by Matt Braun
“Don’t gimme that horseshit! He’s gonna hang.”
“Why’d you expect anything else, McGlory? He killed them people.”
“Well, boyo, you played me for a fool. So now I’m gonna kill you.”
“No, you ain’t,” Hickok said with a tight smile. “I’ll drill you before any of your men clear leather. You won’t live to see me die.”
“That goes double,” Cody added. “You’ll get my first shot too, McGlory. Guarantee it’ll stop your ticker.”
McGlory weighed the odds. Something deep and visceral told him they were telling the truth. They would kill him even though his men would kill them. He thought he’d have to commit suicide in order to commit murder. The price of revenge suddenly seemed too steep.
“There’s always another time,” he said. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”
“McGlory,” Hickok said.
“What?”
“Don’t let me catch you out of the Bowery again. I’ll shoot you on sight.”
“You don’t scare me, Hickok.”
“Yeah, I do,” Hickok said quietly. “Quit while you’re ahead. You’ll live longer.”
McGlory brushed past him. The four thugs fell in behind and followed their boss from the alley. Cody let out a low whistle.
“That was close,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell him about Richter?”
Hickok shrugged. “I expect he’ll learn soon enough.”
Richter had agreed to testify against Leland Stanley. A deal had been struck with the district attorney and Richter would serve life in prison, without parole. Hickok was not keen on the idea, but it ensured the safety of the children. The day Stanley was hanged the threat was removed forever.
“You’re not foolin’ anybody,” Cody said. “You didn’t tell McGlory because you wanted to kill him, right?”
“You always was able to see through me, Bill.”
“Ever cross your mind you might’ve got us both killed?”
“Never happen,” Hickok said lightly. “We’re the Heroes of the Plains.”
“You think that makes us bulletproof?”
“I just suspect we’re gonna live forever.”
Cody was forced to laugh. “You’re full of beeswax.”
“The show business does that to a man.”
They walked off toward the stage door.
* * *
The theater was packed. Yet the show was oddly off, plodding along in fits and starts. For the first time since the production began, the children were not backstage that night. Everyone in the cast felt a strange sense of loss.
The audience nonetheless enjoyed themselves. A final curtain call brought a standing ovation for Cody and Hickok. When they walked offstage, they found Charlie Phelan waiting in the wings. He greeted them with a downturned smile.
“Funny thing,” he said. “All through the show, I kept looking around for the kids. Doesn’t seem the same.”
“Guess it’ll never be the same,” Cody observed. “Gus and Kate got to be part of the family.”
“Yeah, I’ll miss them,” Phelan said. “Things have a way of working out for the best, though. They’re better off with their grandmother.”
Hickok clapped him on the shoulder. “Charlie, it appears you’re out of a job. Got any irons in the fire?”
“Never rains but it pours,” Phelan said. “A man walked into the office this afternoon. Hired me to find his wife.”
“What happened to her?”
“She ran off with a notions drummer.”
“Hell, you’ll find her,” Hickok said confidently. “You’re a prize detective, Charlie. Aces high.”
Cody nodded. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Honor’s all mine,” Phelan said. “How many detectives get to work with Wild Bill Hickok and Buffalo Bill Cody? Things will seem awful dull after this.”
The plainsmen wrung his hand with genuine warmth. Phelan moved off with a cheery wave and went out the stage door. They started toward their dressing room only to be intercepted by Ned Buntline. He held out a telegram to Hickok.
“Western Union for you,” he said. “Delivery boy brought it by just before the curtain came down.”
Hickok tore open the envelope. His mustache arced in a broad smile as he read the message. He handed the telegram to Cody.
“I’ll be jiggered,” Cody said, scanning the contents. “Why didn’t Sheridan wire me?”
Hickok grinned. “You’re on leave of absence with the show business. Gen’rals want somebody they can depend on.”
“What is it?” Buntline demanded “What are you talking about?”
“Sioux’s on the warpath,” Hickok said, reclaiming the telegram. “Sheridan’s ordered me to report to Fort Laramie.”
