Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) (16 page)

There was a burst of laughter as the horses’ hooves sounded again, coming closer down the path. Walt moved to one side, concealed by the shrubbery, and waited until they were no more than a few feet from the clearing: then he stepped out abruptly in front of them, raising his left hand. “Hold it right there!”

The six men pulled back on their reins in surprise, their horses trampling and tossing their heads at his sudden appearance. The gray-bearded man snorted, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the man you’ll have to pass to get to my wife.”

For a moment surprise showed on the man’s face, then he laughed. “You’re backed by a woman an’ two darkies. That don’t mean nothin’ to Bloody Bill Anderson’s band.”

“Bloody Bill’s been dead for a year, and the war’s over.”

“Well, we ain’t dead, and for us the war’ll never be over! Give it up, boy. Iffen you surrender peaceable, maybe we’ll even let you all live.”

Walt shook his head, poised for action, eyes hard. “I surrendered once. That’s enough for one lifetime.” He folded his arms ostentatiously across his chest, right hand slipping inside his waistcoat to grasp the butt of his shortened Colt revolver. “Drop your guns on the ground and I’ll let
you
live.”

The man threw back his head and roared with laughter, and his companions joined in. “You’ll let us–”

Walt didn’t give him time to finish. He whipped the short-barreled gun from beneath his coat and snapped his arm out, aiming at the man’s head as the hammer came back to full cock beneath his thumb. He fired once, the ball smashing in between the man’s eyes, then re-cocked the revolver as it jerked up in his hand under recoil, turning towards the next outlaw as he saw the leader toppling from his saddle. He was dimly aware of shots thundering from both sides of the trail as he put two rounds into the torso of the man on the leader’s left. His second victim grabbed for the revolver at his waist, then doubled over as the bullets struck him, but he didn’t release his grasp of the weapon’s butt. Instantly Walt raised his aim and sent a third round into the man’s head; then he dodged to his left, staying low to the ground, looking for another target through the drifting powder smoke that stung his nostrils.

He saw one of the outlaws at the rear aiming a revolver in Elijah’s direction, and fired the last two shots in the revolver at him. At longer range the short-barreled gun wasn’t accurate or powerful enough to bring the man down, but both bullets struck him, one in his left arm, the other grazing his shoulder. They distracted him enough to stop him shooting at Elijah. Walt dropped the Colt, his hand flying to the holstered Remington, starting his draw even before the other gun hit the ground. He raised the revolver and fired two rounds that tumbled the man from his saddle.

Two more outlaws had gone down under the fire of Elijah and Samson. Only the youngster was left on his horse. Panic dawned on his face as he saw his friends cut down. He whirled his mount, clearly intending to flee, but a shot sounded from behind Walt as Rose fired. A dark spot bloomed on the boy’s grubby white shirt, instantly fringed with red as blood began to flow. He arched his back and pitched sideways from the saddle. His horse’s reins were still looped around his hand, locked in his grasp, preventing it from fleeing even as it blocked the escape of the others down the narrow path. He tried to push himself up from the ground, but two more shots rang out in rapid succession as Rose and Samson fired at him. His body convulsed, and then he was still.

“Cease fire!
Cease fire!
” Walt yelled, covering the six bodies on the ground with his revolver, shaking his head in an unsuccessful attempt to clear the ringing from his ears. “Samson, Elijah, grab their horses! Don’t let them get away!”

He waited until the two men had gathered up the reins, talking soothingly to the animals, and led them away from the bodies into the clearing; then he checked the fallen outlaws carefully. Two were still alive, but sorely wounded and probably dying. He steeled himself. He dared not leave any of them alive to tell their friends who’d done this, or where they had gone. He made sure his body blocked Rose’s view, then pulled a knife from the belt of one of the outlaws and stabbed them both, angling the blade up through their ribs to reach the heart.

Wiping the knife on an outlaw’s shirt, he called out to Samson and Elijah, “Tie their horses to your wagons, then strip them of weapons, bedrolls and saddlebags. Put those in the wagons.”

