they had enough men to overpower the guards, hit fast, grab the money, and ride out. Couple that with the idea that once they’re in town, the outriders and such will let their guard down.’

  ‘Do you think somebody’d actually try that?’ Harvey Frieden pondered.

  ‘If you were an outlaw and had enough men to do it, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘How much money are we talking about?’ Sven asked.

  ‘On the way into town, over ten thousand dollars.’

  ‘That’s a lot, but not if you had to divide it up between a gang of, say, ten or fifteen men,’ Howard Glendenning opined.

  ‘That’s true,’ Dwight conceded. ‘But what if they hit it on the way out of town, when it’s loaded, before it’s locked. Then we’re talking about more than one hundred thousand dollars in gold and paper money put together.’

  Stunned silence filled the room, saturated the air, and spilled out into the night. It weighed down on the assembled group as if it were a physical force, stifling any latent attempt to respond. It was finally Dane Andersen who dispelled the oppressive silence with, ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Now you know why I’m scared,’ Dwight assured them.

  ‘Now I’m scared too,’ Frank Singler admitted.

  ‘So what do you want of us?’ Sven asked, for the second time inside half an hour.

  ‘I want to deputize the ten of you, have you positioned and well armed, and ready to fight a war if we have to.’

  ‘How will we know who we are fighting against?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll make that perfectly clear,’ Dwight surmised. ‘They’ll either cover their faces or they’ll just be wavin’ their guns around, or shootin’ at us.’