Killer Take All

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

“Wake up,” Creech said, shaking him by the shoulder. “What if they was to come by now ’n you’re asleep? What good would you do me?”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” Rudd said. “I was just restin’ my eyes is all.”

  “Keep your eyes open is all I’m sayin’. Maybe thinkin’ ’bout all that money will keep you awake.”

  * * *

  Less than a mile south of where Creech and Rudd were waiting, Duff and Meagan were riding at a smooth, rhythmic pace. Just below a trot, it was swift and ground eating.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if we had a railroad from Cheyenne to Chugwater?” Meagan asked.

  “Why Meagan, ’n would you be for saying that you don’t like riding with me?”

  “What? No, I’m not saying that. But if we were on a train now, we could be sitting on cushioned seats, sitting close together I might add, and it would take only about two hours. Also we could eat in the dining car, rather than sit in a saddle chewing on a piece of leather.”

  Duff chuckled. “So you think jerky is leather, do you? ’N here I’ve selected the choicest cuts for you to enjoy.”

  Meagan laughed. “Tell me, Duff, exactly how does one go about selecting the choicest cuts of jerky?”

  “Oh, ’tis easy if you know how to go about it.”

  At that very second Duff and Meagan’s conversation was interrupted by the sound of two gunshots. One bullet came so close to Duff’s head that he could hear the buzz of its passing. Meagan cried out and fell from the saddle.

  “Meagan!” Duff shouted as he leaped from the saddle. He saw blood on her upper arm and even as there were two more shots, marked by the dirt that was kicked up near them, Duff put his hands under her shoulders and dragged her off the road and down into a small drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road.

  Meagan grunted in pain.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, taking a closer look at the wound. “Looks like it just cut a groove in your arm. I know it’s painful, but ’tis not all that bad.”

  “So you say. You aren’t the one with a hole in your arm.”

  Despite their situation, Duff chuckled. “Now I know you’ll be all right.”

  “MacCallister!” someone called from the other side of the road. “Give us your money, ’n we’ll go away.”

  “Money? What money?”

  “The sixty-five thousand dollars you got from Heckemeyer.”

  Duff recognized the voice as the man who had shown him the pen to be used. “Is this Creech?”

  “Yeah, this is Creech. And I know you got the money, ’cause I seen you get it.”

  * * *

  Grant Slocum had been trailing Duff and Meagan, having followed them from Cheyenne. The sound of the shots startled him, and he stopped to listen, wondering if there might be some way he could capitalize on what was happening just ahead of him.

  Duff, having no idea that he had adversaries ahead and behind him, spoke to Meagan. “I’ve got an idea,” he said quietly.

  “What kind of idea?” Meagan asked.

  “I’m going to let them shoot me.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of an idea to me. As a matter of fact, it sounds foolish.”

  “Trust me.”

  “I trust that you aren’t seriously going to let them shoot you,” Meagan replied.

  “Pull your pistol and be ready.”

  “Be ready for what?”

  “Lass, would you just be doin’ it?”

  “All right,” Meagan replied, doing as Duff asked.

  “Creech!” Duff shouted.

  “Yeah, what is it? You’re goin’ to give us the money?”

  “I’m nae going to give you anything! You killed my woman ’n now I’m goin’ to kill you!”

  Meagan gasped, and Duff put his finger across his lips. “Be quiet. Don’t say anything no matter what you see or think you see.”

  “What are you going to do?” Meagan whispered.

  “Just be ready.” He shouted again. “Creech! You killed my woman, ’n I’ll be for comin’ after you now.”

  Duff looked at Meagan and she nodded to indicate that she was ready. Then he stood up and started running down the road, not toward Creech, but parallel to and very close to the ditch. He threw a shot toward where he had seen the puffs of gun smoke. It wasn’t an aimed shot, but there was no need for it to be.

  “I’m coming after you, Creech!” he shouted again.

  There were two more gunshots.

  “Uhn!” Duff called out, and slapping his hands over his stomach, he fell, then rolled down into the ditch.

