Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1)

by Peter Grant

  Elijah’s eyes lit up. “So dat’s what happened! I t’ought I done somet’ing wrong.”

  “No, you didn’t. I should have warned you about that right at the start, when I was teaching you to shoot. You, too, Rose. Your little gun may have the same problem. That’s another good reason to have a second revolver, in case the first one gets locked up like that.”

  Walt showed them all how to remove the percussion cap from the innards of Elijah’s revolver, then they settled down to clean their guns. Rose wheedled another bucket of boiling water from the ship’s engineer so they could clean the weapons captured from the outlaws as well. As Walt pointed out, “They’ll be more stock for my gun store, so we’d better look after them.” They finished as the ferry was approaching the opposite bank, just in time for Samson and Elijah to mount their wagons and follow Walt and Rose up the ramp.

  The part of Kansas City that was actually on Kansas soil, rather than the larger part on the Missouri bank of the river, was unprepossessing. The streets were muddy and churned up by the constant passage of freight wagons. There was a raw, unfinished feel to the town. Walt decided almost at once that while there might be a lot of potential customers passing through, this would not be a comfortable place to spend the winter. He said as much to Rose, and she nodded in vehement agreement.

  They stopped in front of a big general store while she went inside with Elijah to replenish their supplies. Walt was astonished to receive three offers to purchase his wagons and mule teams in the short time they were gone.

  “Why the big demand for wagons?” he asked one teamster.

  “Part of it’s settlers headin’ west. They’re buyin’ up everythin’ on four wheels. It’s also the army. Injuns have been raidin’ all along the Smoky Hill an’ Santa Fe Trails, so they’re buildin’ forts all the way across Kansas to defend travelers an’ protect the railroad as they build out towards Colorado Territory. They don’t have enough wagons of their own, since most o’ theirs are still back east. They’ll be sendin’ more out here now the war’s over, but they ain’t got here yet. That means they gotta hire civilian outfits to do a lot of the fetchin’ an’ carryin’. Up Fort Leavenworth way—that’s the army’s supply depot for Kansas—the prices for wagons and teams are crazy high right now. Only the freight companies can afford them.”

  “I was thinking about Leavenworth City as a place to spend the winter.”

  “It’s grown into a fine town. They say there’s twenty thousand people livin’ there now. One thing, though. If you’re headin’ that way, be sure to take some feed with you for your teams. All these wagon trains, an’ the cattle they’re drivin’ to Leavenworth City to feed everyone, have grazed the prairie almost bare between here and there.”

  “Thanks. I’ll buy hay and oats before we leave.”

  The price of animal feed shocked Walt. It was several times more than he’d expected to pay. That night around the camp fire he told the others about it. “If it’s going to cost us so much to keep our freight wagons and mules over the winter, I might sell them once we’ve found a place, ’specially because they’ll bring good prices right now. By the end of the year the railhead will have reached Topeka, so prices for wagons and teams should be lower here and higher there. We can replace them in the spring before we head out for Colorado Territory.”

  “Does that include our ambulance?” Rose asked. “I’ve grown to like it.”

  “No, I doubt there’ll be much demand for a light wagon that can’t carry a heavy load.”

  “Oh, good! Can we keep its team as well? I’ve grown to like them, too.”

  “I don’t see why not. Two or three horses will cost a lot less to stable over the winter than twelve mules, and it’ll be easier to keep them exercised.”

  “What about us, suh?” Samson asked, sounding worried. “If dere be no wagons no mo’, what we gwine t’ do?”

  “I’ll find work for you, don’t worry,” Walt reassured him. “Of course, if you want to carry on working with wagons, there are bound to be jobs with the freight companies. They must need drivers. You can always rejoin us next spring, if you want.”

  Samson cheered up at once. “Dat sound good to me, suh. I likes dis life, at leas’ when folks ain’t shootin’ at me.”

  “You won’t like it in the middle of a winter snowstorm out on the prairie. It can be real bitter out there, or so I’ve read.”

  He shrugged, grinning. “I s’pose I better be back in town afore den.” Everyone laughed.

