Comstock Cross Fire

by Gary Franklin

  “Sure you do,” Holt assured them. “Because the secret is that I admire you, Joe. I admire how tough you are and how many of the informants I’ve paid to keep looking for you are dead by your hand.”

  “How much did you pay ’em for watchin’ out for me all these months?”

  “Not much. Ten dollars, but they stood to make a hundred if they saw you and got word to me fast enough to find you.”

  “Ten dollars, huh,” Joe mused. “Not much to die for.”

  “Men have died for a lot less,” Holt said. “So how many of ’em did you kill, Joe?”

  Joe thought about that. “Four or five.”

  “And you took their scalps?”

  “I did,” Joe said with honest pride. “But Fiona don’t like the look or smell of them, so I gave ’em up.”

  “You should have kept them,” Holt told him. “I’d have liked to have them myself.”

  “Why’d you want to have scalps that you didn’t even take?” Joe asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Well,” Holt mused, his eyelids getting heavy. “Maybe I wouldn’t have. I don’t know. The scalp taking is new to me. I’ll have to give that one some thought.”

  “Do that,” Joe told the man. “And maybe you ought to give some thought about what you plan to do to us.”

  “There isn’t any thinking required,” Holt replied with a yawn. “I promised Peabody that I’d bring you both in dead or alive. Preferably alive. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  “Long ways to Nevada,” Joe commented.

  “Yep, sure is. But in one month we’ll be there and this business will all be over with. That’ll be quite a necktie party on the Comstock, Joe. Most have seen men swing, but not many have seen a woman dance in the air.”

  “Fiona isn’t going to hang,” Joe vowed, his voice sharp and cold. “If I get hanged, well, I sorta deserve it. But she don’t.”

  “Deserving or not, she’ll hang right with you, Joe. You better wrap your mind around that here and now.”

  “I don’t I think I will,” Joe told him. “And like I said, it’s a long way to Virginia City. You speak any Paiute?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “I do . . . a little,” Joe told him. “I speak most all the Indian languages, or enough of each to get my meaning across. Sign language if everything else fails and their blood is up.”

  “I’m not afraid of the Paiutes,” Holt told him. “They’re a filthy rabble that eats lizards, grubs, and whatever else they can manage to get down their gullets. It’s not like I’ve got to get you through Cheyenne or Blackfoot land.”

  “Maybe not,” Joe agreed. “But the Paiute will fight. And we’re a small party . . . given that I’ll be shackled. You think that Dalton and Eli are going to stand up to being attacked by Indians?”

  “They’ll stand and fight. Those boys are killers.”

  “Yeah, I suppose they are,” Joe said, “but I also ’spect they’re back-shooters and drunk-robbers. Men used to having the advantage all the time. But out there in the desert against the Paiutes, they might just lose their nerve.”

  “If they do, then we’ll all probably die,” Holt said. “Either way, there’s no sense in worrying about it until it happens. But I’m confident we can get to the Comstock Lode. After that, my life is going to be way different.”

  “How’s that?” Joe asked.

  Holt was almost through with his bottle. “After I am paid off by Garrison Peabody, I’m going to go to San Francisco and live like a king for a month or two. When I start to get tired of that, I’m going to buy passage to the Sandwich Islands and live by the sea with a couple of native girls. Just swim, fuck, eat fish and coconuts, and sleep in a nice grass hut. You ever even hear of those islands, Joe?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Holt told him. “I’ve read about them in magazines and even seen a few pictures. Ain’t nothin’ prettier in this world. I’ll be putting all my past behind me and I’ll keep enough money to live with those natives like I was their big king.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to be happy eatin’ nuts and sleepin’ under tree limbs and branches,” Joe said. “But it don’t matter because you’ll never live to find out.”

  Holt drained his bottle and turned his burning red eyes on Joe Moss. “It’s true that you’re both worth more to me alive than dead. But here’s something that’s also true and that you’d best remember. Just don’t you get too mouthy with me, or I’ll start fucking your wife right in front of your face.”

