Jamie saw a man cautiously making his way up the street, staying close to the buildings, ducking in and out of doorways, and turned to face the man.
“Step out into the street, you yellow-bellied bastard!” Jamie called over the hammer of gunfire.
“MacCallister?” the man shouted.
“That’s right. Who are you?”
“I be Clyde Ellis and I’ve come to kill you, MacCallister.”
The two men were oblivious to the waning sounds of battle around them.
“You can try,” Jamie called.
Clyde stepped out from the doorway. “I’ll just do that,” he said.
“I doubt it,” Jamie replied, and shot him twice, one slug taking the man in the chest and the second slug tearing open his throat.
Carl Miller could see that the battle was nearly over, and they had lost. It was incredible. Nine men and one woman had defeated a superior force. It was time for him to haul his butt out of this death trap.
“You going somewhere?” the voice stopped him and turned him around.
Carl faced a young man, no more than nineteen at the most. He grinned. The fool had his pistols in leather. “You damned stupid little pup!” Carl said, and lifted his rifle.
Carl’s eyes could not follow the blur of the draw. Gunsmoke bellowed from the pistols and gunfire hammered the morning. The last thing Carl Miller thought before he died was that no man alive could hook and draw that fast.
Smoke Jensen turned and saw that the battle was over. The main street of Hell City was littered with the dead and the dying and the wounded. He looked around for his mentor, Preacher, and a smile creased his lips as his eyes found the old mountain man, walking up the boardwalk toward him.
“By God, now that was a purdee good fight, boy!” Preacher called. “We skunked ’em good, we did.”
Preacher’s eyes found the hitchrail-tied body of Dark Hand and the bloody body of Night Stalker. “Damn!” he swore.
Audie stood over the battered and bloody and almost unrecognizable body of Hannah and slowly shook his head. “I shall never meet a braver woman,” the little man said. Audie had suffered two wounds: one in the side and the other one in his left arm.
Lobo lumbered into the street and picked up his little friend just before Audie hit the ground and carried him off to tend to his wounds.
Sparks had a bullet crease on his noggin and a burn on his leg. Preacher and Smoke and Lobo were unscathed. Jamie stepped out into the street and looked around him. He had four minor wounds, including a slight head wound that dripped blood down onto his face and shirt.
“They’re hightailin’ out, Jamie MacCallister!” a miner shouted from the slopes of the pass. “Headin’ north, they is. ’Bout thirty of ’em, all told.”
Jamie waved at the man. “Let’s bury our dead,” he said.
“That there was a brave man,” Preacher said, pointing to the body of Cord, dead on his knees in the muddy street. “He needs some fittin’ words on his marker. You got airy?”
“Yes,” Jamie said, wiping the blood from his face. “We’ll burn into his marker these words: ’His last hand was a good one.’ ”
* * *
Jamie buried Hannah Indian fashion, along with Dark Hand and Night Stalker. He buried Cord, dressed in his full Confederate uniform, on a lonely ridge overlooking a pretty stream and using a hot iron, burned the words HIS LAST HAND WAS A GOOD ONE, into the marker. The miners came down from the slopes and pitched in, helping to bury Layfield’s and Ellis’ men. They were buried in a mass grave and the spot marked with the date of their death. Then Jamie, Audie, and Sparks tended to their wounds.
The guns, horses, and remaining supplies of those who had come west to kill Jamie were given to the miners.
Preacher and Smoke rode out, followed the next day by Lobo, Audie, and Sparks. The day after that, Jamie pointed his horse’s nose toward home. On a hill overlooking the deserted town, Jamie paused to look down at Hell City for a moment, then lifted his eyes to the graves of his friends: Cord, buried on the south side of the town; Night Stalker, Dark Hand, and Hannah, laid to rest on the north side of the pass.
Jamie raised a hand in farewell and then lifted the reins. “Let’s go home, Lightning. I think we’ve both earned a good long rest after this nonsense.”
