Blood on the Divide (31 page)

“A while back, one of those old mountain men wandered in. Claimed he knew my grandpap and used to drink in his tavern, more than forty years ago. I figured he was probably crazy, but there was just enough of a chance he was telling the truth that I bought him a drink for old time's sake. Can't remember what he said his name was. Deacon or something like that.”

Chance inclined his head toward the guards on the platforms. “Would they have really started shooting if somebody threw a punch?”

“Damn right they would have,” snapped Mike, losing his slightly more jovial attitude. “Both of those boys can hit a gnat at a hundred yards.”

Ace wasn't convinced that the saloon owner would resort to execution to break up a fight, especially with so many innocent bystanders around ... but as long as people believed it was possible, they would be a lot more likely to behave.

“Now drink up,” Mike went on, “and then get out.”

“You're giving us the boot, too?” asked Chance, sounding surprised.

“That's right. I don't want you hotheads starting anything else.”

Ace was equally determined that wouldn't happen, so he didn't argue with the saloonkeeper's edict. He wanted to leave and find a place to stay for the night. He had already seen enough of St. Louis to satisfy any curiosity he had about the city. He drained the rest of his beer and told Mike, “Again, sorry for the trouble.”

“Let's just go,” Chance muttered after swallowing the last of his beer.

They headed for the entrance, moving past several tables full of drinkers and a couple poker games. Chance pushed through the batwings first with Ace right behind him. They went to the hitch rail, untied their horses, and started along the street leading the animals.

Ace was looking around for a hotel that might be a place they could afford to stay when hands suddenly grabbed him and jerked him away from his horse, flinging him along a narrow alley between two buildings. The hour was late in the afternoon and shadows already gathered in the alley, but as Ace stumbled and then caught his balance, he could see well enough to make out several figures blocking his way back to the street.

A couple of the men had grabbed Chance, too, and dragged him into the narrow alley space. They gave him a hard shove that made him go to one knee. He cursed bitterly as Ace took hold of his arm and helped him up.

“Look what I landed in!” Chance exclaimed.

Ace was less worried about that than he was about the fact that they were surrounded. He recognized not only the burly dockworker called Dave but also the man who had spilled his drink when Chance bumped into him.

“So the two of you are friends,” Ace said.

Dave shook his head and grinned. “Naw, I don't even know this fella. But we both have friends of our own, and we both know you two need a good stompin'. So that's what we're gonna give you.”

With fists flying, the ring of attackers closed in around the Jensen boys.

Fort Leavenworth was established in 1827 as protection for the Santa Fe Trail. It was originally called Cantonment Leavenworth. It is the oldest U.S. fort west of the Mississippi still operating.

Marcus Whitman and his wife, Narcissa, built their mission in 1836 and maintained it until both were killed by rampaging Cayuse Indians in 1847. In addition, eleven other men, one woman, and three children were killed that night. The Cayuses took some forty-odd others captive and held them until Hudson's Bay Company officials ransomed them free.

More than two years later, after being pursued by a pioneer militia, five Cayuse warriors turned themselves in and were tried and hanged for the murders.