Sixkiller, U.S. Marshal

by William W. Johnstone

“You really want me to leave you here, by yourself, to face him alone?” Willie Buck asked.

  “No, no, I guess not.”

  “We’ve got men combing the entire range,” Willie Buck answered. “Maybe someone will get lucky. But the real place to look for him is right here.”

  “Right here? What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s goin’ to come here to get the girl,” Willie Buck said. “And when he does, we’ll get him.”

  “Surely he won’t try it now that we’re on to him, will he?” Eberwine asked. “I mean he’d be a fool to try it right under our noses.”

  “Eberwine, I have known John Henry Sixkiller since we were children together.” Willie Buck put his finger to his temple. “I know how he thinks. Leave this to me. I promise you, he will come here, and we will kill him tonight.”

  “All right,” Eberwine said after a thoughtful pause. “We’ll try it your way.”

  “That’s more like it,” Willie Buck said. “Now, you men, get rifles!” he ordered the others. “Get into your positions! Sixkiller is going to be comin’ around sooner or later.”

  “What about the others?” one of the cowboys asked. “The ones that are still ridin’ around out there.”

  “What about them?” Willie Buck asked.

  “We got eight men out there. Shouldn’t we send someone out there to bring them in?”

  “What the hell for?” Willie Buck asked. “They’ll just get in the way.”

  “But what if they find John Henry?” one of the men asked. “Will we still get our bonuses? I mean, even though we aren’t lookin’ for him?”

  “When we kill him, the one hundred dollars is for everyone,” Willie Buck said. “That would include the men who are back here.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a thousand dollars for the one that gets him,” one of the cowboys complained. “I don’t see anyone who stays here collectin’ on that money.”

  “Then go join the others if you want to,” Willie Buck said easily.

  “Really? It’s all right with you if I go out to look for him?”

  “Sure,” Willie Buck said. “And since John Henry is wandering around somewhere out there between us and them, who knows? You might get lucky and run across him yourself. You can take him, can’t you? If you can, you won’t even have to split the thousand dollars.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, isn’t it?” the cowboy said with a broad grin. “Maybe I’ll just . . . hey, wait a minute!” he said, suddenly realizing the implications of it. “There’s no way I’m going to go up against Sixkiller by myself. What good is a thousand dollars if I’m dead? I’m not going out there.”

  “Does that mean you’re staying here?”

  “You’re damn right it does.”

  “Then you’ll do what I tell you.”

  “Sure, Willie Buck, whatever you say,” the cowboy acquiesced meekly.

  Willie Buck scattered the men out, putting them in defensive positions all around the house. Once that was done, they waited.

  And they waited.

  Though John Henry was surprised at the number of defenders there were here at the ranch, he wasn’t surprised by the preparations they had made for him. From where he was, John Henry used his binoculars to make a careful survey of the defensive positions Willie Buck had constructed. That knowledge would come in handy when he made his move.

  He located seven men at various positions on the ground around the house. The seven men had overlapping fields of fire, and that meant that there was no way to make a direct approach to the house without coming under fire from more than one of the defenders. In addition to the men on the ground, there was a man in the hayloft of the barn. John Henry had to congratulate Willie Buck on constructing his defense. A good-sized army couldn’t get through.

  But John Henry wasn’t an army. He was one man, sneaking through the cracks.

  John Henry had also seen Eberwine. He had been out on the porch for a few minutes talking to Willie Buck, then he went back into the house. John Henry hadn’t been all that surprised to see that Eberwine was with Willie Buck. He knew now what Matt Dixon meant when he said that they were both working for the same man.

  John Henry swept his binoculars across the front, looking in through each window. One of the downstairs windows had a gap in the middle of the drapes, as if someone had been looking through them. All the other drapes hung as straight as if they were sewn shut.

  John Henry lowered the binoculars.

  “Hang on, Sasha,” John Henry said quietly. “I’m coming for you.”

  As the sun dipped lower in the west, John Henry decided to try to improve his position. There was another protected spot off to his left, a little ridgeline that protruded like a finger pointing toward the house. The end of the finger was a hundred yards closer than he was now, and from there, John Henry would be able to see more clearly what was going on. But if he was going to do it, he was going to have to do it now, before it got too dark to see. To reach it, however, he would have to cross an open area about fifty yards wide.

  John Henry moved back down off the rock and walked over to his horse. “Iron Heart, I’m going to be asking a lot of you,” John Henry said. “But I know you can do it.”

  Gripping his pistol, John Henry put his foot in the stirrup and lifted himself up. But he didn’t get in the saddle. Instead, he remained bent over, hidden behind his horse. Once he had his balance and a good hold, he urged his horse across the open area. Iron Heart broke out into the clearing at a full gallop.

  “Whose horse is that?” someone shouted.

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of the men who went after him. He must have been killed.”

  “Why did his horse come back here?”

  “Where else would he go?”

  “I don’t know. But it spooks me.”

  “Wait a minute! It’s Sixkiller! The son of a bitch is hangin’ on to the other side!” someone shouted.

  Knowing now that he had been spotted, John Henry raised up and fired across the top of his horse.

