Riders on the Storm

by Rob Blackwell

  “Because dead men bring the law,” Jules said. “We kill soldiers and the U.S. Army will be after us. You rob ‘em and they may decide to leave you be.”

  Rezzor laughed mirthlessly. “Is that so? Do you know how much money is on that stagecoach, Jules?”

  She didn’t care, as long as it was enough for her to either smelt for bullets or buy what stock remained.

  “Nearly $30,000,” Rezzor said.

  Jules whistled. That was far more than she’d expected, a king’s ransom. Or it would be, if Graves hadn’t mentioned a vase worth a million dollars.

  “So, you see,” Rezzor continued. “It doesn’t matter if we kill ‘em. The army will be out for blood if we take the money. And leaving witnesses would conflict with the story I’m already planning to feed the authorities. They’ll need fools to blame. I know of one.”

  He continued smiling at her while Jules ground her teeth.

  “That’s a mistake, Rezzor,” she said.

  “If it helps, I was planning to do it anyway,” he said. “But when the army finds your dead body out here, my job will be a lot easier. My informants will spread the word about that pretty Indian sister of yours running away with the loot, taking it back to her tribe. You know the Army doesn’t need much provocation to chase their kind. They still want revenge over Little Big Horn. And I’ll make sure they don’t find her body.”

  Jules’ hand itched to grab her Colt revolver and start shooting. She knew exactly who she’d start with.

  Of course, she’d be more offended at his strategy if she hadn’t been considering a similar one herself.

  She had been planning to join forces with Rezzor, rob the stagecoach, split the loot—and then spread the word that Rezzor was behind it all. The U.S. Army would be busy chasing him instead of her.

  “You sure that’s how you want it to be?” Jules asked.

  His eyes bored into hers. Until that moment, she’d never realized how much Rezzor hated her, but she saw it clearly in his expression now.

  “Yes, I’m sure—”

  Jules raised a finger in the air. With a sharp crack, a single gunshot rang through the canyon. Rezzor’s hat flew off, exposing a tangled mat of black hair.

  All six men rounded their horses, looking desperately around the canyon. Several held up their weapons, but didn’t appear certain where to aim. She’d asked Luke to be dramatic.

  By the time Rezzor turned back to her, Jules’ revolver was aimed at his head.

  “Go ahead and threaten my sister again,” she said through clenched teeth. “Tell me where you’re going to put her body. I dare you.”

  Rezzor’s men aimed their weapons uncertainly at Jules, as several glanced nervously about the canyon. Rezzor just kept smiling.

  “You brought the bounty hunter, I see,” he said. “Smart. But you can’t win this fight.”

  “It’s funny how often people tell me that, right before I do,” Jules replied. “Gilroy might not be here, but I know some of the others in your crew. Rusty has probably been drinking on his way here, and Henry always misses his first shot. Freddie shoots well, which is why after I kill you, he’ll be next.”

  “You’d die too.”

  “Maybe,” Jules said. “Or maybe not. I’ve come out of worse scrapes.”

  Rezzor still look unconcerned.

  “I want you to know something, Jules,” he said. “When you’re dead, I’m going to miss you.”

  “I doubt it. You’ll be in hell with me.”

  The stillness of the morning was abruptly broken by the sound of a gunshot—and it came from behind Jules.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “One of the most famously daring acts of thievery in the Old West is the so-called Wham Paymaster robbery in 1889. Major Joseph W. Wham was charged with delivering $28,000 in gold and silver coins to Fort Thomas in Arizona. Along the way, he was beset by a band of outlaws from a local town. The robbery was successful—but the perpetrators were later found and brought to justice. At their trial, the robbers said they were inspired by a similar raid undertaken in 1883 in the Dakota Territory, the details of which appear lost to history.”

  — Stephen Kaper, “Legends of the Old West,” 2015

  The shot whistled over Jules’ head, jarring her concentration.