“Wyoming Territory!” Buntline screeched. “You can’t leave the show.”
“Why not? Sheridan needs a scout and there’s nothin’ here stoppin’ me. Duty calls.”
“But we need you! Your audience needs you!”
Omohundro and Giuseppina were drawn by Buntline’s squalling cries. Cody gave them a troubled look, and Omohundro glanced from one to the other. “What’s wrong?”
“Jack, I’ve been rescued,” Hickok said, waving the telegram. “There’s a Sioux uprising and Sheridan wired me to come running. I’m headed for Fort Laramie.”
“Good God!” Buntline howled. “Will someone talk some sense into him!”
“Ned’s right,” Cody said. “For your own good, you ought to stick with the show till the season ends. What happens to that marshal’s job in Kansas if you’re off chasin’ Injuns in Wyoming?”
“That don’t worry me none,” Hickok said. “Couple of months is plenty of time to corral them redsticks. I’ll still be wearin’ a badge come May.”
“Guess I’d be wastin’ my breath to argue otherwise.”
“Yep, no two ways about it, my mind’s made up. I’ll catch a train in the mornin’.”
“Oh, Beel,” Giuseppina cooed softly. “We will miss you so. Must you go?”
“Dove Eye, you’re the purtiest Injun gal I ever did see. I’m gonna miss you, too.”
“This is madness!” Buntline snapped. “You’re throwing away the career of a lifetime. I made you a star!”
“Look here, Ned,” Hickok told him. “Jack’s ten times the actor I’ll ever be. Write him a better part.”
Omohundro shook his head. “I’d sooner you stayed with the show, Bill. Wouldn’t hardly be the same without you.”
“Nope,” Hickok declared. “Have Ned put your name in bigger lights. You deserve it.”
“Why not sleep on it?” Cody temporized. “Maybe you’ll see it different in the mornin’.”
Hickok stared at him. “I come East to get them kids settled and the job’s done. Time to head West.”
Cody knew then it was a lost cause. He’d seen the determined look and that stubborn jawline all too often before. There was nothing more to be said.
Wild Bill Hickok was done with New York.
* * *
Grand Central Station was swarming with people. Trains were departing from every gate and passengers scurried to clamber aboard. The main terminal was chaos in motion.
Hickok paused for a last look at the ceiling. Shafts of sunlight from the stained-glass windows played off the azure dome and the celestial span of the zodiac. The sight reminded him of another morning, weeks past, when he’d first arrived in New York. He thought he would never return.
Cody walked beside him through the terminal. Outside, they descended the stairs to a platform beneath the vast iron-roofed railyard. Hickok’s train was scheduled to depart at eight o’clock and they were a few minutes early. A cloak of silence enveloped them as they stood in the crush of people waiting to board. Neither of them wanted to be the first to say good-bye.
“Hate to see you go,” Cody said, clearing his throat. “You still got time to change your mind.”
“Guess not,” Hickok said,
his war bag clutched in one hand, “You and me both know I wasn’t never cut out for the show business. Just ain’t where I belong.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s times I get a hankerin’ for the plains. But then—”
“You hear the applause and them crowds lookin’ at you like you just rode in on a white horse. You always was a showboat.”
“Goddarnit but it’s true,” Cody admitted. “Wish you was more that way yourself. No tellin’ where it’d take us.”
“Nowhere I’d want to go,” Hickok said. “You’re welcome to your show business and New York, too. The limelight’s not for me, pardner.”
Their past lives were a jumble of myths and realities, bits of illusion and shards of truth. Today they sensed a turning point, and a point of no return for all that lay ahead. One was destined to play it out on the stage and the other on the plains.
“Well, don’t kill all the Sioux,” Cody said with an exaggerated gesture. “Leave some for me on the summer campaign.”
“There’s likely enough to go around.”
Hickok abruptly looked past him. Augustus and Katherine, led by a matronly woman, were moving through the crowd. Cody followed his gaze.
“I asked ’em to come,” he said. “They’d never get over it if you left without seeing them. Just wouldn’t understand.”