As they got to work, he returned the knife to its sheath, then took the guns and knives from all the dead. The third man he’d shot wore two Army Colts in a type of holster he’d never seen before, long and thin, one holster on the right side with the butt of the gun to the rear, and a second slanted across his left hip with the butt to the right for a cross-draw. Curious, he took the holsters as well as the guns, for future investigation.

He had to make two trips to Rose’s ambulance with the weapons, there were so many of them. He noticed she was bent over behind a bush, and realized she was being sick. He wasn’t surprised. He’d seen how killing a man for the first time unsettled almost everyone. He grinned wryly. He could remember vomiting himself after killing his first Union soldier. That seemed like a different life now.

“Darling, are you all right?”

“M’okay,” she managed, although he could hear her clearing her throat and spitting. “Walt, are you hurt?”

“Me and the boys are fine. You just take your time there, we’ll get this sorted out.”

He went through the pockets of the dead men. He found a few greenbacks and coins on five of them, but a fat leather drawstring purse in the leader’s pocket contained over a hundred dollars in greenbacks and several gold coins. He pocketed the money, then picked up his short-barreled Colt from where he’d dropped it and checked it carefully. It had come to no harm apart from getting dusty. He took it back to the ambulance and put it in his carpetbag.

While he’d been busy, Samson and Elijah had finished stowing the gear from the outlaws’ horses. He waited for Rose to swill out her mouth from a water skin, then said, “You all did very well. We’re alive and unhurt. If they’d had their way, we surely wouldn’t be. Now, we’ve got to get out of here before their friends start looking for them. They’re probably some distance from here, because that boy rode away to get those other four outlaws early this morning. They most likely won’t look for them until they don’t come home tomorrow. Even so, they can move faster on horseback than our wagons, so we need to get started right away.”

“Won’t the people at Blue Springs have heard the shots?” Rose asked, her voice trembling a little, betraying her tension.

“I don’t know, but even if they did, I doubt they’ll come looking for trouble. Too many people in these parts have found it already. First things first. Reload your weapons. Do that while we talk.”

Elijah said, “Suh, dere’s a problem wid dis gun.” He showed him his revolver, its hammer jammed halfway back. Walt recognized the symptom instantly, and could have sworn in chagrin. He should have taught Samson and Elijah—and Rose, for that matter—how to deal with it.

“I know what’s wrong, but I don’t have time to explain now. It’s not your fault. Here.” He handed Elijah one of the two Army Colts he’d taken from the dead outlaw. “He was fully loaded and fired only one shot, so five chambers are still charged. Take the spent cap off the empty chamber, rotate it until it’s under the hammer, then carry it until we can fix yours.”

“Yassuh!”

Samson and Walt began ramming fresh paper cartridges into the cylinders of their revolvers as Walt continued, “We’re going to strip the saddles and bridles from their horses and toss them into the bushes over there, where they won’t be noticed unless someone’s looking real hard. A wandering horse wearing a saddle is a sign that something’s wrong, but one without a saddle is just another stray. We’ll put the bodies in there too, and use a spade to toss any bloodstained dirt on the path into the bushes as well. We don’t want a passerby to see it. The buzzards will gather soon enough, but no one will know why unless they come in here to look. With any luck at all, the bodies won’t be found until tomorrow.

“As soon as the path is clear I want you, Samson, to drive your wagon out to the trail, staying as far to the right as you can. Elijah, you do the same, keeping to the left. Rose, drive straight down the middle. The hooves of your teams and the wheels of your wagons will help cover any sign of what happened here. I’ll go out first, scatter the horses, then wait for you on the trail.”

“Sh– shouldn’t we tell the nearest police what happened?” Rose asked, her voice shaky.

“This whole area was ablaze with guerrillas during the war. These men were part of that—you heard their leader claim they were members of Bloody Bill Anderson’s gang. If they were, they couldn’t still be active here unless the local law let them. After all, Samson saw their leader and his white horse in Warrensburg, remember? I’d guess that means their boss bribed the town constable to turn a blind eye to them. I don’t know if we can trust the law around here, and I’d rather not find out the hard way. I’d prefer to get as far away as possible before anyone finds the bodies.”