  She yanked Onyx’s reins, pulling the horse to the left. Fortunately for her, Onyx was used to being in gun fights, and didn’t rear up. She glanced back to see six men riding up the trail behind them. They must have been hidden up in the hills to the east.

  Jules understood Rezzor’s strategy now. He’d been planning to let the paymaster’s coach go past and then surround it. She’d been focused on her own plan of disabling the stage coach and driving off the soldiers, while Rezzor had been aiming for a slaughter.

  There were two more gunshots, both sprouting up puffs of dirt right around her. She was lucky the attackers were using revolvers and were still too far away to be in range. They must have panicked when they saw Jules had a gun aimed at their boss’ head. Rezzor, meanwhile, reared back his own horse, preventing her from taking a shot at him. She needed to get out of there.

  Jules fired two rounds into Rezzor’s men, shooting Freddie in the chest and clipping Henry on his right arm. Both men fell off their horses. She saw Rusty go down, evidently shot by Luke up above.

  She didn’t wait to see what happened next. She rode hard out of the canyon as more gunshots rang out behind her into the passageway she’d used earlier. A bullet whizzed past her ear.

  She turned back as she rode, her Colt in her hand, still hoping to shoot Rezzor. But he’d fled back into the canyon, letting his men pursue her instead. It was cowardly, but also smart. She wasted precious seconds trying to identify him as others fired after her.

  Another rider went down, picked off by Luke. Jules fired off a round herself, taking out another.

  By her count, there was Rezzor and at least five of his men still riding. She heard more gunshots, but these weren’t aimed at her. Rezzor —or another sharpshooter —was probably aiming for Luke now. Damn. She didn’t know how it had all gone to hell so fast.

  She raced through the passageway as a bullet ricocheted off the canyon wall around her. She didn’t try and fire back anymore, but put her efforts into holding on as the horse bolted forward. Onyx was the fastest horse Jules had ever ridden, and she urged her forward with all her might.

  She emerged from the passageway, and went immediately to the right, riding toward the place below their camp. She glanced back to see her pursuers had fallen behind. She didn’t slacken up. There was no way Rezzor would let things lie this way.

  As she came around the canyon wall, she saw Miranda and Luke scrambling down the rocks. Their horses were clearly anxious, pawing at the ground.

  Jules leaped off her horse when she reached the spot. She packed up everything she could, stuffing into it saddle bags as Miranda and Luke finished making their way down. When Luke reached the ground, he guarded her, holding out his rifle and aiming at her pursuers.

  The first one to round the bend was shot off his horse. The second one’s horse reared up and the rider turned back almost immediately, unwilling to be the next victim.

  “Great plan,” Miranda said as she packed her own horse. “You have any other smart ideas?”

  Jules didn’t respond, but finished packing and then turned her attention to Luke’s equipment. When it was secure, she whistled. He stowed his rifle on the side of his saddle and jumped onto his horse as Miranda and Jules mounted theirs.

  She spared a look back, but couldn’t see any more pursuers coming out of the canyon.

  “This way,” she said, and the three of them rode into the grasslands beyond.

  They went at least a mile before Jules was satisfied there would be no pursuit. Rezzor didn’t want to waste any more men going after her, not when he had a stagecoach with $30,000 to rob first.

  But he’d be gunning for her when his business was done, of that she was certain. Or
, more likely, he’d spread his ridiculous story to the U.S. Army and let them hunt her down.

  She was in trouble. Without that silver, she couldn’t go to the Maelstrom. But heading back to the canyon again would be a mistake. Rezzor would put one of his sharpshooters on the lookout for her. If they came back, someone would get hurt. They’d already been lucky to escape with their lives.

  “Back to town?” Miranda asked.

  Jules shook her head. She couldn’t afford to give up. She didn’t know when a chance like this would come again. Her mind was working furiously, trying to come up with an alternate plan.

  “You can’t be serious,” Miranda continued. “We’ve lost.”

