Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1)

by Peter Grant

  They took his words and his lessons to heart. By the time they were ready to leave, both of them could draw, shoot, and hit a dinner-plate-size target ten feet away in three seconds. Even though he could do the same at triple that distance in half the time, Walt was satisfied. “That’s a good start,” he told them. “Now it’s just a matter of practice. Remember, too, the fastest draw when trouble starts is to have the gun already in your hand. Keep your eyes open. If you have your gun out before you need it, you’ll react and shoot much faster.”

  Rose joined them in their target practice. “If we run into trouble on the trail, I’d better be able to defend myself,” she pointed out. She became very accurate at close range with her little Colt Pocket Police revolver, to Walt’s satisfaction. She found his Henry rifle too long and heavy for her petite build, so he shopped around in the St. Louis stores. He was happy to find a used Henry carbine with a twenty-inch round barrel, holding twelve rounds instead of the sixteen of his rifle. It cost more than he’d paid for his rifle in Nashville, thanks to the scarcity of the carbine model, but he didn’t quibble. He had the store’s gunsmith shorten the stock to fit Rose, paying extra for a rush job. She found she could handle the shorter, lighter carbine more easily than the full-size rifle. Walt attached revolver holsters and stiff leather tubes for rifles behind each wagon seat, so the drivers would always have their weapons available in case of need.

  He used the training to re-attune himself to constant vigilance. Over time it grew easier to give Rose all the attention, warmth and affection she desired and deserved, but also maintain the higher level of alertness he needed.

  On the penultimate day Walt retrieved his valuables from the strong room in town, then the men began the back-breaking task of loading all the weapons, ammunition and supplies. They tried to divide the cargo evenly, putting about two and a half thousand pounds into each wagon. His and Rose’s weapons, ammunition, clothes and personal effects went into the ambulance, where they’d be protected against the jolts and jars of the road by the vehicle’s springs. Samson and Elijah overhauled and cleaned the harness for the vehicles, spread and tied down the covers and awnings, filled the water barrels from the well, greased the wheel hubs, and generally made sure all was in order for an early start.

  On the last night they helped Rose clean up after supper, then relaxed around the fire on folding camp stools, watching lazily as the sparks flew upward into the darkness, with cups of hot coffee in their hands and the warmth of full bellies to lull them into relaxation.

  “I cain’t hardly b’lieve how much I’s learned dese past couple o’ weeks,” Elijah confessed. “Nebber had de chance to drive a team befo’. What would my ole Mammy say if she could see me now?”

  “Where does she live?” Walt asked.

  “Oh, she died afore de war, suh. We wuz slaves in Mississip’. I wuz freed by de Union after dey took Vicksburg, an’ went to work on de river.”

  “Were you a slave too, Samson?” Rose asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I was freed by de Union in Alabama in ’64.”

  “And your family?”

  “My mama died when I was real young, Miz Rose. I was raised by anudder slave.”

  “I’m sorry. At least both of you can start afresh now.”

  “Dat’s true, ma’am. De west gonna be a new beginnin’ f’r both of us.”

  Walt hadn’t told any of them about his deadly affray with the gambler and his accomplice. He still felt guilty about almost getting his wife and servants killed through his lack of awareness and attention. Silently he swore to himself never to make that mistake again, or to casually break the law, as he had in the past. The west would be a new beginning for him, too.

  The seven days it took them to reach Columbia, halfway point of the journey, were almost idyllic. Once St. Louis was out of sight behind them, Walt was able to relax for the first time since his second encounter with the gambler. The sun shone, but not too warmly; occasional showers dampened the ground, but not enough to make the going difficult for the wagons; and the traffic on the road was light.

  They settled into a routine of making camp an hour before sundown. Each afternoon they asked a farmer for permission to camp on his land, which was usually given in return for a small fee. They drew up the three wagons in a loose triangle formation, using ropes to join them to form an impromptu corral for the animals overnight. The horses and mules were picketed on grass wherever possible, to graze while Rose began preparing supper. They ate as the sun set, then the men drove the animals into the enclosure formed by the wagons and secured them for the night while Rose washed up, made coffee, and prepared next morning’s breakfast. Walt, Samson and Elijah took it in turn to keep watch through the night.