  Meagan was shocked and started to call out, but she saw Duff looking back at her and holding his hand out as if asking her to be silent and wait. She realized then that this was all a ruse.

  “We got the diry devil!” This was Creech’s voice.

  “Think he’s dead?”

  Duff didn’t recognize the second voice.

  “If he ain’t dead yet, he soon will be. Now that he knows who I am, I can’t let ’im stay alive. Let’s go finish off both of ’em, take the money, ’n get outta here.”

  “He said the woman was already dead.”

  “We’ll make sure. Let’s go shoot ’em both.”

  * * *

  Having dismounted when he heard the first shots, Slocum advanced up the road, hoping to be in position to take advantage of the situation. He had heard the latest exchange of gunfire and the conversation between someone named Creech and whoever was with him.

  Had they actually killed MacCallister? Whoever Creech was, he was convinced that Duff MacCallister had the money from the sale of his cattle. Slocum already knew the money wasn’t on him, but these two men thought MacCallister had the money, and that was all the incentive they needed to kill him.

  Slocum turned around and started back toward his horse. He didn’t need to be seen by Creech and the other man right now. Once they discovered that MacCallister had no money, they were going to be in a very foul mood. Besides, MacCallister was dead, so there was no need for him to hang around.

  * * *

  Duff could hear Creech and the other man climbing down from the slight rise where they had been waiting, then start across the road. He held out his hand toward Meagan, signaling for her to be ready. Meagan nodded back at him, then raised her pistol and pulled back the hammer.

  “I seen ’im drag the woman in over there,” Creech said, pointing. “You go shoot’er a couple more times, ’n I’ll make sure MacCallister’s dead. Then we’ll get the money ’n get on out o’ here.”

  The two men approached the edge of the road, then they reached the ditch and raised their pistols.

  “Now!” Duff shouted, pulling the trigger even as he called out.

  Meagan responded instantly, and Creech and Rudd were dead even before they had time to be surprised.

  * * *

  Fifty yards down the road, Grant Slocum heard the latest outbreak of gunfire and he smiled. That would be the assailants finishing off MacCallister and the woman. On the one hand, Slocum was satisfied that MacCallister was dead, and he didn’t even mind that he didn’t personally kill him. But on the other hand, he regretted that he had no opportunity to take advantage of the woman who had been with him. She was one very good-looking woman, and he felt a little tingling in his groin as he thought about what might have been.

  * * *

  Back at the site of the ambush, Duff, totally unaware of the presence, or even the existence, of Grant Slocum, climbed up from the ditch and checked on the two who had attacked them. Both men were dead.

  “Stay there,” Duff said. “I’ll go get our horses.”

  “Duff, we can’t leave them just lying here in the road.”

  “You’re right. I’ll get their horses too, ’n we’ll take them on into Walbach, which is just another few miles. That’s closer than going back to Cheyenne, and when we get there we can have a doctor look at your wound.”

  Chapter Eight

  Duff located the horses th
e two outlaws had picketed and took them down to where the men lay dead in the road. He had no way of knowing which outlaw belonged to which horse, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to the animals, so he draped the bodies across the saddles. Leading the horses, he and Meagan continued north to Walbach, which was only about three miles farther.

  The little town had grown up where once had stood the army post of Camp Walbach. The post had been disbanded some time before, but the town remained. Duff and Meagan received no small amount of attention from the citizens as the four horses—two with bodies draped across the saddles and one ridden by a woman whose arm was red with blood—rode into town. The little caravan stopped at the marshal’s office.

  “Duff MacCallister!” the marshal said stepping out of his office with a welcoming smile of greeting. “What brings you—” he stopped in midsentence when he saw the two bodies and Meagan’s bloody shirtsleeve. “Good Lord, what happened?”

  “Hello, Marshal Coats. We were accosted on the road by these two brigands who were bent upon robbing us,” Duff said.

  “Are these the only two?”

  “Aye.”

  “Trying to rob you, you say?”

  “I sold my cattle in Cheyenne, and they thought I had the money with me.”