* * *
Thirty miles away, to the north, Aaron Layfield and what remained of his army were camped, seeing to their wounds and wallowing in hatred for Jamie. And there was plenty of hate to go around. Aaron had sent a messenger back east to notify the kin of Clyde Ellis of the tragic events that had befallen their relatives. Those who had escaped with the slightly insane colonel of the army of Revengers and part-time lay preacher were the most dedicated and hard-bitten of his men, all veterans of the War Between the States. Aaron had asked those men if they would stay with him, to plan a way to rid the world of Jamie Ian MacCallister. They had all agreed to stay.
“We shall one day be victorious,” Aaron declared, after an hour of praying and receiving what he considered to be a sign. “For God is on our side.”
The sad thing was, Aaron Layfield really believed that.
* * *
Jamie rode into his valley and slowly swung down from the saddle, his kids and grandkids and great-grandkids gathered around him. It was quite a crowd.
Kate pushed her way through the children to stand staring up at her man. “Is it over now, Jamie?” she asked.
“It is as far as I’m concerned. But Aaron Layfield got away with some of his men. I can’t speak for him, Kate.”
“Tell us where he went, Pa,” Falcon said. “We’ll ride over and clean out that nest of snakes once and for all.”
“Hush,” Kate told her youngest. “Let’s talk of peace.”
“There ain’t gonna be no peace until this fool Layfield is in the grave, Ma,” Morgan said. “We might as well get it done now.”
“Don’t sass your mother, boy,” Jamie said, and Morgan shut his mouth.
“Hannah?” Kate asked.
“Laid to rest the way she wanted, Kate. She and the Swede are together on the starry path.”
“Did she die well?”
“That she did. Audie said he had never met a braver woman.”
“Then all the ones who came west with us are gone.”
“I suppose so,” Jamie said, experiencing a weight of sorrow for a moment as his eyes drifted to the cemetery with its rows of neat headstones, marking the resting places of good friends. He looked at the hundred or so members of the MacCallister clan and said, “Let me rest and bathe and eat, then I’ll tell you all what happened.”
When no one showed any inclination to leave, Kate put her hands on her hips and said, “Move!”
They moved.
40
The westward push from the east was in full swing, with thousands of settlers pulling up stakes and heading for what many believed to be the Promised Land. For some it would prove to be just that, but for many thousands, the lonely trails west would become their final resting place. Every few yards along the Oregon Trail there would be a grave.
Between the end of the War Between the States and 1870, changes, some good and some bad, were coming at breathless speed in America. Dynamite was manufactured in San Francisco. Alaska was bought from Russia. The territory of Wyoming was created. Ulysses S. Grant became the 18th president of the United States. At Promontory Point in Utah, the nation’s first transcontinental railroad was completed as the Central Pacific and Union Pacific were linked.
* * *
Jamie felt sure that Layfield would strike again, for the man was a fanatic, the most unpredictable of types. But as the summer wore on, Jamie began to relax and enjoy the season. Friends had spotted Layfield and reported the location to him, telling Jamie that Layfield seemed to be waiting for something.
“Supplies, probably,” Jamie said. “The army has assured me that Layfield no longer has any government connections.” A Federal judge had thrown out those w
arrants against Jamie.
“Then he’ll strike here, you think?” Kate asked her husband.
“I’m sure that’s what he plans to do. But I won’t give him that chance. I have people watching his movements. When he starts to move, I’ll be notified. Then I’ll put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”
“But this time you’ll take the boys and a few of the other men with you,” Kate said, and it was not put as a question.
Jamie smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “If you say so, dear.”
“I definitely say so.”
But Layfield made no moves other than to go into a mining town half a day’s ride from his camp for supplies.
As the summer began drawing to a close, Jamie finally put two and two together. Somehow, Layfield had learned that Andrew and Rosanna and their troupe of dancers, singers, musicians and actors were going to play Denver and then come spend a week or so in MacCallister’s Valley before heading on to San Francisco. Layfield was waiting until they arrived before striking.
“Now you’re endangering my family,” Jamie muttered. “Now you’ve really gone too far.”