  Joe’s face went bone white, and he had to bite his tongue until it bled in order not to say something that could get him killed by a man who was more than half drunk. Finally, he was able to speak and said, “To do that you’d have to unshackle me from her. And, Holt, when you did that, I’d find a way to kill you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. Because I’d cut off your balls and you’d be so busy trying to hang on to your crotch that you wouldn’t care what I did to your skinny little wife.”

  Joe’s eyes blazed and he didn’t dare say another word. But he would keep this conversation and these crude insults to his Fiona well in mind for a future time when he had the advantage over this man. Yes, he’d remember Ransom Holt’s every dirty word when he scalped and then skinned him alive.

  6

  “ARE WE REALLY goin’ all the way to Placerville to get supplies?” Dalton asked his older brother as they topped a steep, rocky ridge and dismounted to stretch their legs and let their horses blow.

  “I don’t see that we got much choice,” Eli replied.

  “We could just keep going with Holt’s two hundred dollars.”

  “Yeah,” Eli said, checking his cinch, “we could do that. Of course, Ransom Holt would pay someone to find and ambush us . . . if he didn’t track us down and then kill us slow all by himself.”

  “I’m not afraid of Ransom Holt,” Dalton declared, patting the big double-barreled shotgun on his saddle. “Sure he’s big and hard, but there ain’t no man can stand up against this shotgun. No man alive.”

  Eli nodded. “I know that, but Ransom Holt has this all figured out. If we deliver Joe Moss and his little whore to Peabody, you and I have been promised a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand dollars is a heap of gold, but we both know that Holt will get a lot more for his share,” Dalton said hotly.

  “That’s true, but he’s the boss.” Eli smiled. “And we’ve already decided to kill Holt just before we get to Virginia City and have all the bounty money. But to just run off with Holt’s supply money right now, well, that seems sorta dumb to me.”

  “Yeah,” Dalton said, “I guess it is at that. But Holt is really gettin’ on my nerves. He thinks he walks on water and is smarter than all the rest of us put together.”

  “I know,” Eli said, trying to appease his hotheaded younger brother, “but we can’t forget that the big man is damned dangerous. We’re gonna have to play along with his game until we get near the Comstock Lode, and then we’ll have to be real careful about making our move and killing him . . . because I suspect he’s gonna figure our game out long before we get across those deserts.”

  Dalton’s brow furrowed. “Do you think so, brother?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Eli replied. “And I wouldn’t doubt that he’s plannin’ to do the same to us as we’re plannin’ to do to him.”

  Dalton nodded grimly. “So that’s the game we’re caught up in right now?”

  “I believe it is,” Eli said to his kid brother. “Kill or be killed, providin’ we survive the desert and the Paiutes.”

  Dalton sighed. “We just have to keep reminding ourselves about that thousand dollars for each of us, and a lot more if we kill Holt and take Moss and his woman into Virginia City shackled.”

  “We can do this,” Eli said with confidence. “Do you remember when Holt told us that he wanted to go to the Sandwich Islands and screw native girls and sleep on the beach once he gets his money from Pe
abody?”

  “Sure do,” Dalton said with derision. “That big man is gonna sleep all right, but it’ll be six feet deep under Nevada sagebrush.” Dalton chuckled. “I just got me an idea.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “We don’t have to go all the way to Placerville and buy supplies from Ransom Holt’s friend who owns a general store.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because there’s bound to be a Mormon settlement around here with a general store. I’m thinking we ought to find it and then rob it.”

  “What about the buckboard and team of horses?” Eli asked. “Be kinda tough to steal them right out of the middle of some Mormon town.”

  “It can be done,” Dalton insisted. “We just have to find us a little town and sneak into it late at night. First we steal the wagon and horses, and then we drive ’em up to the back of the Mormon general store and bust in the back door. We load up and get everything Holt put on his list and drive off! Holt will never know where we got the supplies, wagon, and horses and we can pocket his two hundred dollars.”

  “Hmmm,” Eli said, “that ain’t such a bad idea.”