  “Yes, I remember you bringing the herd through a couple of days ago,” The marshal looked again at Meagan’s wound. “Ma’am, are you in much pain?”

  “Not too much,” Meagan replied.

  “She’s a brave young lass,” Duff said. “But I would like for a doctor to have a look at her wound.”

  “We don’t actually have a doctor in town, but Miz Willis comes the closest to one, I reckon. She has potions and remedies for nigh onto ever’thang a person can come down with, ’n she has treated more ’n a few gunshot wounds,” Marshal Coats said. “If you’d like, I’ll send for her. If nothin’ else, she can get you bandaged up good enough so’s you can go on into Chugwater ’n see the doctor there.”

  “Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Willis was in her late sixties but still very active. The widow owned the boardinghouse in town, which, because there was no hotel, were the only accommodations available for anyone who needed them. Validating Marshal Coats’s comment that she was the closest thing to a doctor they had in Walbach, she brought her medical bag with her.

  “I hope you have another shirt to wear, dearie, because I’m about to tear this ’un off.”

  “In my saddlebag.”

  “I’ll get it,” Duff offered.

  It took only a few minutes for Mrs. Willis to clean the wound, then apply a fresh bandage. “You’re going to have to have the wound sewed shut. When you get back to Chugwater, you need to see Dr. Taylor first thing soon as you get there.”

  “Yes, thank you. I will.”

  As soon as Mrs. Willis was finished administering her treatment, and after assuring Marshal Coats that he would be available if anyone needed to discuss the incident in which the two men were killed, Duff continued on with Meagan to Chugwater. The trip took them another five hours, and it was quite late in the afternoon when they stopped in front of a low, brick building with a sign out front that read V. SCOTT TAYLOR, M.D.

  Duff dismounted first, then went over to help Meagan down.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Duff, I’m not crippled. I can get down myself.”

  “Aye, I know that, but ’tis only that I like holding you close to me.”

  “Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” Meagan asked with a little smile, relaxing her body to the degree that helping her down required quite a bit of physical contact.

  Dr. Taylor met them out front. “I got Marshal Coats’s telegram saying that Meagan had been shot. Come on in. I’m all ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Taylor.”

  “Are you in any pain? Would you like some laudanum?”

  “I have very little pain. But the truth is I don’t know if I would want any laudanum anyway. I’m a little frightened of that stuff.”

  Dr. Taylor shook his head. “Yes, it’s good to be frightened. Laudanum is most effective for easing pain, but it has a brutal side effect, in that it is very easy to get addicted to the drug. All right, come on in, and let me have a look.”

  Meagan peeled out of her shirt without any sense of shame or embarrassment.

  “Mrs. Willis did such a good job of applying the bandage that I almost hate to take it off, but I have to examine the wound.” Dr. Taylor used a pair of scissors to cut through the cloth then opened it as carefully as he could to minimize any pain. “Ah, good. The bullet cut a channel but didn’t involve any arteries or muscle structure. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

  A few minutes later Meagan looked down at the stitches Dr. Taylor had just applied.

  “I’ll put another bandage on and you can come back in about a week for me to look at it again and remove the stitches. As long as you keep it clean and sterilized, you won’t have any trouble with it,” Dr. Taylor said.

  As they left the doctor’s office a little later, Meagan asked, “Duff, if I bought a pie from Vi, do you think you could get Elmer to take it down to Mrs. Willis?”

  “Aye, ’twold be no problem for him to do so. I’ll be for asking him tonight when I get home.”

  “Would you like a drink before you go back?” she asked. “We can stop in Fiddler’s Green, and it’ll be my treat since I have recently come into some money.”

  Duff chuckled. “Aye, that you have. All right, lass, I’ll let you buy me a drink.”

  They dismounted in front of the saloon, tied their horses off, and went inside, where they were met immediately by Biff Johnson.

  “Meagan, how is your arm?” Biff asked.

  “How did you know about my arm?”

  “Hodge Deckert told me. He told everyone.”