  As they drove into Leavenworth City, Walt was astonished to see how developed it was. He’d expected a mere frontier town, but it was more like St. Louis. He couldn’t find anywhere convenient, affordable or secure to park their wagons and teams within the city. They ended up camping near the fort, next to an enclosure containing the tents of army units transiting through Fort Leavenworth on their way to frontier posts further west, where Indian troubles showed no signs of abating.

  Walt and Rose left Samson and Elijah to guard the wagons while they spent two days looking around Leavenworth City, trying to decide whether to winter there or go further north to look at Atchison. The factor that decided them was the number of schools that needed teachers. At every one, as soon as Rose made inquiries and produced her certificates from Tennessee, she received immediate offers of employment. “I don’t know, darling,” she said to Walt after the fourth offer, “but with the salaries they’re offering, I think I’d be silly to take my chances anywhere else.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. “Besides, there are enough travelers and railroad workers passing through here that I think I can sell my guns by the time we’re ready to leave.”

  “There seem to be a number of other gun shops in town, so there must be a fair amount of business to be done.”

  Walt grimaced. “Yes, but have you seen the rents charged for a store? They’re outrageous! We might do better to buy a store with an apartment over it, live there through the winter, then sell it before we leave.”

  “Why not? That would also save time traveling between work and home, particularly if we can find one close to a school where I can teach. Let’s see what’s available.”

  They soon found a wood building under construction at the outer edge of the business district, near the camping grounds where settler and freight wagon trains assembled. It was ideally situated for Walt to sell them the guns and ammunition they’d need, and near a school that had offered Rose a job. It held four stores, each with an apartment above, but they were expensive. The builder told them flatly, “A thousand for a store, cash on the barrelhead. If you don’t take it, someone else will. I’ve already sold two, and the building’s not even finished yet.”

  Walt didn’t want to use all their cash for that, so his next stop was the area of town where freight companies kept their wagons and stables. He asked around about selling the two army wagons and their mule teams.

  “I won’t lie to you, mister,” a harried haulier by the name of Tom Jones told him. “Right now the Injun raids out west are costing me dear. The army’s doin’ it’s best to keep ’em down, but it’s not good enough. Every train I send out comes back with fewer wagons than it started with. They get damaged on the trail or set afire by Injuns. I’ve lost a couple o’ dozen so far this year. If your wagons are in as good condition as you say, an’ your teams are too, I’ll pay you top price. Hundred and fifty per mule, and three hundred for each wagon with its harness and spares. That’s greenbacks, o’ course.”

  “There’s just one problem,” Walt pointed out. “I need a place to store my goods before I can offload them from the wagons, but I can’t afford to buy one of those new shops without what you’ll pay me.”

  “Tell you what, mister. I’ll send one of my wagonmasters with you to look over your wagons and teams. If he tells me they’re as good as you say, I’ll buy your store from the builder. I’ll hold the title until you offload your wagons into it; then you’ll bring them here, and I’ll make over the title t
o you and give you the rest of the money.”

  “That sounds fair. Do you need drivers? I’ve got two, both black freedmen I hired in St. Louis. They’ve each handled a wagon from there to here. They’re reliable, and they can shoot, too; they helped me see off some outlaws across the river. They work hard and they’re honest. I’ll vouch for them.”

  “That so? I’ll hire ’em both. People who know how to handle a six-mule team ain’t exactly thick on the ground out here, and if they can help defend my trains against Injuns that’s a bonus. I’ll pay ’em thirty-five dollars a month, plus food an’ ammunition while they’re on the wagons. They’ll have to find their own place to stay in town, but they won’t be here often. They got their own guns?”

  “Two Colt revolvers and a Spencer carbine apiece.”

  “That’s good. I’ll up the offer to forty a month, then, since I won’t have to outfit them.”

  “That’s more than I’ve been paying them, so I think they’ll take it. All right, send your man with me to look at the wagons and teams.”