  An early night was followed by an early start. In the first half-light of dawn, the men crawled from their bedrolls, lit the fire, and made coffee while Rose washed and dressed; then she cooked while they washed in their turn. Breakfast was a big meal intended to sustain them during the day ahead, and usually consisted of oatmeal followed by eggs, bacon, beans and skillet bread. Rose cleaned and stowed the utensils while the men harnessed the teams to their wagons and cleaned up the campsite. By an hour after sunrise, they were on the road again.

  They nibbled on hardtack biscuit, jerky, nuts and dried fruit to sustain them as they traveled. Walt rode a horse, scouting the way ahead, riding back and forth along the line of wagons to check that everything was in order, and watching their back trail, just in case anyone was coming after them. However, much to his relief, there was no sign of pursuit, and no indication that the two dead men had been found or that the police had managed to connect them to him. It had most likely been known that the gambler carried a lot of money. Any investigation would probably focus on who might have plotted to steal it from him.

  They set a gentle pace, allowing the teams to settle down together, learning to handle the wagons up and down hills, crossing streams and on various surfaces. More than once they passed wagons that had been too heavily loaded and either bogged down or broken an axle or wheel over difficult terrain, proving to Walt’s satisfaction that he’d been wise to load his to less than their maximum capacity.

  After passing Columbia, Walt began to get jumpy at the number of artificially casual inquiries from farmers and passersby concerning who he’d fought for in the war. His stock answer became a curt, “The war’s over,” and he refused to go into further detail. This sometimes irritated an overly nosy questioner, but his uncompromising position and his obvious unwillingness to be pressured, backed up by the sight of the holster on his hip, discouraged further inquiry.

  He discovered the reason for all the curiosity, and the scarcely concealed animosity towards him, shortly before they reached Boonville. A convoy of Union Army wagons was heading towards St. Louis, and had stopped to water its teams at a small stream. Walt pulled his wagons to the other side of the road, and asked the drivers to water their teams as well while he spoke to the escort commander, a young cavalry lieutenant. After introducing himself, he asked, “Why are people here so curious about which side one fought for during the war? I’ve had more questions about that over the last few days than since I left Tennessee.”

  “How much do you know about the war in Missouri?”

  “Not much. I know there was guerrilla fighting in the west of the state.”

  “There sure was! Some of the worst Confederate bushwhackers operated in western Missouri and eastern Kansas; Quantrill, Bloody Bill Anderson, men like that. On the other side you had jayhawkers and redlegs. They were basically bandits claiming Union sympathies. They robbed, raped and pillaged their way through the same area. Both sides were just plain evil, as often as not. It’s left a lot of bad blood all around. To make matters worse, a lot of them are still in the area, but as outlaws now instead of wearing a uniform. People are real nervous. No one dares trust a stranger.”

  “Can’t say I blame them. In their shoes I’d be nervous, too. Any advice on how to stay o
ut of trouble?”

  “Just keep on heading west, keep your head down, and don’t say anything. In particular, you’ll want to be careful over the last fifty miles to the Kansas border. Several outlaw bands are operating there. Sleep lightly and keep a good watch at night, and keep your weapons handy, just in case. You’ve got valuable wagons and teams that travelers will buy for cash without asking questions, to say nothing of whatever you’ve got inside them. What’s more, your lady’s young enough, and pretty, too.” He nodded towards Rose as she watered her horses. “Some of them outlaws won’t need any more excuse than that, sad to say.”

  “Thanks. We’ll be careful. What’s the safest route to Kansas City?”

