Dark Journey Home (53 page)

Seeing Claude’s expression, he knew he’d never seen
the older man with such a hardened look, his every nerve tensed, and poised as
a mountain lion ready to pounce.  Logan hadn’t paid much attention to the few remaining
travelers at the table, but now he did.  Several had previously left the stage,
at various stops along the way. 

Across the table from him sat the lanky cowhand, who
had at first been sleeping among the baggage atop the vehicle, but later had
wrapped himself around the rear seat, and had been sleeping most of the way
since.  He was staring at the strangers at the other table also.  No hesitancy
about this young cowhand.  He was poised and ready, and Logan had the feeling
this young cowboy would be the first to tackle all five ruffians singlehanded,
if necessary.  He was a young man with self control, and probably would never
begin any kind of a fracas, but would be the first to step in if needed.  He
reminded Logan of himself in his youth.  Logan spoke softly to Claude, low
enough that the others couldn’t make out what he was saying, “Claude, I don’t
think that bunch would start anything in here, but just in case, are you
ready?”

“I’m always ready, son.  Always.”  He chuckled softly,
then continued in a whisper, “I’ve fought tougher men than these, on the high
seas, and pirates as well.  These ruffians could be chewed up and swallowed
easily by the pirates that haunt the oceans, far and wide.  I’ve seen them all,
and would likely have handled all five of these chaps, in my younger days, and
had strength to spare.” 

After giving a soft laugh, Logan answered, “I don’t
believe they care much for the odds anyway, Claude.”  And he motioned towards
the young cowhand, then to the driver, and his shotgun partner, who were
sitting at a table in a far unlit corner of the room.  .   

There was an older white-haired rancher with the group
also, whom Logan had noticed, carried a bulging money belt, inside his heavy
coat, and strapped around his waist.  The rancher was hurriedly shoveling food
into his mouth, glancing about nervously in the process.  Logan felt the
rancher had probably sold a herd of cattle at the railhead in Dodge, and was
now on his way back to his home ranch, wherever that was.

The only other member of the group was a tough looking
man, wearing a gray tailored, well-worn, suit.  This gent sat at the far end of
their table, a bit away from the others in the group, an unreadable expression
on his face.  He hadn’t been very friendly during the trip, though was quiet
and well-mannered, but Logan had seen the edges of a silver star pinned to the
man’s vest beneath his coat, and immediately taken him to be a U.S. Marshal. 
No nonsense about this fellow, and whatever mission he was on, he wasn’t about
to say.

At the table where the ruffians were seated, the rough
older one of the group was admonishing the younger four with a demanding harsh
tone of voice, “Mind your manners, boys.  You wasn’t brung up to stare at
decent womenfolk. We come in here peaceful like…..to eat.  Remember what I told
you.” 

“Shore, pa.”  They mumbled, then began shoveling in
the food.

Not much was said from then on, but Logan and Claude
gave each other a look, that spoke louder than words, and at the same time they
noticed the others at their table were quietly finishing their meals, though
not missing a thing.  The proprietor behind the bar was overly busy wiping the
bar clean for the tenth time.

About a mile back, and off the trail, the small
Cavalry troop of ten soldiers, led by Lieutenant Harrigan, were seated around a
small blazing campfire, eating their small rations off tin plates.  Sergeant
O’Brien, the older trusted right-hand man of Colonel Winters, and whom Winters
had sent to watch over Harrigan, had joined up with the troop about ten miles
back down the trail and had given the young Lieutenant further orders from the
Colonel.  The Lieutenant hadn’t liked these orders.  With the arrival of the
sergeant, he’d hoped that he was being sent back to the Fort.  These new
instructions had ordered him to lead the troop all the way to Buffalo, then
return.  Harrigan had made it known that he was angry with the new orders, and
made sure O’Brien felt his anger. 

“I’m just a messenger, Lieutenant……..sir.”  O’Brien
had informed the young officer, “Furthermore, my orders are to stay with your
troop….all…..the…..way.”  He’d strung out the words.  O’Brien was a tough
experienced military man and knew the Colonel trusted him to see to the safety
of the passengers on the stagecoach, along with the safe return of the
Cavalry.  He intended to do just that, regardless of the young greenhorn
Lieutenant’s personal feelings. 

The sergeant walked over to the fire, and picked up
the blackened pot of steaming coffee, poured himself a cup, took a sip, then
sat on a boulder to enjoy his hot drink.  They still had a long ways to go, and
the weather was turning icy cold.  Well, the sergeant had been in worse.   As
he drank from the tin cup, he scanned the distance, and wondered if the young Lieutenant
had noticed the five riders come down from the hills a ways off.  They had
ridden in the direction of the way station, where the stagecoach had stopped to
change teams and probably for a quick lunch.  Lieutenant Harrigan had been
instructed by the Colonel to watch out for a group of strange riders in the
area, as there was possibility of an outlaw gang from the Midwest.  Sergeant
O’Brien sincerely doubted the young officer had his mind on any such thing.     

Back in the way station, the five men had finished
wolfing down their food, then demanded a bottle of whiskey for the trail. 
After grudgingly paying, they headed for the door.  The "boys" gave
one last leer in Olivia’s direction before shuffling out of the building.  The
wind was howling outside, with a definite frost to the air.

The proprietor took a deep breath, let it out slowly,
then approached the table, “You folks take care.  I don’t think you’ve seen the
last of that bunch.”  He warned.

Claude answered, putting on his best British accent,
“I say, old chap, you really think those men may try to assault us on the
trail?”  Olivia almost choked on her tea that she’d just taken a swallow of.  'That
old rascal uncle of mine,' she thought.  'Like he’s ever been afraid of
anything in all his years.'