“Bill, you know I ain’t much on good-byes.”
“Then now’s a good time to start.”
“Wild Bill!”
Augustus hurled himself into Hickok’s arms. Katherine was only a step behind, clutching him around the waist, her eyes moonlike. He swallowed hard around a lump in his throat.
“Don’t go!” Augustus pleaded. “We want you to stay.”
“Yes, please do,” Katherine insisted. “Buffalo Bill said you really didn’t have to go.”
Hickok laughed. “Buffalo Bill’s been known to spin a yarn or two.”
Elizabeth Stanley moved closer. “I understand you’ve been called to service by the army, Mr. Hickok. We want to wish you Godspeed and good fortune.”
“Why thank you, ma’am,” Hickok replied. “That’s mighty kind of you to say so.”
“Not at all,” she said warmly. “Our most heartfelt gratitude goes with you.”
“Wish I was going too!” Augustus exclaimed. “I want to see all the Wild West!”
Hickok ruffled his hair. “Gus, once you get growed up, you come on out West. I could use a deputy with your grit.”
“All Aboard!”
The conductor’s voice rang out over the station. People embraced loved ones and murmured their last good-byes, hurrying to board the train. Katherine pulled Hickok down and hugged him fiercely around the neck. Her voice was husky with emotion.
“I will love you forever and ever, Wild Bill. You will always by my Lancelot.”
Hickok again swallowed hard. “Kate, I ain’t never gonna forget you, either. Was I ever to marry, you’d be my gal.”
“Will you wait for me to grow up? Will you, Wild Bill?”
“Cross my heart I will.”
Katherine kissed him soundly, and Augustus snuffled loudly, his eyes wet with tears. Hickok disengaged himself from the children and nodded earnestly to Elizabeth Stanley. He stuck out his hand to Cody.
“We’ll meet somewheres down the trail,” he said gruffly. “The show business ain’t got you yet.”
Cody clasped his hand. “Look for me when you see me.”
“I ain’t never hard to find.”
The train lurched forward with a toot from the engineer’s whistle. Hickok swung aboard the observation deck on the last passenger coach. He stood tall, shoulders squared, and grandly waved his hat overhead. His mustache curled in a nutcracker grin.
“So long, Kate! So long, Gus!”
“So long, Wild Bill!”
“Soo long, New York!”
NOVELS BY MATT BRAUN
WYATT EARP
BLACK FOX
OUTLAW KINGDOM
LORDS OF THE LAND
CIMARRON JORDAN
BLOODY HAND
NOBLE OUTLAW
TEXAS EMPIRE
THE SAVAGE LAND
RIO HONDO
THE GAMBLERS
DOC HOLLIDAY
YOU KNOW MY NAME
THE BRANNOCKS
THE LAST STAND
RIO GRANDE
GENTLEMAN ROGUE
THE KINCAIDS
EL PASO
INDIAN TERRITORY
BLOODSPORT
SHADOW KILLERS
BUCK COLTER
KINCH RILEY
DEATHWALK
HICKOK & CODY
THE WILD ONES
HANGMAN’S CREEK
JURY OF SIX
THE SPOILERS
THE OVERLORDS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Matt Braun was the author of more than four dozen novels, and won the Golden Spur Award from the Western Writers of America for The Kincaids. He described himself as a “true westerner”; born in Oklahoma, he was the descendant of a long line of ranchers. He wrote with a passion for historical accuracy and detail that earned him a reputation as the most authentic portrayer of the American West. Braun passed away in 2016. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Copyright Notice
Kinch Riley
Title Page
Death Shot
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Hickok & Cody
Title Page
A Knight in Buckskin
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Novels by Matt Braun
About the Author
Copyright
These novels are works of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in them are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
KINCH RILEY / HICKOK & CODY
Kinch Riley copyright © 1975 by Matthew Braun.
Hickok & Cody copyright © 2001 by Winchester Productions, Ltd.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 978-1-250-29398-5
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Kinch Riley St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2000
Hickok & Cody St. Mart
in’s Paperbacks edition / May 2001
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN: 9781250293992
