Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) (15 page)

They nibbled on hardtack biscuit, jerky, nuts and dried fruit to sustain them as they traveled. Walt rode a horse, scouting the way ahead, riding back and forth along the line of wagons to check that everything was in order, and watching their back trail, just in case anyone was coming after them. However, much to his relief, there was no sign of pursuit, and no indication that the two dead men had been found or that the police had managed to connect them to him. It had most likely been known that the gambler carried a lot of money. Any investigation would probably focus on who might have plotted to steal it from him.

They set a gentle pace, allowing the teams to settle down together, learning to handle the wagons up and down hills, crossing streams and on various surfaces. More than once they passed wagons that had been too heavily loaded and either bogged down or broken an axle or wheel over difficult terrain, proving to Walt’s satisfaction that he’d been wise to load his to less than their maximum capacity.

After passing Columbia, Walt began to get jumpy at the number of artificially casual inquiries from farmers and passersby concerning who he’d fought for in the war. His stock answer became a curt, “The war’s over,” and he refused to go into further detail. This sometimes irritated an overly nosy questioner, but his uncompromising position and his obvious unwillingness to be pressured, backed up by the sight of the holster on his hip, discouraged further inquiry.

He discovered the reason for all the curiosity, and the scarcely concealed animosity towards him, shortly before they reached Boonville. A convoy of Union Army wagons was heading towards St. Louis, and had stopped to water its teams at a small stream. Walt pulled his wagons to the other side of the road, and asked the drivers to water their teams as well while he spoke to the escort commander, a young cavalry lieutenant. After introducing himself, he asked, “Why are people here so curious about which side one fought for during the war? I’ve had more questions about that over the last few days than since I left Tennessee.”

“How much do you know about the war in Missouri?”

“Not much. I know there was guerrilla fighting in the west of the state.”

“There sure was! Some of the worst Confederate bushwhackers operated in western Missouri and eastern Kansas; Quantrill, Bloody Bill Anderson, men like that. On the other side you had jayhawkers and redlegs. They were basically bandits claiming Union sympathies. They robbed, raped and pillaged their way through the same area. Both sides were just plain evil, as often as not. It’s left a lot of bad blood all around. To make matters worse, a lot of them are still in the area, but as outlaws now instead of wearing a uniform. People are real nervous. No one dares trust a stranger.”

“Can’t say I blame them. In their shoes I’d be nervous, too. Any advice on how to stay out of trouble?”

“Just keep on heading west, keep your head down, and don’t say anything. In particular, you’ll want to be careful over the last fifty miles to the Kansas border. Several outlaw bands are operating there. Sleep lightly and keep a good watch at night, and keep your weapons handy, just in case. You’ve got valuable wagons and teams that travelers will buy for cash without asking questions, to say nothing of whatever you’ve got inside them. What’s more, your lady’s young enough, and pretty, too.” He nodded towards Rose as she watered her horses. “Some of them outlaws won’t need any more excuse than that, sad to say.”

“Thanks. We’ll be careful. What’s the safest route to Kansas City?”

“If I were you, I’d turn southwest to Sedalia. The army has a post there, although it’ll be shutting down soon, and there are two railroads building into town, so there’s plenty of traffic on the roads. Outlaws don’t like that, because they can be seen and identified too easily. From there, go west to Warrensburg, then turn northwest to Kansas City. I’m not saying you won’t run into trouble, but I reckon it’ll be less likely on that route than if you stay on the direct one. The outlaw groups will probably be smaller that way too, if you happen to run into one.”

“I think I’ll do that. Thanks again.”

“One more thing. Your two black drivers—are they freedmen?”

“Yes. I hired them in St. Louis.”

“Tell ’em to watch their mouths. If they don’t back-talk anyone and stay out of trouble, they should be all right, but there are some who’ll try to make trouble with them just out of plain meanness and orneriness.”

“I’ll warn them.”