  Those who were closest began shooting, and even after John Henry had made it all the way across and was completely out of their line of fire, they kept up their shooting until, finally, Willie Buck shouted at them to stop.

  “Cease fire! Stop your shooting! You’re just wasting ammunition!” Willie Buck was shouting.

  The firing fell silent.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Was he hit?”

  “Does anyone see him?”

  “Everyone just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open!” Willie Buck ordered.

  John Henry was in a good, secure position now. He was close enough to observe everything. Close enough even to overhear the men when they shouted at each other. Realistically, he knew this was as close as he was going to be able to get until it got dark. But with the sun already a bloodred disk low on the western horizon, he knew that darkness wasn’t too far away.

  Before it was too dark to see, John Henry made a careful examination of the house. Once he saw Eberwine peering anxiously through the downstairs window. He would like to have seen Sasha, just to reassure himself that she was in the house and that she was still alive, but he just had to have faith that she was.

  “Hey, Willie Buck!” someone called. “Can you see him from where you are?”

  “No,” Willie Buck said.

  “John Henry!”

  John Henry recognized Sasha’s voice. “I’m coming for you, Sasha!” he called back.

  “Yeah, John Henry, you do that!” Willie Buck said. “We’re waiting for you. Oh, and after we kill you? I’m going to have some fun with your woman.”

  John Henry didn’t answer Willie Buck, nor did he say a word from that moment on. He would wait until one o’clock in the morning. If he was lucky, he might catch some of them napping.

  John Henry didn’t have to wait that long. It was no more than an hour after dark when he got an unexpected break. The men who had spent the day searching for him w
ere just coming back now. They were tired, hungry, and frustrated over not yet having won the one-hundred-dollar bonus they were promised. They rode boldly and irately right up to the ranch. Unfortunately for them, they made no effort to identify themselves.

  The men had completely forgotten about those who were out on the range and were totally surprised to see a large body of men ride up on them.

  “What the hell? Marshal Sixkiller brought a posse with him!”

  A rifle shot rang out from one of the defenders, and it was returned by the approaching horsemen, who thought they were being fired at by John Henry. Their return shot was answered by another and by another still, until soon, the entire valley rang with the crash and clatter of rifle and pistol fire.

  The night was lit up by muzzle flashes. Bullets whined and whistled, and men fell, mortally wounded.

  John Henry realized at once that he could take advantage of the opportunity that was just presenting itself. As the guns banged and crashed around him, he sneaked out of his hiding position. He mounted, then rode north for a couple of hundred yards, out of the line of fire. He had no intention of getting shot accidentally when none of them had been able to shoot him by design during the entire day.

  During the fighting the barn had caught fire and the man who had been shooting from the loft of the barn had to abandon it. Now the burning barn cast an eerie wavering orange glow over the entire scene, illumination enough to provide shadows as targets, but not bright enough to allow anyone to be identified and thus end the confusion.

  By the ambient light of the burning barn, John Henry was able to pick his way through to the house. Going around back, he found the back door unlocked, and he let himself in. Moving quietly through the house, he looked into the parlor and saw Eberwine. Eberwine was sitting inside the fireplace seeking protection from the bullets, some of which were coming into the house. His knees were drawn up in front of him, and his arms were wrapped around his legs. His head was down on his knees so he couldn’t see anything. His pistol was lying on the floor beside him.

  He could see it all, because the room was dimly lit by the wavering orange light of the burning barn.

  Sasha saw John Henry and her face lit up with excitement, but John Henry put his finger across his lips, urging her to be quiet. She nodded, showing that she understood.

  John Henry walked over to the chair and cut the ropes that were binding Sasha. At that moment the shooting outside stopped.

  “What the hell? We’ve been shooting at each other!”

  When the shooting stopped, Eberwine opened his eyes, and seeing John Henry and Sasha, called out, “Willie Buck! In here, quick!”

  The front door opened and Willie Buck came in. Seeing John Henry, he raised his pistol to fire. John Henry did two things at once. He pushed Sasha out of the way, and he shot Willie Buck. As Willie Buck went down, he pulled the trigger, but because he was twisting around as he was going down, the bullet from his gun hit Eberwine in the forehead. Eberwine went down as well.

  “What’s goin’ on in here?” another man said, coming into the house.

  “Drop it,” John Henry said.

  A quick perusal showed the man that both Eberwine and Willie Buck were down. He dropped his pistol and put his hands up. It was one of Eberwine’s cowboys.

  “How many are left out there?” John Henry asked.

  “I don’t think there’s no more than four of us,” the cowboy said.

  “I understand from some of the conversation I’ve overheard today that you were to get a hundred dollars each, if you killed me.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Eberwine said.”

  “Who do you think is going to pay you that money now?”

  “Nobody, I reckon.”

  “You go out there and tell the others that.”

  When the cowboy went out the front door, John Henry led Sasha through the back door. He didn’t think any of the ones left would still be trying to kill him, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  They reached Tahlequah just as the sun was rising.

