Penn leaned back in his chair, emitting a raged sigh. "No doubt you've heard of the Ghost Dance movement that is spreading through several of the Indian tribes?"
Cash narrowed his eyes and gave a measured nod. "Heard of it. Hard to believe so many are takin' it so serious."
The Ghost Dance movement—or religion, many were calling it—had first been introduced nearly twenty years ago in the Paiute Nation. In that early incarnation, it amounted to a fairly benign concept of earth renewal and a reintroduction of ancient spiritual teachings. More recently, however, a new messiah, a powerful Northern Paiute medicine man named Wovoka, had introduced a new element to the movement after claiming he'd had a prophetic vision during a solar eclipse. In Wovoka's vision he saw a great awakening of all Indian Nations, including the resurrection of the dead, and the withdrawal of all Whites—if Indians lived righteously and ritualistically performed a circle dance known as the Ghost Dance in a recurring series of 5-day-long gatherings. Originally starting with the Paiutes in Nevada, the revitalized movement had caught on like wild fire and now Ghost Dances were being performed on reservations all across the West by tribes of all Nations.
"But to my understanding," Cash went on, "the great awakening this Ghost Dance is supposed to bring about will all take place peaceably, without violence or threat."
Penn nodded. "That was according to Wovoka's original vision and teachings, true enough. But, as the movement spreads, there are signs not everybody sees it quite that way ... Ever hear of a Sioux sub-chief and half-assed holy man named Kicking Bear?"
"Can't say I have."
"Well, among other things, he's pretty tight with ol' Sitting Bull over on the Pine Ridge Reservation in Nebraska. They fought at Little Big Horn together. Not so long ago, it seems Sitting Bull sent him out to Nevada to meet with Wovoka, to find out more about the Ghost Dance and bring back what he learned." Penn frowned and gave a disapproving shake of his head that caused the fleshy pouch of his double chin to quiver faintly. "What Kicking Bear came back with, unfortunately, was an interpretation to Wovoka's prophecy that added a new feature—something he's calling a Ghost Shirt, a shirt that has the magical power to turn away the White Man's bullets."
"Why need something like that if the whole aim of the Dance is peaceful change?"
"That's exactly what has got a lot of Army brass and the Bureau of Indian Affairs folks so concerned. Part of the Ghost Dance awakening calls for a renewed land where all evil has been purged away. If Kicking Bear's notion about bullet-turning Ghost Shirts starts to spread more widely through all the ceremonies already taking place, you can see where that might add a whole new wrinkle. Cause you to wonder what if some of the followers began seeing that 'purging out evil' part as a call to once again try driving out the White Man, only this time with a magic garment that gives protection against his bullets."
"An uprising, you mean."
"Be no other word for it."
Cash frowned. "Gotta say, that sounds like a bit of a stretch to me. More than I guess it does to you. But, either way, how does it concern the Marshals service? You said the Army and the Bureau of Indian Affairs are already alerted—aren't they the ones who need to stay on top of it?"
"For that part of the matter, to be sure," Penn answered. "However, you'll recall I also said there were incidents, plural, that factor into this potential powder keg. The one that more directly concerns us has to do with a prison break that occurred down at Castle Rock Prison, south of Denver, two days ago. One of the escapees was a half breed named Vilo Creed. Ever hear of him?"
"Creed the Breed," Cash muttered. "Sounds like the villain out of some cheap penny dreadful. But no, I never heard of anybody by that name in real life."
Penn grunted. "By all accounts, Creed is certainly a villain. And the crimes that put him behind bars were surely dreadful enough. It's unfortunate he's not merely a work of fiction." The chief marshal reached out and tapped a pudgy forefinger down onto a sheaf of papers that lay on the desktop. "There are details on Creed's background in here, telegraphed to me by the Colorado authroities. Along with those of another man named Harley Boyd."
"I take it the Colorado authorities have reason to think those boys are headed our way?"
"Only Creed. Boyd might've started out this way, since he was part of the prison break, too. But he didn't make it far. The prison posse who rode out in pursuit found what was left of him on the trail. He'd been savagely beaten and sliced up with a knife. Tortured. Whoever did it left him for dead. But he wasn't. Not quite. He lived long enough to wheeze out three words after the posse came upon him. 'Creed ... guns ... Vedauwoo' ... That's all he had left in him before he succumbed."
"So Creed was the one who tortured him."
"Not much doubt."
"Okay. That explains why he included Creed in his final words. And I know where Vedauwoo is, so that must be where Boyd figures Creed is headed for ... But how does mention of guns fit in?"
Penn tapped the sheaf of papers again. "You got to back up to Boyd's history. He went to prison in 1875 for killing a Denver businessman over a watch. But before that he'd long been suspected of running guns to the Indians. Only nobody could ever gather enough proof to bring charges.