Logan
chuckled.  “Well,
I for one am shaking in my boots.  How about the rest of you men?”  He asked,
looking first at the young cowboy, then at the older man with the star on his
vest, sitting at the end of the table, a Winchester close at hand.  Neither one
answered, though nodding, gave a slight grin.

The driver and his shotgun partner had walked up to
their table just then.  “Are you folks ready to roll?" asked the driver,
"I haven’t ketched me a coyote for awhile and weather’s turnin’ almost too
cold to tangle with one.”

Logan
said, “We
spotted a small troop of Calvary on our back trail, about a mile back.  Guess
that young newly commissioned Lieutenant can protect us from the ‘bad guys’.” 
Chuckling, they donned coats, hats, checked the loads in their guns, then
walked over to look out the small front window, first wiping off the steam
coating the window glass.  They couldn’t see where the five riders had gone,
but noted that the stage had been pulled up close by with a fresh team. 

“What do you think of that bunch, Logan?”  Claude
asked seriously. 

“No telling what they’re doing in this part of the
country, but they do have the appearance of a small gang of thieves, though not
the usual species from around here.”  Logan hesitated, then continued, “Most of
our outlaw gangs, here in the west, have certain codes they live by.  Believe
it or not, Claude, some are downright honorable men, and wouldn’t allow a bunch
like that into their hideouts.  Some are loners, quiet for the most part, and
keep to themselves, having sort of a mutual respect for one another, strange as
it may seem.  Ever hear of honor among thieves?” 

Claude chuckled, “Western chivalry? Yes, I have heard
of it.”    

Logan
glanced over his
shoulder at the driver and his companion, and noted that the two were
conversing in low tones.  He could only guess the topic of their conversation. 

After thanking the proprietor for his hospitality, they
left the warmth of the Way Station to brave the frigid weather of the Wyoming plains.  With the ladies safely inside the coach, blankets tucked warmly around
them, Logan and Claude stepped into their saddles, choosing to ride outside the
coach again, as did the young cowhand who had saddled an extra horse, promising
to send it back after the first spring thaw. 

He’d said his name was Harry, and he rode for a cow
spread north of Buffalo.  He wore two six-guns that appeared to have settled a
few disagreements.  No further questions were asked of him.  The man with the
star on his vest now sat in the rear seat, appearing to be asleep.

Inside the coach, Olivia, turning to her Aunt Amelia, said,
“Those men back there certainly gave me the chills.”

“I know, Olivia dear.  At one point I feared our
friend, Logan, was about to smash their faces in, the way they were leering at
you.  If I hadn’t left my umbrella in the coach, I would have brained those
fresh young chaps.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t have it with you, Auntie dear.  I
don’t think they would have taken it lightly, as our friend Henry did.  I just
hope they don’t accost us on the trail.” 

“We’re well protected, dear.  Your uncle told me that Logan spotted a small troop of Calvary back a ways on the trail.  He thinks they may be
following us for protection in case of trouble.” 

“Well, if that fresh young Lieutenant is leading them,
let the Lord be with us.  Thankfully we can well depend on our own men for
protection.  I don’t believe that officer is qualified for anything more than
strutting around like a peacock.”  Olivia retorted.

“You are probably right dear.”  Amelia laughed,
lightening the moment, then offered, “However, I did note some rather rough
appearing men at the fort.  I only hope he has some of them with him.  Besides
there is still the danger of an Indian attack.  Mercy, what has that uncle of
yours gotten us into?”

“Auntie dear, you willingly sailed to this wonderful
country, then married my uncle.  So don’t complain to me.”  Olivia retorted, as
she pulled a book of poetry from her carpetbag, then glanced out the frosty
window to note the tall figures of Logan and her uncle riding next to the
stage.  She sighed deeply, then began reading.

Amelia was still chattering, “Well, if I’d listened to
my own instincts, I would have stayed safely at the Manor.” 

“Sure you would have, dear, with uncle and me over
here missing you terribly.  Of course, and pigs fly too.”  Olivia put her
attention to reading poetry, though her thoughts were with the tall rider on
the sturdy roan gelding. 

Logan
grinned and
waved a gloved hand at Olivia when he saw her take a quick peek through the
steamed window glass.  She quickly looked away.  He then rode up to the front
of the stage, and spoke to the driver, “Morgan, have you had any trouble lately
going through that pass up ahead?” 

“Not for a couple years, Logan.  But I been thinkin’
that bunch back there at the stage stop ain’t from these parts, so they just
might feel lucky.”  He chuckled, “There’s only five of ‘em, unless they have a
few more waitin’ in them hills, but it don’t seem likely in this weather,……you
never know though.  We sure ain’t carryin’ no gold, nor payroll for the mines. 
Hell, no matter, five ain’t much more’n a handful of ants.  We can scatter that
bunch in no time at all. Could be they spotted the money belt that rancher
inside the stage is carryin’.  He come all the way from the railhead up at
Dodge, an’ they could have tailed ‘im from there, maybe waitin’ ‘til we get to
a sparsely populated area.  I’m thinkin’, like you, the pass up ahead.”

Logan
nodded,
“Exactly.  If they plan to try anything at all, it would be at the pass.  Well,
we’ll keep our eyes open.  Take care, old timer.”  Logan slowed down for Claude
to catch up to him, then the two of them began scanning the low hills off in
the distance.  Texas Jake Morgan slowed the team to a trot, saving the horses’
energy for a possible run through the narrow opening of the rocky pass up
ahead.

A few minutes later, they were about to enter the pass
and the team was picking up speed, as the report of a rifle shot sounded from
high up on a rocky ledge overlooking the pass, then echoing off the cliffs. 
The bullet whizzed past the head of the shotgun rider, Danny Longtree, who then
fiercely grabbed his rifle, and began firing away towards the spot where the
single shot had been fired from.