Bloody Sunday (A John Stone Western--Book 11) Read online

  “Two gentlemen to see you, sir. Claim to be ex-officers. John Stone and Bob Spruance.”

  Daltry lowered his boots. “John Stone? Isn’t he the gun-fighter everybody’s talking about?”

  “Should I call the guard?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Send them in.”

  Daltry smoothed the front of his blue shirt and made sure the knot of his yellow bandanna was centered properly. Unmarried, a West Point graduate, he’d been in the frontier army two years.

  The door to his office flew open. Two heavily armed cowboys entered, with the posture of soldiers. Daltry rose behind his desk, they shook hands and introduced themselves. “Have a seat.”

  Stone selected a rickety wooden camp chair, while Spruance straddled a stool. Daltry noticed Stone’s old Confederate cavalry hat. “Who’d you ride for?”

  “The war’s over, and we’ve got trouble in Woodlawn. Don’t you think it’s time you did something about it?”

  “I wouldn’t touch that range war with a ten-foot pole,” Daltry replied. “Which side’re you on?”

  “Neither, but Lieutenant Spruance worked for Mulgrave. Bob, tell him about your boss.”

  “Mulgrave’s the lowest snake west of the Missouri,” Spruance said. “He wants to run Reynolds off so he can overcharge the Army on beef.”

  Daltry raised his hands in despair. “I’m not saying who’s right or who’s wrong. It’s not the Army’s business.”

  “What if the sheriff asked for Army help?”

  “Already turned him down. The Army’s here to protect civilians against injuns, and that’s it.”

  “Who’s your commanding officer?”

  “Colonel Simpson at Fort Eustace. The mayor already sent him two telegrams. Colonel Simpson doesn’t want to get involved in civilian matters either.”

  “In other words, you’ll let Mulgrave kill Reynolds and won’t lift a finger?”

  “It’s a civilian matter. I’m sorry.”

  “Reynolds lost both legs at Gettysburg. He’s a soldier like us. How can you turn your back on him?”

  “The Army remains neutral in conflicts between civilians.”

  Sergeant Baxter saw storm clouds on the faces of the two cowboys as they passed his desk. He thought his C.O. might need him.

  “Everything all right, sir?”

  Lieutenant Daltry leaned back in his chair, staring out the window. “If those two civilians ever ask for me again, tell them I’m in the field.”

  ~*~

  “What can I do for you?” the bartender asked, wiping his dirty hands on his dirty apron.

  “Whiskey.”

  He filled two glasses, and Stone and Spruance carried them to the table farthest back. Silently they rolled cigarettes, while the bartender resumed sweeping. Clouds of dust rose through rays of sunlight slanting through the windows.

  “I’ll go with you to the Black Hills,” Spruance said. “My life isn’t worth a nickel in Woodlawn.”

  “Ever meet Reynolds?”

  “Saw him at a distance. He’s got sand, or maybe he’s just loco.”

  “Doesn’t seem right that a man can’t sell cattle at his price. This is still America, isn’t it?”

  “He had any sense, he’d move on.”

  “A man without legs doesn’t move easily.”

  “They say he was with the 20th Maine.”

  Stone had heard of the 20th Maine. They broke Pickett’s charge, and turned the tide at Gettysburg. “Well, I guess a man like that doesn’t walk away from a fight.”

  “His wife’s tough as he is. Shoot you soon as look at you. Most of his cowboys were with him in the war. We always figured they’d give us a tough fight. That’s why Mulgrave wanted to go at night and burn ’em out.”

  “If the both of us joined Reynolds, maybe we could hold off Mulgrave.”

  Spruance spilled a few drops of precious whiskey, so astonished was he by the suggestion. “What the hell for?”

  “Because Mulgrave’s no good. I’d like to meet Reynolds, but you don’t have to come along. If you see Leticia, tell her where I’ve gone.”

  ~*~

  Mulgrave lowered the Chaldean helmet onto his head and looked at himself in the mirror. He had dreamed of being an Army officer, but avoided the Civil War by paying someone to answer his draft notice. Clancy entered the office, and stopped cold at the sight of his boss in the strange device. “Bad news,” Clancy said. “Spruance shot Sledge last night, and now he’s teamed with John Stone. They both left town this morning, headed fer Reynolds’s spread.”