  The deal was soon done. For an additional fifty dollars, the builder agreed to finish Walt’s store before the others. Within three days it was ready, a shop about thirty feet square with a storeroom and work area of the same size behind it, and a kitchen and washroom at the rear. The apartment above had four rooms, with a balcony out front running over the sidewalk. An outhouse stood by the rear door, its bucket emptied daily by a honey wagon. The store shared a long, narrow paddock running the length of the building at the rear, where they would park the ambulance beneath a tarpaulin. Walt rented three stalls for his horse and Rose’s team in a nearby livery stable.

  Walt had the builder double-wall the storeroom with a second layer of planks, laid crossways over the first. The layers were screwed together rather than nailed, for greater security. Samson and Elijah, excited at the prospect of earning good money working for the transport company, helped Walt offload everything into it. They took the empty wagons and mule teams to the haulier to complete the deal. Walt watched as he signed over the deed to the store, then counted out thirteen hundred and fifty dollars in greenbacks, the balance of the purchase price. Jones paid another hundred and fifty dollars for Walt’s spare saddle horse, including its tack.

  “You two take care of yourselves, you hear me?” Rose urged Samson and Elijah. “We expect to see both of you in the spring, unless you change your minds and decide to stay here in Leavenworth City.”

  “We’ll be dere, Miz Rose,” Samson assured her. “I wants to see dem mountains dey talk about in Colorado Territ’ry.”

  Walt smiled and shook their hands. “You’ve worked real hard, and I’m grateful to you. By spring you’ll have learned even more. You’ll be teaching us about the plains.”

  “Mebbe de Injuns, too,” Elijah said in a worried voice.

  Samson shook his head, smiled confidently and patted the holstered revolver on his hip. “Dey bettah look out for us!”

  That night Rose tacked blankets over the windows of the washroom and main bedroom of their new apartment, while Walt lit their lanterns and set up the mattresses and bedrolls from the ambulance on the floor. “First thing tomorrow, you go furniture shopping,” he told her. “I’ll give you two hundred dollars, and there’ll be more if you need it. You know better than I what we’ll need, but don’t get too much, because we can’t take it all on the trail next year. If it’s something we’re likely to take with us, make sure it’s sturdy enough to stand up to the journey. If it can be taken apart for transport, that would be even better. I’ll look into having some shop counters and rifle racks made, as well as iron bars for the windows.”

  “What about drapes for the apartment windows, dear?”

  “Oh, yes. Rugs for the floor, too. It’ll be cold in winter without them. We’ll need three good stoves as well, to warm the shop, workshop and apartment.”

  They washed in cold water, grateful for the warm summer night, then blew out the lantern and got into bed, happy to be alone together at last.

  ―――――

  While Walt was setting up the shop, he had a visit from the owner of a large hardware store in the main business area. “I hear you’re opening a gun store,” the visitor said jovially. “I’m Martin Falke. I’m the regional representative for several arms companies.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Falke. I’m Walter Ames.” They shook hands. “I daresay we’ll be doing business from time to time.”

  “What are you needing right now?”

  “I brought enough guns and ammunition with me to make a start, but I’ll have to replenish my stocks as I sell them. I need some lower-cost breech-loading rifles and shotguns right away, and also supplies for them—birdshot, buckshot, that sort of thing.”

  “I can provide all that. You’ll find shotguns in great demand, but difficult to sell, because they cost more than cheap war-surplus rifles. A double-barrel shotgun retails for between twenty and one hundred dollars. They’re all muzzle-loaders, of course. There’s talk of breech-loading shotguns, but only a handful have made their way out here, all at very high prices indeed.”

  Walt frowned. “Isn’t that too high for the settler market? Most of them don’t seem to have a lot of ready cash. Don’t you offer any lower-cost models?”

  Falke shrugged. “That’s what a good shotgun costs. Don’t forget, they’re in short supply. Manufacturers concentrated on producing military firearms during the war. They didn’t make many shotguns. They’ll make more now the war’s over, which will help bring down their cost, but that can’t happen overnight. Meanwhile, if settlers want one, they’ll have to pay the going price for it.”