He did, that very night. “Samson, Elijah, listen, both of you. You must be very careful in these parts. You were both slaves once, and there are people around here who’ll try to make something of that. If anyone tries to cause problems, you leave the talking to me, but keep watch to the sides and rear. We’ll try to pass through the next few towns without stopping, so the locals don’t have time to cause a fuss.” He also warned all of them about the danger from outlaws. “We’ll have to be cautious during the last few days’ travel to Kansas City. Fortunately, it’s not far ahead now.”

They made it through Sedalia without incident, as the Lieutenant had predicted. Warrensburg was a different matter. Some of the people lounging on the sidewalks spat in the street as they passed, or made derogatory remarks about Samson and Elijah, loud enough to be heard. Duly forewarned, the two stared stonily straight ahead and said nothing, regardless of the provocation. Walt followed the wagons on his horse, looking to right and left, hand hovering near the butt of the revolver openly holstered on his right hip, ready to intervene if necessary. That gave the would-be troublemakers enough pause for thought that the wagons were clear of the town before they could start anything.

They redoubled their caution as they drove on, as the lieutenant had advised. On the second evening after Warrensburg, Samson said to Walt, “Suh, did you notice dat man on de white hoss on de hilltop to de right?”

“Just before we stopped? Yes, I did.”

“I t’ought I saw him in Warrensburg, suh.”

Walt rubbed his chin reflectively. “Well, if he’s following us, we should see him again tomorrow. Keep your eyes open, everyone. Look sharp.”

As he rode out ahead of the others to scout the trail the next morning, Walt glanced to the right. The white horse and its rider were on the hilltop again, this time accompanied by a smaller pony with what looked like a youth on its back. They were looking down at the wagons. Walt stopped in the shade of a group of trees, pulled out his spyglass, and peered through the branches. The man was gray-bearded, wearing rough work clothes, and clutching a long-barreled rifle in some sort of buckskin sleeve ornately decorated with beads and feathers. He wore a cavalry holster at his right side, its flap closed, and a long-bladed white-handled knife at his left. The boy with him was much younger, a gangling teenager who didn’t appear to be armed.

As he watched, the man turned and said something to his companion. The boy nodded, turned his pony and galloped off to the east. The man watched him go, then turned his own horse and headed northeast at a slower pace, passing out of sight behind the hill.

I wonder if he’s sent that boy to
bring in reinforcements?
Walt mused. Something felt wrong about the watchers, and he wasn’t about to ignore his instincts, particularly not after his lapse in St. Louis. He turned his horse and rode back to warn the other three that they might have some unwanted visitors.

They watered the teams at Blue Springs, not more than twenty miles from Kansas City, at about three that afternoon. Walt let his horse drink first, then had the drivers bring water to their teams in buckets. He asked Samson to take the watch, standing on a wagon seat to survey the trail behind them while he helped Rose with her two-horse team and Elijah with the twelve mules. They were almost done when Samson called, “Suh, dat man on de white horse be back. He’s brought fr’en’s wid him.”

Walt jumped up onto the wagon beside Samson, took out his spyglass and looked back in the direction from whence they’d come. Sure enough, about three miles down the trail, the gray-bearded man led a group of five other riders at a walk. The youngster was among them. The other four were bearded also. Most were holding a long gun across one arm.

“Well done, Samson. We’ll push on at once. A couple of miles ahead there’s a grove of trees that will give us cover.” He pointed towards the northwest. “Let’s head for that. We’ll find a place to pull off the trail, then get ourselves ready, just in case those men are up to no good.” He spoke calmly, hoping to avoid unduly upsetting Rose, but she took the news well, although her face may have paled a little.

They hurriedly finished watering the last two mules, then urged on the animals at a faster pace than before. Walt hung back at first, until he was sure the men were not trying to overtake them.
They’re in no hurry.
They’re likely
planning to
hit us when we stop for the night,
he realized. He spurred his horse and cantered ahead of the wagons in order to scout the grove of trees, to see what it might offer them in the way of defensive terrain. A narrow, twisting path, just wide enough for the wagons, led off the main trail through a clearing where the wagons could be halted. The trees and underbrush were thick enough on all sides to offer concealment, as well as make it difficult for anyone to ride into the clearing from another direction.

As the wagons approached, he directed them onto the side path. “Stop next to each other, with the teams facing the far end of the clearing,” he called. The backs of the wagons would provide at least some cover to the horses and mules if bullets started to fly.