"Less than two months before his arrest for the Denver murder, Boyd was again suspected of being part of a gang—maybe the leader—who robbed a shipment of arms bound for Fort Collins. They got away with one hundred Springfield Model 1873 carbines. But again, nothing could be proven against Boyd. Several other men who were also suspected of being part of the gang ended up dead in only a matter of days after the robbery—two died shooting it out with authorities attempting to bring them in for questioning; three others were found murdered without apparent motive."
"Boyd cleaning house," Cash said. "Making sure no one was left who might cave and spill his name as part of the deal."
"That was the general belief. But, once more, no proof. What's more, there's no evidence of the stolen guns ever having been delivered to any of the Indian tribes who were raising so much hell during that time. No delivery to the Indians, no delivery anywhere else—at least not as far as anybody has ever been able to determine."
"So Boyd stashed 'em somewhere while the heat was turned up high, while he was clearing the slate of anybody who could point back to him. But then, before he could haul the rifles out again in order to try and make his sale, he was stupid enough to get in a fight over a watch and end up convicted for murder."
"His luck finally ran out."
Cash shook his head. "Had nothing to do with luck. Like I said, he was stupid."
Penn shrugged indifferently. "Okay, I'll concede you that. But when he got crossways of Creed, that sure as hell turned out to be bad luck for Boyd."
"How does Creed figure in on the gun angle?"
"He was Boyd's cellmate for the past two months," Penn explained. "Stubborn damn Boyd would never admit a peep about having anything to do with that arms robbery, not even when the prison board offered him a deal on his murder sentence if he'd cooperate and turn over the guns ... But with Creed, his cellmate who was scheduled for a trip to the gallows, he apparently talked more freely."
"Was Creed the one behind the prison break?"
"They're still trying to figure that out. About twenty prisoners made it free. They scattered into a half dozen different groups once they were out and, as far as anyone can tell so far, there's no link between the different groups. Last I heard—and I'm getting telegram updates daily—all the prison authorities can say right now is that some kind of explosive charge was set at one of the side gates and a food delivery wagon somehow set it off when it tried to pass through. All hell broke loose and the twenty escapees used the chaos and confusion to make their break."
"I take it Creed and Boyd were one of the 'groups' who split away once they were out. Just the two of 'em?"
"The way it looks."
"Okay, but I still don't—" Cash hesitated for a moment, looking thought
ful. He removed the cheroot from the corner of his mouth. When he spoke again his words came in less of a rush. "I was about to say I didn't see why anybody would be in a hurry to get their hands on those stolen Springfields after all this time, considerin' how outdated they are and how the Indian wars are over and all. Can't think of a ready buyer unless maybe you hauled 'em all the way down to Mexico ... But with this Ghost Shirt business coming to a simmer practically in our back yard, the sudden availability of that many rifles just might be all it'd take to bring the pot to a boil. That what you're thinkin'?"
"You got it. And here's the clincher: Creed's Indian bloodline is Lakota Sioux. Same as Kicking Bear. Sitting Bull, too, for that matter—but the old chief doesn't seem to figure into any of this except for finding the whole Ghost Dance thing an amusing way to annoy the White Man.
"At any rate, Creed's been heard to brag he's shirttail kin to Kicking Bear. Probably not something Kicking Bear'd be likely to brag about in return, even if it was true. Not before, anyway, not with Creed's low reputation. But now, if Kicking Bear was to all of a sudden learn he had a mixed blood cousin who could hand over a hundred rifles right at the time he was stirring up a bunch of hot bloods with his Ghost Shirt interpretation of the new Indian Nation awakening ... "
"Outside news spreads amazingly fast through a prison," Cash mused, "especially news about something that's giving fits to the authorities. Not much doubt that Creed, Boyd, and the other inmates would have heard about the whole Ghost Dance-Ghost Shirt thing."
"You see what I mean about a powder keg forming if these individual pieces start falling together?"
"Sure do," Cash said in a low voice. "If Boyd stashed the stolen guns in Vedauwoo, like his final words imply, then Creed is on his way there to claim 'em after torturing Boyd to get their exact location out of him. That means somebody needs to beat Creed there and stop him before he digs 'em up and fans the flames of an uprising even more by making 'em available to Kicking Bear and the Ghost Shirt hot bloods."
"You know Vedauwoo as well or better than any man I've got. The timing of you returning to town when you did could hardly have been better."
"Yeah. Lucky me," Cash said dryly.
"There's no telling how quickly Creed will try to make it there. He may go straightaway, he may take time to try and round up some others to accompany him. The prison break was two days ago, as I said. It seems likely Creed would need at least a little while to gather some supplies and a wagon or pack horses to bring out the guns. But if he made a beeline straight for it, he could already be there."
"We can't take the chance. I need to head for Vedauwoo right away."
"I've already got men out on a train robbery that took place up north night before last, and others assigned to a bloody range war farther west. I'm sorry I don't have anybody else available to send with you."