  Mulgrave removed the helmet, and the room fell silent. “Thought Stone didn’t hire his gun.”

  “He was just tryin’ to up the ante.”

  “What do you propose we do?”

  “Burn Reynolds to the ground.”

  Eunice, bony, angular, square-jawed, stood in the doorway, her arms folded. “Get Stone and Spruance first. Then Reynolds’ll be easier.”

  Mulgrave cleared his throat. “What do you think, Ramrod?”

  Clancy narrowed one eye and cocked his head to the side. “We can bushwhack ’em.”

  ~*~

  Caleb Pierce threw the reins over the hitching rail and tried to appear nonchalant. Every day he rode to the post office, and every day received mail from somewhere, but not from the person he most wanted, his daughter.

  Luke accompanied him up the walk and knew what was bothering his father, for he too missed Leticia. “Howdy, Caleb,” said Joshua Stonehill, behind the counter. He reached into a box and pulled out two letters, one from a Christian missionary organization requesting a donation, the other from a company that published religious books.

  Caleb tried not to show disappointment. He bought a few items, because he didn’t want anybody to think he rode in just to receive his mail. Luke carried the gunny sack full of supplies back to the wagon. The horses pulled them toward the ranch.

  Caleb slouched on the seat as the wagon rocked from side to side. A tear rolled down his cheek. Maybe she’s dead.

  ~*~

  The Reynolds ranch buildings lay on one side of a stream that cut through a vast grassy basin. Visibility excellent in all directions, no enemy could come close during daylight hours.

  A defense perimeter of turned-over wagons, bales of hay, barrels, and nailed-together logs were strung from building to building. The former major, seated on his wheelchair behind the office window, watched two riders approach from the north. “One of them’s Bob Spruance,” he said, passing the spyglass to Gomez, his ramrod.

  Gomez, dark brown complexion, focused the lenses. “That ees Spruance, all right. The other I do not know. I wonder what they want. Eet does not look good to me. I weel get the men.”

  Stone and Spruance approached the barricades and counted six cowboys armed with rifles moving into well-fortified positions. Stone spotted the man in the wheelchair at the window, rifle in his hands. Spruance said, “I recommend, sir, that we get the hell out of here, pronto.”

  Stone held a cigarette in his white teeth. He gauged the situation, yanked his rifle from its scabbard, and tied his bandanna on the end. “I’m going down there. You stay here with the horses.”

  “They’ll shoot your lights out. I won’t let you go in alone.”

  “I just gave you an order, Lieutenant.”

  “You don’t rank me anymore. Like you said, the war’s over.”

  They rode toward the Reynolds spread, and sunlight glinted on rifle barrels sticking out windows of buildings and openings in the barricades. Stone raised his bandanna in the air as he and Spruance prodded their horses. The animals rambled fearfully toward the front gate.

  A Mexican vaquero stepped forward, rifle in his hands. “Get down from your horses, or we weel shoot you. Eef you go for your guns, you are dead hombres.”

  “We’re not looking for trouble,” Stone said.

  “Lay your weapons, all of them, on the ground. Do not take too long, if you want to see mañana.”

  St
one and Spruance climbed down from their horses. Men with rifles advanced toward them cautiously and took their guns. Gomez looked into Stone’s eyes.

  “Who might you be, senor?”

  Stone told his name, and a flicker of recognition appeared on Gomez’s face. “The beeg gunfighter is paying us a visit? I do not trust you one minute, senor. Hold your hands in the air.”

  Gomez pressed the double barrel of his shotgun into Stone’s Adam’s apple. Stone raised his hands as a cowboy searched him for hidden weapons. “He’s clean.”

  “Check the other one.”

  A derringer came to light on a thong around Spruance’s neck. It was confiscated.

  “What do you two hired killers want?” Gomez asked sarcastically.

  “Talk to Reynolds.”

  “What about?” Gomez nudged the shotgun into Stone’s throat.

  “None of your business.” Stone was getting mad, and Gomez’s finger tightened around the trigger. They heard a woman’s voice.

  “Who are they?”