“Where are we going?”

“The main trail to Kansas City’s real close now. We’ll hit it, turn west, then go on until last light before we camp. No fires tonight, I’m afraid—we don’t want to attract attention. At the crack of dawn, I want us to be on our way again. We need to get to Kansas City as quickly as we can. Once we’re surrounded by people, with an army post nearby, we should be safe, and even more so once we’ve crossed the river to Kansas. Samson, Rose, take the tack off the horses and throw it in those bushes. Elijah, help me move the bodies.”

In ten minutes they were ready. Rose shook her head as she rejoined him, looking pale and stressed. “This isn’t what I expected. I knew it would be dangerous, but… I don’t know that I’ll ever get accustomed to this.” She made a helpless gesture.

“I hope and pray you never have to, dearest,” he said quietly, “but remember, there’ll always be bad people willing to take what you have. They don’t give a fig for the law. They’ve got to be stopped, one way or the other.” He raised his voice. “All right, everyone. Turn your teams around by leading them, because there’s very little room in this clearing. Rose, you go first, because your ambulance is the smallest wagon. Elijah, you’re next. Samson, bring up the rear. I’ll go ahead of you to make sure no one’s coming, and drive the horses away. Let’s move!”

As Rose’s ambulance clattered down the ramp and onto the deck of the ferry, Walt sighed deeply and allowed himself to relax for the first time since the gunfight. They’d all be across the river within a couple of hours. That wasn’t a guarantee of safety, but it was a lot better than still being in Missouri. The animals were exhausted and they were all dirty and tired—even Rose had complained to him that she felt and smelt over-ripe—but they were safe for the time being.

He tied his horse to the rear of Rose’s wagon and climbed inside. She twisted around on the seat, smiling at him. She still looked drawn and weary. Clearly, the memory of the fight had affected her sleep.

“Are you all right, dear?” she asked. “You hardly slept at all last night, what with taking a double watch to give us all more time to rest.”

“You needed the sleep more than I did. Everyone was on edge after fighting off those outlaws. I’m more used to that than any of you, so I let you all sleep it off. Will you please ask Samson and Elijah to join us in here?”

While they waited for them, Walt quickly looked over the outlaws’ guns, leaving their bedrolls and saddlebags for later. When they’d all arrived, sitting cramped together in the front part of the ambulance, he began, “For your first gunfight you did very well, all of you. I know it was hard. It always is. Still, you stood up to them and won. That’s what counts.”

“Suh, you did a lot better than we-uns,” Samson said soberly. “We only got one of dem apiece. You got t’ree.”

“Yes, but I’ve done a lot more fighting than you have. Like I said, for your first time, you did real well. How many times did you shoot?”

“Five, suh. I hit de one man t’ree times, an’ missed anudder wid one shot—you got him, I t’ink—an’ den fired once at de last man.”

“Elijah?”

“I fired two times afore my gun jammed, suh. I hit de same man wid both of dem. I was tryin’ to aim my Spencer, but de fight ended too fast. You was right, suh. Dat rifle be too long to use easy in de t’ick brush.”

“Yes, indeed. Rose, I believe you fired twice?”

“Yes, to stop that boy escaping.” She shook her head sadly. “He was so
young!”

“Young or not, he was carrying a gun he would have used on us, and he’d have brought more of them down on us if he’d got away. Don’t doubt that for a moment. He had to be stopped.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she sighed.

“Was dey really part o’ Bloody Bill Anderson’s gang?” Samson asked. “I done heard ob him, eben on de ribberboats. Dey say he was a crazy mean man. Some say he was de debbil himself.”

“That’s what I heard, too. I’ve no idea whether they were part of his gang, or simply using his name, trying to scare their victims. Either way, they won’t do it again. Now, I want to share out some of the booty. Samson, you’ve just learned how fast you can empty a gun, and a cap-and-ball revolver takes too long to reload in the middle of a fight. Luckily, one of those outlaws carried two. Elijah, you’ve already got one of them. Samson, here’s the other. Keep them as your second guns.”