Revenge Requires Two Graves

by George Emery Townsend

  Chapter 19

  Revenge Requires Two Graves

  The ride in the stagecoach was nearly unbearable for Phillip. To add insult to injury, he didn’t want to be going out West. The stage was filled to the ceiling with mailbags. Samantha had paid a high price to travel in a coach with no other passengers, but failed to realize that the line would fill that empty space with the mail that was backing up in the office. The front facing seat was buried with a wall of mail not more than a foot from the miserable passengers' knees.

  “Miss Foster, why do we have to endure this miserable trip? It can’t be all about revenge, can it? I mean you’re not putting me through all this just so you can avenge your Pa’s death? Are you?” whined Phillip.

  “Phillip, you disappoint me. You have been in our home all my life, since my Pa was a young man, and yet you have learned nothing of the Fosters. No one, but no one, ever gets the upper hand on a Foster. I will pursue Cooper to the ends of the earth to see him suffer for what he has done to me,” swore Samantha.

  Phillip was almost afraid to continue the line of conversation as he became aware that his mistress once again appeared to be losing touch with reality. The thought of two more weeks in this coach was beyond his endurance.

  “Miss Foster, there is an old saying, that when one begins on the trail of revenge they should first dig two graves.”

  “Very profound Phillip," Samantha said, her voice thick with condescension. "I suppose that one grave is for Cooper and the other is supposed to be for me?” Samantha smirked. “Well as long as he ends up in one of them.”

  Knowing he was not reaching her and that with every bump in the road he moved further and further from where he wanted to be, Phillip laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  “We’ll be stopping soon to change the horses!” yelled the conductor sitting next to the driver up in the box. “Don’t wander off. Get something to eat and drink and high tail it back to the coach. We don’t want to get off schedule.”

  “Conductor?” asked Phillip leaning his head out the left side of the coach. “When do we stop to sleep? Where are the hotels along the line?”

  “Mister, this here coach runs all day and all night. On this run I can only promise ya a seat to sit on, some bread, tea, fried or jerked steaks or whatever the stage stop has on hand. Of course the food’ll cost ya extra. If this coach stops it’s only cause we got trouble with the horses, trouble with the coach, or them damn Injuns done killed us all. So sit back and enjoy the ride. It’s gonna be a long one.”

  Phillip wanted to pull out his little side arm and place a neatly directed bullet right into his brain.

  -CKS-

  The next morning the wagon train’s people were all moving a little slower, enjoying their rest stop at Ft. Laramie. Because of the scarcity of firewood they spent most of their time collecting buffalo chips. Firewood was always preferred for obvious reasons, and chips burned fast and hot, requiring quite a few to keep the fires burning.

  Wagons had a piece of canvas stretched out underneath the wagon’s bed that held buffalo chips. Children would collect the chips as they walked along the plains. But sitting in an area like this and not moving, the collectors had to go further out to find the chips. That left the children out, as it was not safe for them to wander that far. The buffalo chip collecting would be left up to the adults.

  After their day of collecting, John, Ray and Larry decided to walk on into the fort to quench their thirst and see if any mail from Wisconsin or California had arrived in response to Ray’s letters.

  The mail office was, like many others, housed in the corner of the general store. Behind the counter was the storekeeper’s wife. She looked as though she had been dragged up and down the trail a hundred times. Not necessarily an ugly woman, just very homely and worn out. Ray was almost afraid to approach the counter when she spoke out, “Come on boy, I ain’t standin’ back here for my health. Are you sendin’ or receivin’?”

  “Pardon?” Ray asked with great caution.

  “Sendin’ or receivin’ boy, it can’t be any clearer than that!” she scolded.

  “Oh, I’m receivin’, or at least I’m hopin’ that I’m receivin’,” he said with a forced smile, trying to break the tension.

  “Everybody here is hopin’ to receive news from somewhere, boy. You ain’t somethin’ special!” she said.

  “No Ma’am, I mean, yes Ma’am, I mean…” Ray stammered out.

  “Just shut up and tell me your name boy,” she said as she turned to the stacks of mail behind her.

  “Ray Cooper, Ma’am”.

  “Ray Cooper, Ray Cooper,” she repeated as she thumbed her way through the stack of mail.