  She wore a dark brown coat and floppy cowboy hat, mid-thirties, weather-beaten features, wear and tear, but it couldn’t hide her attractive features. Stone smiled. “We’ve come to speak with Major Reynolds. Heard he needs men.”

  Gomez narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Do not believe him, senora. This ees a trick, I know eet een my bones. He ees John Stone, the gunfighter.”

  Barbara Reynolds looked Stone and Spruance over. “I don’t think we can afford you.”

  “I’m not for hire.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want to work here for no pay?”

  “That’s what we’re here to speak with your husband about, but this man took my guns and threatened to kill me. It’s no way to treat a visitor.”

  Gomez spat at the ground. “Visitor, my ass. You cannot trust a man who keels for money, and Spruance ees one of the worst Mulgrave has.”

  Stone said, “If you don’t aim that shotgun somewhere else, I’ll wrap it around your neck.”

  “Easy,” Spruance said softly. “Don’t let him rile you, Captain.” He turned to Barbara Reynolds. “John Stone is a fool, and so’m I for following him.”

  Barbara didn’t know what to make of them. “I’ll take you to my husband, but your guns stay with my men until you leave.”

  Spruance wanted to argue, but kept his mouth shut in the ticklish situation. He and Stone followed Mrs. Reynolds to the main house, and Gomez slunk behind them, aiming his shotgun at Stone’s back. A broad-chested man sat in a wheelchair near the window of an office. Barbara made the introductions. “This is my husband, Tom Reynolds.”

  A scar ran from Reynolds’s left eye to his earlobe. He looked solid, full of vitality, impatient, and curious. “Heard about you,” he said to Stone. “So you’re the man who shot Randy LaFollette.”

  “We worked for Mulgrave, and don’t like him. Thought we’d throw in with you.”

  “For no pay,” Barbara chimed in.

  Reynolds was surprised. “How come?”

  Stone didn’t know what to say. Spruance answered, “He was at Gettysburg, and so was I.”

  Reynolds noticed Stone’s hat. “Have a seat, boys. Are you hungry? Barbara, bring our guests something to eat.”

  “But … they’re Mulgrave’s paid killers.”

  “They just said they’re throwing in with us.”

  Gomez stepped forward. “They are lying, señor!”

  “Give them back their guns.”

  Reynolds’s tone had the authority of command. Muttering beneath his breath, Gomez left the living room. Barbara thought her husband had made a mistake as she pushed his wheelchair to the kitchen. She wore a holstered Colt like a man, and vowed never to be without it when Stone and Spruance were in the vicinity.

  She positioned her husband at a table covered with a blue and white checkered tablecloth, then set out slabs of cheese and a loaf of bread. The coffeepot bubbled on the stove.

  “It’s people like Mulgrave who’re ruining the world,” Reynolds complained. “They don’t respect the other person and won’t play by the rules. There’s enough here for everybody, but Mulgrave’s always swindling and lying. The law doesn’t mean anything to him, but he’ll never push me out, and the situation’s not hopeless as it looks. He can’t afford to pay an army of professional gunfighters indefinitely. With you two, I don’t see how we can lose.”

  Gomez sat on the other side of the stove. “What eef, when Mulgrave attacks, they shoot us in our backs?”

  Reynolds smiled apologetically. “My ramrod is a very suspicious man.”

  Barbara replied, “He’s not the only one. I’m not sure I trust these two either, Tom.”

  “We can trust them. Don’t worry about it.”

  Stone wondered if he was as trustworthy as Reynolds thought. But old soldiers have to hang together. If we can’t depend on each other, we’re finished. The door opened, and a cowboy carried their confiscated weapons to the table. Stone and Spruance strapped on their guns as Gomez watched every move closely.

  “You’ve got a strong position here,” Stone said, “but there’s just one problem. Mulgrave’s coming at night, and he’ll be on top of you before you know it. If I were you, I’d beef up the night shift.”

  Gomez jumped to his feet. “Now I see what he ees doing. If the men sleep during the day, that’s when the attack weel come. We must do the opposite of everything he says.”

  Stone turned slowly toward Gomez. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze spoke volumes. Gomez rose to his feet, his hand near his gun. “You want to duel me, senor? I weel be happy to go outside weeth you.”

  Stone arose, towering above everyone in the room. “Let’s do it.”