"Not the first time for that, either," Cash said resignedly. He rose up out of his chair and reached for the sheaf of papers Penn had prepared for him.
"I won't have any way to stay in contact with you in case anything changes," Penn said. "Like I told you, I'm getting regular updates from the Colorado authorities. There's always the chance—a slim one, I'm afraid—they might catch up with Creed before he even makes it up here to our neck of the woods ... We'll give it a week. If he hasn't shown up in Vedauwoo by then, I want you to hightail it back here and we'll re-assess how things stand."
"A week should do it," Cash agreed.
"You watch your ass out there," Penn said. He pointed toward the papers Cash had picked up. "You scan through those, you'll see quick enough what a nasty bastard this Creed is ... Stay extra sharp when it comes to him, you hear?"
Continue reading The Guns of Vedauwoo available at Amazon in print and for Kindle.
About the Author
Wayne Dundee lives in the once-notorious old cowtown of Ogallala, on the hinge of Nebraska's panhandle. He relocated there after spending the first fifty years of his life in the state line area of northern Illinois/southern Wisconsin.
A widower, retired from a managerial position in the magnetics industry, Dundee now devotes full time to his writing.
To date, Dundee has had nine novels, five novellas, and over two dozen short stories published. Much of his work has featured his PI protagonist, Joe Hannibal. He also dabbles in fantasy and straight crime, and has recently been gaining notice in the Western genre. His 2010 Western short story, "This Old Star," won a Peacemaker Award from the Western Fictioneers writers' organization; and his first novel-length Westerns, Dismal River and Hard Trail to Socorro, appeared in 2011.
Titles in the Hannibal series have been translated into several languages and nominated for an Edgar, an Anthony, and six Shamus Awards. Dundee is also the founder and original editor of Hardboiled Magazine.
Other titles from BEAT to a PULP:
Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles
by Edward A. Grainger
(available in print and for Kindle)
Adventures of Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles is a short story collection of eight rousing, noir Western tales with a hardboiled edge.
In 1880s Wyoming Territory, two Deputy U.S. Marshals find themselves on the outside of societal norms. Cash Laramie, raised by the Arapahos, is known as The Outlaw Marshal for his unorthodox conduct toward criminals and his cavalier approach to life. Gideon Miles, one of the first African Americans in the marshal service, is honorable, fearless, and unrivaled in his skills with guns, knives, and tracking.
These independent, resourceful lawmen develop a bond, establishing a formidable defense in a wayward land where good and wicked is often hard to distinguish and life is as cheap as a two-bit game of poker.
Trails of the Wild
(available in print and for Kindle)
It's been a long day on the trail. The sun is setting, the campfire is burning, and the storytellers are sitting around waiting to entertain you. TRAILS OF THE WILD features six short stories of the Old West and a brand-new Cash Laramie novella by Wayne D. Dundee. Tension builds as a Texas Ranger is pinned down by an outlaw’s rifle fire and a deadly diamondback crawling over his legs. Laughs abound when a man fights to maintain his own identity in the shadow of his famous, deceased grandfather Davy Crockett. Fear strikes while shape-shifting coyotes prowl outside the shack of a sole line rider in secluded ranch territory. All this and more raise the stakes and turn conventions upside-down. BEAT to a PULP’s TRAILS OF THE WILD offers the boldest and most thrilling Western tales from the sharpest wordsmiths of our time.
The Axeman of Storyville
by Heath Lowrance
(available in print and for Kindle)
From the Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles series comes a gripping tale of terror as Miles hunts down a nightmarish serial killer.
New Orleans, 1921. It’s a new world for former U.S. Marshal Gideon Miles, now retired and running one of the most popular jazz clubs in the city. But when a deranged axe murderer strikes at the prostitutes of Storyville, and the Black Hand takes up arms, Miles is drawn back into the world he knows so well--the world of evil men, buried secrets, and violent death. Just like old times.
Wide Spot in the Road
by Wayne D. Dundee
(available in print and for Kindle)
Vagabond P.I. Jack Laramie (grandson of famed Outlaw Marshal, Cash Laramie) stops in the remote town of Buele's Corner for a bite to eat. Before he finishes his bowl of chili, he gets caught up in a tornado of events that starts with a panicked, young couple racing into the diner to use the phone to call for help—a menacing motorcycle gang, The Deguelloes, is chasing after them. When the couple discovers the phone is out of order, Jack steps in to help them fend off the gang who's accusing the couple of running some of their fellow bikers off the road.
Wide Spot in the Road is the fourth novella in The Drifter Detective series, following on the heels of The Girls of Bunker Pines, Hell Up in Houston, and the eponymous debut, The Drifter Detective.
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USA
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Manhunter's Mountain (Cash Laramie & Gideon Miles Series Book 4) Page 10