  “It’s a great idea!”

  “So we just have to find a settlement with a livery and general store.”

  “That’s right,” Dalton said, excitement growing in his voice. “From what I’ve seen, Mormons ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of farmers that couldn’t put up much of a fight even if we robbed ’em in broad daylight. They’d probably just fall on their Bibles or whatever they read and pray for old Brigham Young himself to come and save ’em!”

  “All right,” Eli said, “so let’s see if we can find us a little Mormon town before we get to Placerville.”

  “If we don’t,” Dalton told him, “we’ll just rob Holt’s friend in Placerville and steal a local wagon and horses.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Eli said, jamming a boot into his stirrup. “Let’s do it.”

  Late that afternoon, they came upon a small farming community called Moroni. Eli and Dalton drew their horses up about a mile south of the town and studied it for a while.

  “Well,” Dalton finally said, “what do you think?”

  “There looks to be maybe five hundred farmers and their families living there,” Eli said. “And from the appearance of the town, I’d say they’ll most likely have a general store and livery that we can rob.”

  Dalton slapped his hand down on his saddle horn. “Then this is good enough. How should we play this out?”

  “We ride into those pines yonder,” Eli said, “and take a nap until it gets late. Then we wait until midnight, go into Moroni, and steal a wagon and team of horses. After we got the buckboard hitched, we back it up to their general store, bust in, and take what Holt’s list says we need in the way of supplies. Dalton, I don’t think it could get much simpler.”

  “I could use a long nap,” Dalton said. “But I could use a pretty Mormon girl even more.”

  “Forget that!” Eli snapped. “They may be just a bunch of cow-shit farmers, but they still might have a few old rifles loaded and ready to use and we don’t need that kind of trouble.”

  “All right,” Dalton said, reining his horse toward the trees. “But how are we goin’ to get a mattress if we don’t see a woman?”

  “Hmmm,” Eli said, “I’d forgotten all about the damned mattress Holt wanted us to buy. To hell with it! We can fill the buckboard with some straw. That ought to be good enough for the likes of Joe Moss. Now let’s get some shut-eye and then rob the farmers so’s we can keep Holt’s money without him bein’ none the wiser.”

  Dalton chuckled. “Be good to put one over on Holt. That man is just way too high-and-mighty.”

  “Amen,” Eli said in ready agreement.

  They waited until almost midnight before they quietly rode into Moroni and found both the town’s livery and general store. It was a pitch-dark, nearly moonless night, and everything was going in their favor. Dalton and Eli tied their horses up to a corral full of farm and riding horses, lit a match, and found halters, ropes, and harness neatly hanging on pegs just inside the barn door.

  “There ain’t nobody sleepin’ in this barn,” Eli said, locating a lantern and turning the wick down low. “Easy, easy pickin’s.”

  “The owner probably lives in that house just across the yard. He’s sleepin’ away with his wife, and won’t he be surprised come morning when he counts his horses and finds four missin’ along with his best buckboard.”

  The brothers giggled like a couple of schoolboys playing a trick on their unsuspecting teacher.

  “Let’s harness four of the biggest horses and get that buckboard hitched up,” Dalton said.

  The brothers were good with horses, and they had no trouble getting them collected and then harnessed and hitched. They tied their own saddled mounts to the back of the buckboard, and led the team around to the rear of the general store. As they went about their thievery, there was not a sound in the village and not a light in any cabin window.

  “It’s all goin’ good,” Dalton said.

  “Better’n good,” Eli said, taking a little hammer and chisel that he’d found in the livery and going to work on the flimsy hasp and lock that secured the back door of the general store.

  But when the hammer struck and the chisel pried the hasp partway out of the wooden doorjamb, there was a loud shriek of protest. Somewhere not far away, a couple of town dogs began to bark.

  Dalton and Eli froze and listened for voices. Both had their knives in their hands, and they were ready to silence anyone who came to investigate.

  The dogs stopped barking and the town of Moroni slept blissfully and totally unaware.