  Reynolds raised his hand. “I can’t have fighting among my men. Gomez, if you don’t trust my leadership, you’re free to go. And so’s every man in the bunkhouse. But I will not tolerate any more of these interruptions.”

  Gomez returned to his chair and frowned.

  “If we maintain fire discipline, we can stop them,” Stone said. “I know that bunch, and it won’t take much. They’re interested in easy money, not lead in their guts.”

  “If they come here,” Reynolds said, “they’ll get lead aplenty. We’ve got a secret weapon.”

  “Señor Reynolds,” Gomez said reproachfully. “Surely you are not going to tell them about—”

  “If these men are fighting on our side, they need to know our plans. Would you please wheel me to the barn, my dear?”

  Barbara grasped the back of his wheelchair and rolled him down the wood-planked incline, while armed cowboys watched from their positions at the barricades. “How solid are your men?” Stone asked.

  “You can rely on them one hundred percent. Nobody’s pushing us off this land.” They entered the steep-roofed barn, filled with the scent of hay and horses. “Show it to him,” Reynolds ordered.

  Gomez grabbed handfuls of hay and threw them to the side. The snout of a strange contraption came into view, resembling no farm implement Stone had ever seen. It had big hoop wheels, six rifle barrels, sights. Stone recognized a Gatling gun, capable of sustained rapid fire.

  “Never used one,” he said. “Heard they have mechanical problems.”

  “Not if maintained properly. When Mulgrave attacks, we’ll mow him down. And take a look at this.” Reynolds reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ketcham grenade. “We’ve got two crates. What we lack in manpower, we make up in the sophistication of our weaponry.”

  He tossed the grenade to Stone, who caught it in mid-air. Gomez watched him carefully, but Stone flipped the grenade back to Reynolds. “Mulgrave’s men won’t stand up to it.” He glanced at the position of the sun in the sky. “I’d better tell my wife what’s going on. Don’t want her alone at night in that broken-down excuse for a hotel.”

  Gomez slammed his fist into his palm. “Aha! I knew eet! He ees going to tell Mulgrave our plan!”

  Stone glared malevolently at him. “You’r
e getting on my nerves.”

  “Eef you do not like it, señor, show me how fast your hand really is.”

  Gomez’s jaw dropped wide. A gun was pointed at his nose before he knew what happened. Stone walked closer and touched the barrel to Gomez’s nose. “You’re in over your head. Next time you don’t get a warning.”

  ~*~

  Lieutenant Daltry frowned, hands clasped behind his back, as he walked toward Mayor Blodgett’s house. Once a month he dined with the lawmaker and his wife, to maintain smooth relations with the community. Uniform pressed, broad-brimmed cavalry hat at a jaunty angle on his head, he held his gleaming scabbard in his left hand, so it wouldn’t continually bang his leg. He knocked on the mayor’s door, and Mrs. Blodgett opened it. “So good to see you, Lieutenant. This way, please.”

  She led him to the dining room, where the mayor sat in front of the fireplace, sipping wine. Movement in the corner caught Lieutenant Daltry’s eye. A beautiful young woman, with skin like cream, sat beneath a mirror, thumbing through a book.

  “May I present our new schoolmarm, Mrs. Leticia Stone.”

  Lieutenant Daltry smiled. “Stone – seems I’ve heard that name recently.”

  “Perhaps you’ve met my husband, John.”

  Lieutenant Daltry raised his hand to his forehead. “I have a terrible headache. Maybe I’d better return to the post at once. When I get like this, it’s really unbearable.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Leticia replied. “But perhaps you can meet my husband some other time. He won’t be here for supper.”

  “No?” Lieutenant Daltry was pleasantly surprised. Mrs. Blodgett brought wine, and he sipped from the glass. “I feel much better now. Perhaps I can stay after all.” He sat on a chair near Leticia. “Where are you from?”

  “North of here,” she said vaguely. “How about you?”

  “Indiana.”

  “I was in Indiana once.”

  They launched into a conversation about everything and nothing at all. He considered her extraordinarily gorgeous, but noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She saw the flicker of his eyes, and her ring finger smarted in shame, as she explained her theory of education. “You have to turn their lessons into fun. Otherwise they become distracted and don’t learn.”