  “Does the telegrapher nae know the meaning o’ the words ‘private telegram’?” Duff asked.

  “Don’t be hard on him, Duff. You know that Hodge thinks the world of you and Meagan. He’s just concerned, that’s all.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it, Duff.” Meagan chuckled. “And it’s nice to know that there are people who actually care.”

  “There a lot of people who care, Meagan,” Biff said. “Oh, Duff, by the way you have some happy troopers working for you. Some of them have come in here since they came back, and they much appreciated the bonus you gave them.” He chuckled. “And since they gave me their business, I appreciate it as well. You and Meagan find a table. I know what you’ll be drinking, and I’ll have Kay bring them to you.”

  “Kay?”

  “That’s right, you haven’t met her yet, have you? She’s my newest hostess.”

  Unlike the Wild Hog, which was the other saloon in Chugwater, the young women who worked at Fiddler’s Green were hostesses, not soiled doves, although they did wear provocative apparel. When a young and very attractive woman approached the table a moment later bringing a glass of scotch from Duff’s personal bottle for him and a sauvignon blanc for Meagan, her attire displayed all her attributes.

  “Biff said you are new here,” Meagan said. “Kay, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What brings you to Chugwater, Kay? I mean we are a little off the beaten path here, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I suppose it is. I’m originally from Jackson, but I left there. I was in Cheyenne when someone told me about this place, so I thought I might come up and see what I thought of it.”

  “What’s the verdict? What do you think about us?”

  “Oh, I think it is beautiful here. Just beautiful.”

  “So do I.”

  At that moment Kay noticed that two new customers had come into the saloon. “Oh, would you all excuse me? I need to get to work.”

  “Of course,” Meagan said.

  “Miss Kay is a most bonny lass,” Duff said.

  “She is at that. You know what?
She would make a very good model for me to show off some of my designs.”

  “You wouldn’t be for stealing her from Biff now, would you?”

  “No, of course not. At least, not full-time. I’m sure Biff and I could work out some arrangement, and it would be a source of extra income for the young lady.”

  “Aye, I think that would a good thing for her.”

  Cheyenne

  It was just growing dark when Roy Streeter rode into Cheyenne. He wasn’t alone. Seven men—Jalen Nichols, Bo Hawken, Dusty Caldwell, Morris Butrum, Hank Mitchell, Clete Dixon, and Pogue Flannigan—were with him.

  “What time does the train get in?” Flannigan asked.

  “Not until eleven o’clock tonight,” Streeter said.

  “What the hell? Do we have to wait down at the depot until then? That’s almost midnight.”

  “There’s no need for all of us to have to meet ’im. I’ll do it by myself. The rest of you can wait in the saloon,” Streeter said.

  “Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good idea to me,” Hawken said.

  Streeter went into the Bella Union Saloon with the others, and while they flirted with the bar girls and drank rather heavily, Streeter needed to be sober when he met the train. He limited himself to two beers, drank them slowly, and kept an eye on the large stand-up clock clearly in view. When the hands on the clock indicated that it was a quarter till eleven, he drained the last of the beer, then stood up.

  “You goin’ to meet ’im now?” Hawken asked.”

  “Yes. You boys stay out of trouble,” Streeter said. “I don’t care how long you stay here tonight, but meet me for breakfast at the Railroad Hotel no later ’n seven o’clock tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Yeah, we’ll be there,” Hawken said. “If I have to, I’ll tell the woman to wake me up at six tomorrow.”

  “What woman are you a-talkin’ about, Bo?” Caldwell asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hawken replied, glancing out at the several young women who were working the bar. “I ain’t quite figured out yet which one of ’em it’s goin’ to be.”

  Streeter left to the sound of the other men laughing at Hawken’s comment.

  It was a short walk to the depot and when he arrived and checked the depot clock he saw that he still had a little over ten minutes remaining before the train was due to arrive. Going into the large Union Pacific Depot, he stepped up to a four-sided desk that created an enclosure in the center of the grand court. Signs on each of the four sides of the enclosure identified it as an information desk.