  Finally she arrived at a letter addressed to Ray. Pulling from the stack she turned with a look of victory on her face for having found a letter, “Here you go boy, you’re one of the lucky ones,” she said as she tossed the letter onto the counter, turned and walked away. Ray grabbed the letter and quickly walked outside to meet up with Larry and John. He was never happier to leave a place than that store. With the unopened letter stuck in his back pocket, Ray and his friends walked out of the general store and headed over to the saloon.

  Upon the approach to the saloon they were welcomed by the sound of men playing cards, women laughing, and an old piano being punished by a man in a white boiled shirt. The tinny tones of the musical instrument burned holes into their ears. Once inside, the music, laughter and voices all joined into a chorus of excitement.

  Walking across the busy floor the three of them moved in formation, careful not to make eye contact with any of the patrons in the room so as to avoid any potential conflict.

  Traversing the room they arrived at the center of the bar. Men stood in a row along both sides, shoulder against shoulder, all the way to each end. After ordering their beers they turned slowly to face the room. They were still very unsure of what provoked some people to want to fight in these types of surroundings.

  Scanning the room they noticed it was filled with all sorts of interesting characters.

  To their right and in the far corner was a table with five occupied chairs. A man wearing a black broadcloth suit with a string tie over a white shirt was in the chair facing them. He seemed to be a little over dressed considering the surroundings. The other four were wearing typical trail clothes that appeared to be new for the most part, giving one the impression they may have some money. Some of which the man in the black broadcloth was trying to claim. There were six other tables in the room all busy with activity. The three tables out in front of them and to the left were all filled with Cavalrymen playing cards and grabbing at the saloon girls. It was quite apparent that the civilians stayed on the right side, Calvary on the left. The remaining table, to their right had a mix of men all sitting alone.

  Ray’s eyes were suddenly drawn to a commotion in the far left corner where two cavalrymen began to argue.

  “Paul, you son of a bitch, you’re cheatin’ again. You remember what I told you I’d do if I caught you cheatin’ again?” yelled a man that could have been Richard’s twin brother.

  “Now Hans, I was not cheatin’. Now sit down and let’s play cards,” said Paul.

  “Paul, there are five aces on the table right now and the ace up the sleeve was always your favorite trick, even though you stink at it,” accused Hans.

  “Okay, okay, you caught me Hans. I was just messin’ with ya. That’s the only time I ever used it today. Now sit down, you haven’t lost any money by me cheatin’. Can’t you take a joke Hans? I was only funnin’ ya,” said Paul as he could see the rage begin to build in Hans.

  Hans quickly reached across the table knocking Paul’s hat off. Grabbing him by a fist-full of hair he dragged him over the table and on to the floor in front of him. As Paul tried to rise from the floor men pulled chairs and tables out of the way of the fight. Hans’ fist met Paul’s face with a thundering blow. His neck made a sick-cracking sound
as his head flew back, and his body fell flat onto the floor. Paul’s eyes rolled back into his head. Realizing the severity of this fight, the other Cavalrymen started to move in to break it up. But for Paul, they were too late. Hans raised his boot and brought the heel down hard onto Paul’s face. The sound of the splitting skull turned many of the faces quickly away. Paul’s legs kicked a couple times and then fell still. Most of the patrons stood in horror at Hans’ cruelty. Others, apparently used to this type of behavior, ignored the dead body and pulled their chairs and tables back into place. The patrons returned to what they were doing before the fight had started. Hans returned to his table, sat down in his chair and resumed playing cards. Within minutes the place was back to normal except for the four-armed soldiers that enter the saloon. They moved in around Hans and asked him to rise.

  “What for, he was cheatin’?” said Hans.

  “Tell it to the Captain, Hans,” said the officer in charge.

  “Okay, okay, I ain’t got no fight with you boys,” said Hans as he turned to face the boys around the table. “Don’t none of you touch my cards, I’ll be right back.”

  Hans walked out of the saloon surrounded by his escorts. The remaining gamblers at Hans’ table sat staring at his cards wondering what to do. They knew he was going to the brig and would not be back, but none of them dared touch his cards for fear he might return. One by one they set their cards down on the table and walked out of the saloon.

  “Good God, did you guys see that?” asked Larry while the three of them turned their backs to the room.

  “No Larry, we missed the whole damn thing, of course we saw it. We’re standin’ right next to you,” said John with a disgusted look on his face.

  “Ain’t no one gonna get a doctor?” questioned Larry, ignoring John’s comment.