  When they arrived at the house of Sasha’s parents, John Henry dismounted, then reached up to help Sasha down. He winced in pain, and it wasn’t until then that Sasha noticed he had been wounded.

  “Oh! You’ve been shot!”

  “Not really,” John Henry said. “It is just a crease.”

  “Please, come in. I’ll clean it for you.”

  “All right,” John Henry said.

  John Henry followed Sasha into the house where her relieved parents welcomed her back home and thanked John Henry profusely for bringing her back safely.

  Sasha drew some water from the pump, and warmed it. Then, using warm water and lye soap, she cleaned the wound. Afterward, she bandaged it.

  “My shirt doesn’t look like much,” John Henry said.

  “I’ve got a shirt for you,” Sasha said with a broad smile.

  “I don’t think any of your father’s shirts will fit me.”

  “It’s your shirt.”

  “My shirt?”

  “You let me wear it, remember?”

  John Henry thought back to the time he had put his shirt over Sasha’s wet body.

  “Yes,” he said with a big smile. “I remember.”

  Six months later

  From the Cherokee Advocate:

  Railroad Completed Across Indian Territory

  On the evening of Friday, February 3, a crew of KATY track layers, without fanfare or celebration, rhythmically, but wordlessly, drove the last spike in the last rail to complete the iron road. From this day and forever hence, the link is complete. The Indian Territory is tied irrevocably with a slim silver ribbon to the great capital of Washington, the industrial East, the cattle-rich plains of Texas, and the minerals and wealth of California and the Pacific Shore. No longer isolated, the Indian Territory is now an integral part of the great, sometimes cruel, and always hard world.

  USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Authors WILLIAM W. JOHNSTONE with J. A. Johnstone

  A train full of killers. Two passengers marked for death. And one legendary mountain man. Matt Jensen is in for the ride of his life. And it may be his last . . .

  RICH MAN, DEAD MAN

  After surviving a brilliantly plotted murder attempt,

  the richest man in San Francisco is looking to hire

  the best protection that money can buy.

  Enter Matt Jensen, who, for the princely sum of

  $5,000, agrees to escort millionaire John Gillespie

  and his very fetching daughter on a

  railway journey from Frisco to Chicago.

  There’s just one catch: the world’s deadliest killers

  are coming along for the ride . . .

  In Provo, Utah, a knife-wielding assassin leads

  Jensen on a life-or-death chase across the roof of the

  train. In Cheyenne, Wyoming, a ruthless pair of

  hired guns climb onboard, ready to kill anyone who

  gets in their way. And in Omaha, Nebraska, three

  more cutthroats join the party. It doesn’t take

  Matt Jensen long to realize this is no ordinary job.

  It’s a one-way ticket to hell . . .

  MATT JENSEN, THE LAST MOUNTAIN MAN

  THE GREAT TRAIN MASSACRE

  On sale now, wherever Pinnacle Books are sold.

  Chapter One

  On board the Western Flyer

  The train was heading south on the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. It was a little past four in the morning, and from Spruce Mountain the train was a symphony of sight and sound. Red and orange sparks glittered from within the billowing plume of smoke that was darker than the moonlit sky. Clouds of steam escaped from the drive cylinders, then drifted back in iridescent tendrils to dissipate before they reached the rear of the engine. The passenger cars were marked by a long line of candescent windows, glowing like a string of diamonds.

  There were ninety-three passengers on the train
, counting Matt Jensen. Matt was more than just a passenger, because he had been hired by the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad to act as a railroad detective. It wasn’t a permanent job, but the D&RG had been robbed too many times lately, and because Matt had worked with them before, they offered him a good fee to make one trip for them. They didn’t choose the trip arbitrarily—they had good information that the train would be robbed somewhere between Denver and Colorado Springs.

  Matt accepted the assignment but under the condition that no one on the train, except the conductor, would know about him. He had boarded the train in Denver as a passenger, taking a seat, not on the Pullman car, but in one of the day cars, doing so to keep his official position secret. He had turned down the gimbal lantern that was nearest his seat, which allowed him to look through the window without seeing only his own reflection. At the moment he was looking at the moon reflecting from the rocks and trees when the train suddenly ground to a shuddering, screeching, banging, halt. So abruptly did the train stop that the sleeping passengers were awakened with a start.

  “Why did we stop in such a fashion?” someone asked indignantly.

  “I intend to write a letter to the railroad about this. Why, I was thrown out of my seat with such force that I could have broken my neck,” another passenger complained.

  Because Matt could see through his window, he saw some men outside, and it gave him a very good idea of what was going on. He pulled his pistol and held it close beside him, waiting to see what would happen next. He didn’t have to wait but a short time before someone burst into the car from the front door. The train robber was wearing a bandanna tied across the bottom half of his face, and he was holding a pistol, which he pointed toward the passengers.

  Although the passengers were shocked and surprised at this totally unexpected interruption of their trip, Matt was not. He had been told to expect a train robbery between Denver and Colorado Springs, and it was now obvious that the intelligence had been correct.

  “Everybody stay seated!” the train robber shouted. He was holding a sack in his left hand, and he handed it to the passenger in the front seat.