But this was a bad time to take men away from the fields, for the growing season was short and harvest was critical. Jamie saddled up and rode around his twin valleys—or as much of it as he could in a full day. The valleys were filled with people: farmers and small ranchers. More than six hundred people, at last count, now lived in the twin valleys. They had a government, a sheriff, law and order, schools, churches, and a fine little town.
Jamie sat his horse on a ridge that looked down on both valleys and was filled with pride. He had first seen these valleys nearly thirty-five years back. He recalled digging and letting Swede smell the good rich earth. What was it the Swede had said?
The Swede had smiled and fingered the dirt. “It will grow good crops, Jamie.”
Jamie sighed in remembrance. Now the Swede was gone, as was Hannah. Sam and Sarah were gone, Juan and Maria, Moses and Liza and Titus and Reverend Haywood and Lydia. All gone. Dead and buried.
Jamie dismounted to squat on the ground, gazing out over the valleys. “And now I am growing old,” Jamie whispered. “And there is more gray than gold in Kate’s hair. So what the hell difference does it make if I die protecting and preserving this land?”
Jamie chewed on a blade of grass and fell deep in thought as he looked out over the land.
“Those of us who came first have deep roots here,” he murmured. “We will leave behind kids and grandkids and great-grandkids to carry on. I cannot let a madman destroy what we all worked so hard to build.”
He would leave Kate a rich woman, richer than even she knew, for Jamie had been digging up and hoarding gold for several decades. He had sacks of gold hidden all over the valley and a deer-hide map in a banker’s safe deposit box in Denver with the carefully marked locations of two dozen more veins of the precious yellow metal.
Layfield had to be stopped—and stopped permanently. Once that was done, they could all live in peace for the rest of the time God granted them on this earth.
Jamie stepped into the saddle and rode back. Kate was sitting on the front porch with several of their daughters and a whole mess of blond-headed and blue-eyed grandkids and great-grandkids. It looked like a convention.
“I’m goin’ huntin’,” he told Kate. “Winter will be here ’fore we know it, and we need to stock up and jerk some meat.”
Kate smiled at him. “Are you getting senile, old man? We have herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and hundreds of chickens. Those hard times are years behind us, Jamie. Tell me the real reason you want to ride off.”
He returned the smile. Age had not diminished Kate’s beauty. It had somewhat dimmed her eyesight, and taken some of the luster from her hair, but she was still a beautiful woman. And her mind was sharp as a razor.
“I just need to get away for a time. I want to ride the High Lonesome ’fore the kids get here.”
“Then say so, Jamie Ian MacCallister,” she told him. “Don’t story to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jamie said, and the girls all laughed. They loved it when grandma chided grandpa.
* * *
“Well,” Ross said, after reading the paper. “That is one performance I shall not miss.” He poured another cup of tea and tried to recall the last time he’d seen those two MacCallister brats. Ross was now living under the name of Russell Clay.
Andrew and Rosanna and their performers were coming to Denver for a week of shows. Always the actor (ham, might be a better word) Ross could not resist the pull of a musical troupe. He sent a messenger to reserve a box seat at the opera house and settled back to reread the lengthy (and overly flattering, to his mind) article on Andrew MacCallister and his sister, Rosanna.
“Nobody is that good,” he finally concluded. He folded the paper and laid it aside. “I’ll be the judge as to their talents,” he said. “Surely meager, at best.”
Then, as always, Ross’s thoughts wandered to his sister. He wondered where she had chosen to hide. He would be willing to wager that she was somewhere here in the West. And if he had to take a guess, he would bet it was San Francisco. He made up his mind. He would hire detectives to find her. And then arrange to have her killed.
* * *
Anne LeBeau, now known as Andrea Petri, read the article about Andrew and Rosanna coming to San Francisco with great interest. She had quietly followed the twins’ careers for years and was anxious to see them perform. She rang for one of her servants and sent him over to the music hall to reserve a box seat for one of the performances.