  “If I were you, I’d turn southwest to Sedalia. The army has a post there, although it’ll be shutting down soon, and there are two railroads building into town, so there’s plenty of traffic on the roads. Outlaws don’t like that, because they can be seen and identified too easily. From there, go west to Warrensburg, then turn northwest to Kansas City. I’m not saying you won’t run into trouble, but I reckon it’ll be less likely on that route than if you stay on the direct one. The outlaw groups will probably be smaller that way too, if you happen to run into one.”

  “I think I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

  “One more thing. Your two black drivers—are they freedmen?”

  “Yes. I hired them in St. Louis.”

  “Tell ’em to watch their mouths. If they don’t back-talk anyone and stay out of trouble, they should be all right, but there are some who’ll try to make trouble with them just out of plain meanness and orneriness.”

  “I’ll warn them.”

  He did, that very night. “Samson, Elijah, listen, both of you. You must be very careful in these parts. You were both slaves once, and there are people around here who’ll try to make something of that. If anyone tries to cause problems, you leave the talking to me, but keep watch to the sides and rear. We’ll try to pass through the next few towns without stopping, so the locals don’t have time to cause a fuss.” He also warned all of them about the danger from outlaws. “We’ll have to be cautious during the last few days’ travel to Kansas City. Fortunately, it’s not far ahead now.”

  They made it through Sedalia without incident, as the Lieutenant had predicted. Warrensburg was a different matter. Some of the people lounging on the sidewalks spat in the street as they passed, or made derogatory remarks about Samson and Elijah, loud enough to be heard. Duly forewarned, the two stared stonily straight ahead and said nothing, regardless of the provocation. Walt followed the wagons on his horse, looking to right and left, hand hovering near the butt of the revolver openly holstered on his right hip, ready to intervene if necessary. That gave the would-be troublemakers enough pause for thought that the wagons were clear of the town before they could start anything.

  They redoubled their caution as they drove on, as the lieutenant had advised. On the second evening after Warrensburg, Samson said to Walt, “Suh, did you notice dat man on de white hoss on de hilltop to de right?”

  “Just before we stopped? Yes, I did.”

  “I t’ought I saw him in Warrensburg, suh.”

  Walt rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well, if he’s following us, we should see him again tomorrow. Keep your eyes open, everyone. Look sharp.”

  As he rode out ahead of the others to scout the trail the next morning, Walt glanced to the right. The white horse and its rider were on the hilltop again, this time accompanied by a smaller pony with what looked like a youth on its back. They were looking down at the wagons. Walt stopped in the shade of a group of trees, pulled out his spyglass, and peered through the branches. The man was gray-bearded, wearing rough work clothes, and clutching a long-barreled rifle in some sort of buckskin sleeve ornately decorated with beads and feathers. He wore a cavalry holster at his right side, its flap closed, and a long-bladed white-handled knife at his left. The boy with him was much younger, a gangling teenager who didn’t appear to be armed.

  As he watched, the man turned and said something to his companion. The boy nodded, turned his pony and galloped off to the east. The man watched him go, then turned his own horse and headed northeast at a slower pace, passing out of sight behind the hill.

  I wonder if he’s sent that boy to bring in reinforcements? Walt mused. Something felt wrong about the watchers, and he wasn’t about to ignore his instincts, particularly not after his lapse in St. Louis. He turned his horse and rode back to warn the other three that they might have some unwanted visitors.

  They watered the teams at Blue Springs, not more than twenty miles from Kansas City, at about three that afternoon. Walt let his horse drink first, then had the drivers bring water to their teams in buckets. He asked Samson to take the watch, standing on a wagon seat to survey the trail behind them while he helped Rose with her two-horse team and Elijah with the twelve mules. They were almost done when Samson called, “Suh, dat man on de white horse be back. He’s brought fr’en’s wid him.”

  Walt jumped up onto the wagon beside Samson, took out his spyglass and looked back in the direction from whence they’d come. Sure enough, about three miles down the trail, the gray-bearded man led a group of five other riders at a walk. The youngster was among them. The other four were bearded also. Most were holding a long gun across one arm.