  “It’s all right,” Eli assured his brother. “Let’s get that door open and get the wagon loaded. I’m gonna steal a lot more than six bottles of whiskey.”

  “Shit!” Dalton swore. “There ain’t gonna be no whiskey here! This is a Mormon town and those dumb bastards don’t drink liquor.”

  “Shit! You’re right,” Eli said.

  “How are we gonna explain no whiskey to Holt? And these sonsabitches won’t have any tobacco neither!” Dalton’s voice was filled with disappointment.

  “Damned if I know what we’ll tell Holt. We’ll worry about that when the time comes. Let’s get this business finished and leave this farmin’ town. I’m startin’ to get jumpy.”

  “Me, too,” Dalton admitted.

  The brothers finally broke in through the back door, and after stumbling around in the dark, lit matches and found feed sacks to stuff provisions into. They didn’t take the time nor go to the bother of consulting Holt’s carefully written shopping list. They’d read the list over a number of times and pretty much knew it by heart. Now they began to load the wagon, and when that was done, they searched high and low for some extra ammunition and weapons, but didn’t find any.

  “These farmers must not abide weapons any more than they do liquor or tobacco,” Dalton observed.

  “It would seem that way,” his brother replied. “Are we all loaded up and ready to go?”

  “Yep.”>

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Eli ordered. “A general store without rotgut or tobacco is a sorry place, and I sure wish we could have found some more guns, rifles, and ammunition just in case we are jumped by the Paiutes.”

  “Me, too,” Dalton said. “And I couldn’t even find no damned coffee. Don’t they like coffee either?”

  “Maybe not,” Eli said. “These are strange people.”

  “Amen.”

  The brothers hastily piled into the loaded buckboard and started out of town. But one of the horses, a big gray gelding, apparently had never been in harness and was strictly a riding animal. Right away, it began to fight and buck. It raised so much of a fuss that two of the boxes of provisions spilled out of the back of the buckboard and crashed in the back alley.

  Then the dogs of Moroni started barking again, and one actually came running out from under a
porch. It wasn’t very big, just a runty little thing, but it was angry and it flew at the team of horses, biting one on the fetlock.

  Suddenly, two horses were bucking and rearing, and then Dalton swore and drew his gun and was ready to shoot the little dog.

  “No, gawddammit! You’ll wake up the whole damn town!”

  “Looks like it’s already startin’ to come awake,” Dalton said, holstering his six-gun. “Lights comin’ on in windows all over the place.”

  Eli felt a deep sense of dread, and he slapped the lines down hard on the back of the four-horse team. “Ya!” he hissed.

  The team lunged forward into a crazy run. Boxes of provisions bounced off the wagon and broke open in their wake, and over the pounding of hoofbeats both Dalton and Eli heard angry shouts.

  “You think they’re comin’ after us?” Dalton called, clutching the shotgun and looking nervously back over his shoulder at boxes smashing on the road just behind, causing their two saddle horses to break loose and gallop off into the dark night.

  “Naw!” Eli called back. “They’re just a bunch of chickenshit Mormon farmers without guns, whiskey, or tobacco. They won’t do jack shit!”

  “I sure hope you’re right. Our saddle horses just broke loose and run off, so we’re kinda in a fix if we have to get away fast.”

  The brothers exchanged glances, and it was probably a good thing it was so dark and neither one could see the other’s fear.

  “Where the hell did the road go!” Dalton shouted as the wagon began to jump and buck wildly across a freshly plowed field. “All the gawddamn supplies are bouncin’ out the back of this buckboard! We’re gonna end up with nothin’!”

  Eli knew that was the truth, so he finally got the team down to a walk. He set the brake on the wagon and jumped down to calm the sweating team of horses. “Dalton, push everything left up to the front of the wagon.”

  “All right.”

  “How much of that stuff from the general store did we lose?”

  “As near as I can tell, we lost about half of it,” Dalton answered. “Damn it to hell! We’d have been better off just to mosey out of Moroni and if those Mormons came after us wantin’ a fight, we could have killed ’em and taken their horses and guns.”