Anne often wondered where her brother had chosen to hide and what he was doing. He was here in the West, somewhere, she was certain of that. But while the West was vast, the cities were few. She would be willing to bet it was Denver. Anne made up her mind. She would hire detectives to find Ross. And then have him killed.
* * *
“Where is Pa goin’, Ma?” Morgan asked, moments after Jamie had saddled up Lightning and ridden out.
“To wander the high country for a week or so,” Kate replied. “Or so he says.”
“Uh-huh,” Morgan replied. He went to his home and told his wife he’d be gone for a week or so. Outlaws, he said.
“Right,” she said, very drily. “Sure.” She had seen Grandpa Jamie ride out.
Jamie Ian walked over to his brother Matthew’s home. “Pa just rode out, and he was leading a packhorse. Morgan was right behind him. Something’s sure up.”
“I’ll get saddled,” Matt said. “You get together some supplies. And lots of ammo.”
Falcon walked over to Little Ben Pardee’s house. “You seen Pa or any of my brothers, Ben?”
“I seen Matt and Jamie Ian ride out a few minutes ago, leading a packhorse. What’s up?”
“I think Pa’s gone off to fight that goddamn Layfield.”
“Damnit!” Little Ben swore. “I’ll saddle up.”
“I’ll get the supplies.”
Half a dozen of Jamie’s grandsons, now grown men with families of their own, gathered at their grandmother’s house. “Where’s Grandpa off to, Grandma?”
“You . . . stay . . . here,” Kate said, carefully enunciating each word, steel in her voice. “And I’ll brook no backtalk from any of you. Understood?”
Perfectly. When Grandma put her little foot down, it went down firmly.
* * *
Jamie topped a ridge and swung down from the saddle, letting his horses blow and then water and graze for a time. He looked behind him and swore. He knew by the way the rider sat his horse that it was Morgan about a mile back. That dust a couple of miles behind Morgan was surely more of his sons coming up.
“Might as well wait until they catch up,” Jamie said. “I taught them all and I won’t be able to shake them.”
Jamie built a small fire and put on water for coffee.
Morgan rode up and stepped out of the saddle. He walked over to the fire and squatted down. “Goi
ng for a little ride, huh, Pa?”
“That was my plan. Alone, too.”
“Ma suggested I sorta tag along with you. Man of your advanced age, you know?”
“She said that, did she?”
“In so many words.”
“I just bet she did. You ought not lie to your pa, boy.”
“Me? Tell a lie to you? Not me, Pa. That’s Jamie Ian and Matt comin’ up behind me.”
“Wonderful.”
“And them two behind them is surely Falcon and Little Ben.”
“That’s just dandy.”
“I think it’s kinda nice for a father and his sons to get together for a huntin’ trip ever’ now and then.”
“Sure it is. No tellin’ what kind of game we might bag this trip out. You make up your mind to give up scoutin’ for the army permanently, boy?”
“I thought I might. Me being married and all. I bought that piece of land the Simmons give up.”
“That’s real nice, boy. Your ma will be pleased.”
“ ’Sides, somebody’s got to hang around to look after you. In your advanced age.”
Jamie sighed. After a couple of seconds he ducked his head to hide his smile and dumped the coffee in the boiling water, then added a bit of cold water to settle the grounds.
“You goin’ to kill this nut Layfield, Pa?”
“I’m going to first try to talk to him, boy. If he’ll let me. I want to tell him the war is over and done with. And to leave me and mine be.”
“And if he don’t care to listen? And I’ll bet you five horses to one he won’t.”
“He better listen,” Jamie said. “I think I’m being right charitable toward him. He and his men killed Hannah, Night Stalker, and Dark Hand. Wounded me and Audie. Speaking just for me, I’m willing to let it pass. But if he don’t want to do that, then we can let the killin’ begin.”
Morgan stared at his father for a few seconds. He’d heard that tone in his pa’s voice only a few times and knew what it meant. His pa was killing mad inside, but very controlled on the outside.
While Jamie leaned back and chewed on a piece of jerky, which he always carried in his saddlebags, Morgan studied his pa out of the corner of his eye, being careful to not stare directly at the man.
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