  She thought of her father’s legendary five plays. She’d just tried aggressive, and that wasn’t going to work. She could ride to the east and meet the stagecoach earlier on the trail, but the lay of the land wasn’t favorable. She seriously doubted they’d be able to take that many men on their own. She cursed again. If only Rezzor hadn’t been out there too. She’d thought she could reason with him, but those days were evidently gone.

  Defensive was also out of the question. Cowardly was an option, but running away would leave them without silver and no chance to ride into the Maelstrom. That left two strategies remaining. One wouldn’t help her, but the other?

  “Jules,” Miranda said. “Jules, come on. They could be chasing us.”

  She glanced at her sister in annoyance.

  “We can’t just leave, Mira,” she said. “I’m not going to lose out to Rezzor. I can’t.”

  “Everybody loses sometime, Jules.”

  “Father didn’t.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, stop it with your Father worship!” Miranda said. “He wasn’t perfect and you know it.”

  As usual, Luke watched them silently. His eyes suggested he knew what a predicament they were in, however. Or maybe that was just what Jules wanted to think.

  “We can’t leave it alone,” Jules said. “If Rezzor steals that money, the Army will blame us. We have to find a way to get to it ahead of him—and then figure out how to turn it on him.”

  “Maybe we should just go up to the stagecoach ourselves and ask them nicely,” Miranda said. “Have you tried that route yet?

  Jules stared at Miranda, her annoyance fading instantly. She saw the possibilities in her mind. It was a desperate plan, but there was a chance there. The distraction play. It was her specialty, after all.

  “You’re a genius, Mira,” she said.

  “What? No, I was kidding,” Miranda said, looking alarmed. “What are you thinking?”

  “That your way is better,” Jules said, smiling as she saw it working in her mind. “We’re going to walk right up to them.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Rose Dunn is often referred to as the Rose of the Cimarron. She began her life of crime in 1893 when she met outlaw George Newcomb. Legend has it that when Newcomb was wounded and dying during a shootout, Rose braved a storm of bullets to rescue him. She succeeded, but he was later killed by his own brothers, who’d become bounty hunters. Dunn never faced prosecution for her role in several crimes, but instead went on to marry a prominent politician.”

  —Jessie Berry, “Overlooked Women of History,” 2016

  Jules waited on the side of the trail as the soldiers approached.

  Rezzor had been right. The stagecoach was close. They hadn’t had to ride long before they saw signs of it coming their direction. Now they waited.

  “This will never work,” Miranda said from beside her. She, Jules and Luke were sitting on rocks with their horses tied up a few feet away. They were doing their best to look miserable. It wasn’t difficult, considering the day they’d had so far.

  “You say that about all my plans,” Jules replied.

  “Because they never do.”

  Jules smiled at her. “That’s an exaggeration and you know it. They work at least three-quarters of the time.”

  “Less than ten percent,” Miranda huffed.

  Jules looked back at Luke. “They work at least half the time.”

  “Not even close,” Miranda persisted. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t shoot us straight away.”

  If Luke was nervous, he didn’t show it. When Jules thought about it, she wasn’t sure he’d ever looked nervous, even when the Vipers had attacked him in the bank. She admired that.

  “They’re not going to shoot us,” Jules said. “This is a part we were born to play.” She dropped into a low register. “’A woman in distress is apt to greatly affect the male mind.’”

  “Is that supposed to be an imitation of Father?” Miranda asked.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Well, relatively speaking, it’s only the fourth worst thing you’ve done all day, so I suppose taken in that light, it is ‘not that bad,’” Miranda replied.

  Jules smiled as she watched the soldiers draw closer. They knew she was here by now. She’d expected them to send a scout ahead, but so far they’d remained in formation.

  Whatever her imitation of their father’s tone of voice, he’d said the line often enough. It was one of the great paradoxes of her life that her father had insisted on her learning to shoot, ride, cuss and act like a man, while also forcing her to practice acting like a woman. She’d learned accents from a local stage performer, and studied under a few of Rita’s whores on how to act like a proper lady. That was the last thing they were, but they, too, knew how to play the part.