  Walt’s first few weeks in business confirmed his suspicions. Many of the travelers and railroad workers simply didn’t have enough money to afford high-quality, high-value firearms, even used examples. He talked it over with Rose one evening.

  “I didn’t take that into account in my planning,” he admitted ruefully. “I thought I could charge three-quarters of the new price for quality used guns like Army Colts, but that puts them in the twelve- to fifteen-dollar range, which is too high for most settlers. Used Spencer carbines should fetch eighteen to twenty dollars, but that’s even harder for them to afford. As for shotguns, people on the wagon trains want them almost more than any other gun because they’re so versatile, but they cost too much.”

  “What about the Whitneys and Sharps?”

  “They’re cheaper, and they sell better, but I don’t have enough of the Sharps.”

  “Are you saying we won’t be able to make do this way?”

  “Oh, no, not at all! I can always reduce my prices to move my stock if need be. Trouble is, I was hoping to leave here with a nest egg of up to eight thousand dollars to take with us to Denver City. I might have to settle for half that, perhaps a little more if we’re lucky.”

  She laughed softly. “Considering you started with less than half that much in St. Louis, if you more than double your initial stake in a year, I’d say you were doing very well.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I suppose I shouldn’t be greedy. What I really need is something to attract customers to my shop. I should have taken warning from the number of gun shops around here. I’m not the first with the idea to sell guns to those heading west. We’re all competing with each other, and no one has an advantage. I thought I could get one by offering a free army holster with every handgun, but that hasn’t worked. Those who come from cities back east aren’t used to carrying a gun, so they don’t worry about a holster. They just stick it in their belts. That’s a good way to break or lose it when it falls out, but they don’t know enough yet to think about that. I need to find a better way to bring in the customers.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something. I have faith in you, darling.”

  Walt smiled at her. It was strange, he thought, how just her telling him that was enough to make him believe it.

  He puzzled over the problem for a week
, until he had a notion. If settlers wanted cheap shotguns, but local stores couldn’t provide them, why not make them himself?

  He saddled his horse and made a fast trip out to Fort Leavenworth to see the ordnance sergeant there. “Do you have any old smoothbore muskets?” he asked. “I know the army is shipping all its unwanted guns back east, but I thought you might have a few left out here.”

  “As a matter o’ fact, we do.” The sergeant led him into a storeroom. “We got almost two hundred o’ these Springfields, Models of 1840 and 1842. They’re percussion-fired, with a .69-inch bore. As you see, most of ’em ain’t in good condition, because they ain’t been issued or even cleaned in years. Nobody wanted ’em during the war—everyone used rifled muskets. We’re s’posed to send ’em all back for disposal, but it ain’t worth the cost of shipping ’em. No one wants smoothbores any more. They ain’t accurate beyond fifty or sixty yards.”

  “Who should I talk to about buying them?”

  After a discussion with the fort’s Quartermaster, Walt was offered the muskets for fifty cents each, so long as he took all of them regardless of their condition. He agreed, with the proviso that the fort’s small supply of .69-inch musket balls was included in the deal, and paid ten dollars extra to have the army deliver everything to his store.

  “What on earth are you going to do with all those old muskets?” Rose asked curiously as she watched a work party of soldiers carry them up to an empty back room of their apartment. “Surely no one will want them?”

  “Just you wait and see,” Walt replied with a smile.

  He spent most of a day in his workroom, measuring, sawing, drilling, cutting, hammering and filing, much to Rose’s mystification. That evening he showed her two guns. She blinked in surprise. “What have you got there?”

  “They started out as muskets, but now they’re muzzle-loading shotguns. On this one, I’ve shortened the barrel to two-and-a-half feet, down from its original three-and-a-half. I mounted a brass bead at the muzzle, cut down the ramrod, and cut off the fore-end at the barrel band nearest to the action. It’s much lighter and handier now. The second one’s barrel was damaged, so I cut it down even further. It’s only a foot-and-a-half long now, which is perfect for use on a wagon or in a tight space. It’s what they call a coach gun. Their .69-inch bore means they’re equivalent to a fourteen-gauge shotgun, which is how I’ll advertise them.