  “Larry, that guy doesn’t need a doctor. All he needs is an undertaker. That Hans guy just busted in his skull. I ain’t never seen the likes of it before. I’m keepin’ a wide distance from that fella,” promised John.

  As they finished their beers a group of soldiers walked in carrying a cot. Un-ceremonially they rolled the dead soldier onto the canvas and marched him out.

  “Poor bastard got himself killed over a card game,” Ray whispered to his friends.

  “That’s right asshole, over a card game. That dumb shit was a friend of mine. Hans had no call to kill him like that, cheatin' or not,” announced a man standing a few feet away from Ray’s right side.

  “Look mister, I don’t want any trouble. I was only sayin’ what a waste to die at a game of cards,” Ray said.

  “Well maybe you say too much. You better fill your hand right quick cause I’m gonna kill you.”

  As the stranger grabbed for the handle on his gun, he found himself looking down the barrel of Ray’s .44 already out of the leather and cocked. His eyes went dull and his face whitened. “Jesus” was all that escaped his lips.

  “Mister, like I said, I’m not lookin’ for trouble. Your friend’s death was a tragedy. Now holster your piece and walk on out of here.”

  The stranger slowly complied and let his gun drop back into its resting place. He then cautiously picked up his hat from the bar and placed it on his head. Never taking his eyes off the barrel of Ray’s gun, he turned and nodding for his friends and they all walked on out of the bar, never looking back.

  The light from the open doors gave Ray a clear view down to the end of the bar. Standing against the corner was the man in black. He raised his shot glass in a slight salute then pushed the whiskey into his mouth and down his throat. He then turned back to the bar and poured another glass.

  With the stranger out of sight and the man in black facing the bar, Ray turned back to his friends and holstered his .44.

  “Ray, when the hell did you get so fast?” asked John. “I remember you were always foolin’ around with that gun your Pa had, but I never saw you draw.”

  “Look John, I used to go out into the birch trees and practice drawin’ and shootin’. It was more of a game or you know somethin’ to do. I never thought I’d have to use it to keep myself alive. I don’t want to kill anyone John. I wish they’d just stop pressin’ me.”

  “It’ll be okay Ray, once we get to California,” said Larry, knowing full well that going to California wasn’t going to change the kind of men that crawled around the West looking for a fight.

  “What does the letter in your pocket say, Ray?” asked Larry trying to change the subject.

  “I’d forgotten all about it,” Ray said as he pulled the letter out and tore it open.

  “Who’s it from?” asked John.

  “It’s from Doc back in Wisconsin. Holy shit, Doc says that Samantha Foster torched the mill and is taking a stage for California.”

  “Torched the mill?” spoke Larry. “Hell, she can’t do that. Those people depended on that mill for a livin’.”

  “Wait, wait, wait, I think it’s gonna be okay. Doc goes on to say that even though Samantha tried to burn down the mill they are rebuilding it on a piece of property the settlement bought together. He says they’ll do fine. Gus has high tailed it out of there. They figure he was the one hired to burn the mill down. Doc says he’s saving our cabin in case we ever want to come back.”

  “Come back?” whispered John. “Shit we can’t go back there. Every marshal in the state would be lookin’ for us for murder.”

  “Apparently not; Doc says that Miss Foster told the marshal that her Pa’s death was an accident.”

  “Now why would she do that?” said John as he stared into his beer. Maybe she’s turned over a new leaf and figured out it wasn’t really our fault.”

  “The man standin’ at the end of the bar tells me differently, John. Now I’m sure of it. She hired a couple men to come after us. She told the marshal it was an accident because she wants to kill us herself or at least have the satisfaction of being the one who pays to have us killed.”

  Both John and Larry looked over his shoulder and spotted the man in black drinking at the end of the bar.

  “Shit, I think you’re right Ray. There he is in all his glory,” said Larry.

  “What are we gonna do?” asked John.

  “What can we do? We finish our drinks and from here to California we watch our backs,” said Ray.

  “Why is Miss Foster headed for California?” asked John.

  “I was thinking about that. It could be for anything. Maybe she just wants to be there when it happens.” Ray said.

  “When what happens?” asked Larry.

  “Try and keep up, won’t you Larry,” said John. “When the Man in Black over there makes his move.”

  “All I can say is, Ray, keep practicin’, because I think we’re gonna need your gun before this is all done,” stated Larry.