  Among her father’s favorite ruses was the woman in distress. It was a distraction play, one he declared that few men could ignore. Some would want to play the hero, particularly if the girl was pretty. Others, the more predatory kind of male, would want to take advantage of the woman’s situation. Jules had found far more of the latter than the former, the kind that smiled with their lips and lied with their eyes.

  But that was fine, because either set of men had the same problem: they underestimated the woman.

  “It’s a constant,” her father had said. “Never let them see how smart you are, Jules. Give them a show, distract them, and then when they think they’ve got it all figured out, hit them where they least expect it.”

  Jules Castle had learned that lesson well. It was one of the key reasons that had allowed her to survive so long in a world that was unkind to men, and far harsher to the opposite sex.

  She knew her father was unique. She’d seen many fathers over the years, and while several loved their daughters, they had seemed far more concerned with social status and the way the world was supposed to work than Trent Castle did. She’d never thought to ask him why he viewed things differently.

  “We’re not dressed for the part,” Miranda said, interrupting her reverie.

  Jules glanced down at her pants and shirt. She and Miranda were dressed as cowboys, complete with trousers and western shirts. They’d left their fancy dresses safely back in Stanton.

  “’It’s not the costume that defines the actor,’” Jules replied, affecting the British accent of the tutor who had taught her.

  “That was even worse than your imitation of Father,” Miranda said.

  Jules glanced back at Luke, looking for support.

  “It was terrible,” Luke said.

  “I’m tempted to do my best impression of John Wilkes Booth and shoot you both,” Jules replied, mildly put out. She thought her British accent was pretty good.

  The soldiers drew nearer, and Jules could feel herself growing excited. Regardless of what Miranda said, this was going to work. She would be able to steal the silver and get revenge on Rezzor in the same day.

  The idea was simple enough: throw herself on the mercy of the passing soldiers, and hope to travel with them the rest of the way to Fort Curtis. She and Miranda would pretend to be helpless victims, while Luke would be their family’s servant. She wondered how Luke would take it, but it was the only way to explain why two white women, alone and un-chaperoned, would be traveling with a black man.<
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  Once safely traveling with the soldiers, Jules would bide her time. When Rezzor attacked, she’d let the soldiers battle it out with her father’s former gang. Jules would wait for the right moment and take the money in the confusion.

  It was crazy and desperate, but all in all, she liked it better than she had her original plan to ambush the soldiers in the canyon. She would steal the money out from under the soldiers’ noses. And if she was lucky, Rezzor would get killed or at least blamed for the theft.

  Two soldiers broke off from the main column, riding fast toward her. Dy had been wrong about the numbers. She counted fourteen, not twelve. Two of them were sitting on the roof of the carriage. It looked like it could have accommodated even more if it needed to.

  The soldiers rode up, halting in front of Jules, who stood up. It was show time.

  Jules affected a Southern accent, a role she’d played a few times in the past, and ran toward them.

  “Oh, I am so glad you’re here,” she said. “There are ruffians about these parts! They waylaid my sister and myself!”

  “Ruffians?” she heard Miranda say under her breath, but she didn’t think the soldiers could hear her. And maybe she was laying it on a bit thick. She was a bit rusty in the role. The last time she’d played it was Chicago. That had been only three years ago, one of her last jobs before Father disappeared, but it felt like longer.

  “Ma’am?” one of the soldier asked.

  He was young and his uniform was dirty from the dust of the trail. He looked tired.

  “Outlaws!” Jules explained, gesticulating wildly with her hands. “We were on our way to Fort Curtis when we were beset by bandits. We were lucky to escape with our lives. You have to help us, Private.”

  “We’re on official business, ma’am,” the private replied, looking at his companion for support.

  “Are you heading to the fort?” she asked. “I don’t want to be any trouble, but we could just ride behind you. They’re out there, Private. I’m afraid for my life!”