He followed the wagons into the clearing, jumped down from his horse, led it past Rose’s ambulance and tied it to a tree ahead of the team, then called them all together. “There are six armed men riding up the trail behind us. I’m sure they’ll notice we turned off into the trees—our tracks are hard to miss. If they’re following us, they’ll turn off too, in which case I’m going to confront them and try to warn them off. If they’re outlaws, that’ll probably start a fight. Samson, I want you on the right of the trail.” He pointed. “Pick a tree close to the path to hide behind, with plenty of bushes around it to obscure you. Stand by with your Colt in your hand. Take your carbine too, in case you shoot your revolver dry; but the trees and bushes will get in its way, so use the handgun first. It’s easier to handle in thick brush if you have to move. Elijah, you look for a tree like that on the other side of the path, and do the same.”

“What about me?” Rose asked.

“I want you lying flat on the bed in our ambulance with your carbine. They won’t see you in the shadow cast by its cover. You’ll be at an angle to the path, able to see past me to the back of their group. If a fight starts and you see anyone turn his horse to run, shoot him. He mustn’t be allowed to get away, because he’d only bring more of them down on us. Think you can do that?”

“I can.” Her voice was shaky, but determined.

He looked Samson and Elijah in the eye as he warned grimly, “Remember what that Lieutenant told us. If those riders are outlaws and former guerrillas, they won’t care what they do to you—and I don’t want to think about what they might do to Rose. It’s up to us to stop them. Don’t fire wildly. Aim carefully, and keep on shooting until they go down. If they’re down but still moving, or they still have a weapon in their hands, shoot them again.”

Samson said firmly, “I hears you, suh.”

Elijah nodded. “We’ll stand by you, suh.”

“I’m counting on you to do just that. One more thing. Wait until I fire the first shot. This isn’t my first fight, not by a long way. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve that should surprise them. Once I shoot, or, God forbid, if they shoot me first, then you can start shooting too. All right, now load the sixth chamber in your revolvers and get ready.”

Walt ran to Rose’s ambulance, rummaged in his carpetbag, and took out the short-barreled Army Colt in its shoulder holster. He hurriedly removed the cylinder, loaded the sixth chamber, then assembled the revolver and put percussion caps on the cylinder’s nipples. With them facing six-to-four odds, a hidden gun might give him the edge he needed to come out of this fight alive. He lowered the hammer to half-cock, put on the shoulder holster and donned a waistcoat over it, leaving it unbuttoned to conceal the holster while allowing easy access to it. He folded back the flap of the cavalry holster on his right hip, pushing it down behind his belt, and carefully tucked the right side of his waistcoat into the belt behind the holster, leaving the Remington revolver open to his grasp. He checked the weapon, making sure all six chambers were loaded and capped and that the hammer was down on a safety notch between two of them.

Rose was lying down as he’d instructed. He checked her carbine, then kissed her forehead. “Are you all right, darling?”

“I’m scared, Walt, but I won’t let anyone ride off.”

“Good girl.” He stroked her cheek. “Don’t you worry about me, now. This ain’t my first fight, darling.”

“I’ll be praying for you, Walt.”

He grinned at her. “I never heard that did a man any harm.” He kissed her again, then hurried back to the path where it entered the clearing. Looking to left and right, he called out softly, “Samson? Elijah? Where are you?”

Two voices replied, “Here, suh,” and they appeared as if by magic from behind the trees.

He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. With their dark skin, they both blended into the shadows. That would be an advantage… but would it be enough?

“Remember, stay out of sight until I fire the first shot, then be smooth and accurate. Don’t rush. Hit what you’re aiming at. A miss won’t do anything but waste your ammunition and give them more time to draw a bead on you.”

“Yassuh!”

As they disappeared back into cover, his ears caught the first faint sounds of horses approaching along the main trail. They halted at the turnoff, and a voice said, “They went in there.”

Another man responded, “Musta decided t’ camp for th’ night. We’ll help ’em settle in real nice, like.”

“Yeah, ’specially that woman!”