  “Well done, Samson. We’ll push on at once. A couple of miles ahead there’s a grove of trees that will give us cover.” He pointed towards the northwest. “Let’s head for that. We’ll find a place to pull off the trail, then get ourselves ready, just in case those men are up to no good.” He spoke calmly, hoping to avoid unduly upsetting Rose, but she took the news well, although her face may have paled a little.

  They hurriedly finished watering the last two mules, then urged on the animals at a faster pace than before. Walt hung back at first, until he was sure the men were not trying to overtake them. They’re in no hurry. They’re likely planning to hit us when we stop for the night, he realized. He spurred his horse and cantered ahead of the wagons in order to scout the grove of trees, to see what it might offer them in the way of defensive terrain. A narrow, twisting path, just wide enough for the wagons, led off the main trail through a clearing where the wagons could be halted. The trees and underbrush were thick enough on all sides to offer concealment, as well as make it difficult for anyone to ride into the clearing from another direction.

  As the wagons approached, he directed them onto the side path. “Stop next to each other, with the teams facing the far end of the clearing,” he called. The backs of the wagons would provide at least some cover to the horses and mules if bullets started to fly.

  He followed the wagons into the clearing, jumped down from his horse, led it past Rose’s ambulance and tied it to a tree ahead of the team, then called them all together. “There are six armed men riding up the trail behind us. I’m sure they’ll notice we turned off into the trees—our tracks are hard to miss. If they’re following us, they’ll turn off too, in which case I’m going to confront them and try to warn them off. If they’re outlaws, that’ll probably start a fight. Samson, I want you on the right of the trail.” He pointed. “Pick a tree close to the path to hide behind, with plenty of bushes around it to obscure you. Stand by with your Colt in your hand. Take your carbine too, in case you shoot your revolver dry; but the trees and bushes will get in its way, so use the handgun first. It’s easier to handle in thick brush if you have to move. Elijah, you look for a tree like that on the other side of the path, and do the same.”

  “What about me?” Rose asked.

  “I want you lying flat on the bed in our ambulance with your carbine. They won’t see you in the shadow cast by its cover. You’ll be at an angle to the path, able to see past me to the back of their group. If a fight starts and you see anyone turn his horse to run, shoot him. He mustn’t be allowed to get away, because he’d only bring more of them down on us. Think you can do that?”

  “I can.” Her vo
ice was shaky, but determined.

  He looked Samson and Elijah in the eye as he warned grimly, “Remember what that Lieutenant told us. If those riders are outlaws and former guerrillas, they won’t care what they do to you—and I don’t want to think about what they might do to Rose. It’s up to us to stop them. Don’t fire wildly. Aim carefully, and keep on shooting until they go down. If they’re down but still moving, or they still have a weapon in their hands, shoot them again.”

  Samson said firmly, “I hears you, suh.”

  Elijah nodded. “We’ll stand by you, suh.”

  “I’m counting on you to do just that. One more thing. Wait until I fire the first shot. This isn’t my first fight, not by a long way. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve that should surprise them. Once I shoot, or, God forbid, if they shoot me first, then you can start shooting too. All right, now load the sixth chamber in your revolvers and get ready.”

  Walt ran to Rose’s ambulance, rummaged in his carpetbag, and took out the short-barreled Army Colt in its shoulder holster. He hurriedly removed the cylinder, loaded the sixth chamber, then assembled the revolver and put percussion caps on the cylinder’s nipples. With them facing six-to-four odds, a hidden gun might give him the edge he needed to come out of this fight alive. He lowered the hammer to half-cock, put on the shoulder holster and donned a waistcoat over it, leaving it unbuttoned to conceal the holster while allowing easy access to it. He folded back the flap of the cavalry holster on his right hip, pushing it down behind his belt, and carefully tucked the right side of his waistcoat into the belt behind the holster, leaving the Remington revolver open to his grasp. He checked the weapon, making sure all six chambers were loaded and capped and that the hammer was down on a safety notch between two of them.