Brings the Lightning (The Ames Archives Book 1) (14 page)

He shivered as he imagined how things could have gone differently. If the two men had tortured the location of the barn out of him, gone out there, killed Samson and Elijah, and gotten their hands on Rose… it simply didn’t bear thinking about. It would have been all his fault, too, for not foreseeing the likelihood that the gambler might want revenge and come looking for him, and not observing the basic precaution of remaining aware of and alert to his surroundings.
Fine scout I am!
he rebuked himself savagely.
If Rose had been raped or killed, I’d have been to blame! I failed myself this morning, and I sure as hell failed her even more.

He couldn’t take the matter to the police, either. For a start, he’d just shot both men in the head at contact range. The gunpowder burns on their skin would prove that. Shots like that weren’t normally fired in self-defense, but to commit murder. Even if the police accepted his story, he’d have to tell them about the events on the
Cumberland River Queen,
to explain why the gambler had come after him. They’d doubtless ask the riverboat’s chief steward to confirm his account. He would, but he’d probably also tell them about the letter Walt had asked him to read aloud. If the police checked on that, they’d soon learn it was forged. Eventually, they’d start asking questions about the guns in the barn. If they compared their serial numbers to army depot records, they’d find out he’d stolen a hundred and forty revolvers and forty Spencer carbines.

With all that weight in the scales against me, they’ll never believe I killed those men in self-defense. I’ll be in so much trouble, I’ll be lucky if they hang me only once! They might even charge Rose, Samson and Elijah with being my accomplices. I never should have stuck my nose into that gambler’s business. It had nothing to do with me in the first place!

He felt bile rising in his throat, and glanced around desperately as if looking for a way to escape the bitter self-knowledge of his monumental errors of judgment, but there was none. He was going to have to face up to what he’d done, and deal with it, and he knew it. And, truly—he winced at the pain of his sudden self-knowledge—was he any better than the two dead swindlers at his feet?

If someone tried to take my
gold or my guns, even though
I stole them,
I’d go after them too.
I’ve got to get my head straight, and I’ve
got
to stop looking for
the
fastest
ways to make money.
Too many of them are crooked.
If it was just me, it’d be on my head alone; but it’s not just me anymore. It’s Rose
now, most of all, and Samson and Elijah
too. I daren’t put them at risk. I can’t undo the past, but once the guns are sold—never again!

He listened intently. There were no footsteps outside, no one shouting questions.
Perhaps Jim was right. Maybe there really isn’t anyone close enough to hear what goes on in here.
He stood there for almost five minutes, mind racing, waiting in dread that someone would pound on the doors, demanding to know what had happened. At last he drew a deep, shuddering breath.
It looks like
no one heard—or, if they did, they don’t want to stick their noses into something that might get them hurt. Maybe there’s still a chance for
us
to get out of this.

He glanced at the gun in his hand. Its barrel and the front of the frame were splattered with blood from the contact shots. He grimaced, wiped it clean on the gambler’s shirt front, then checked the cylinder. The hammer had been down on an empty chamber to begin with, followed by five loaded ones, of which he’d just fired three. He wouldn’t be able to reload it until he got back to the barn.

He returned the Colt to his shoulder holster, then bent to search the bodies. The gambler’s single-shot pistol was still in the spring-loaded clip hidden in his left sleeve. Big Jim wore a similar clip for his pistol, and both men had stubby push daggers in their right sleeves. He removed all the hardware, picked up Big Jim’s fired pistol and the knife from the floor, and put them all in the back of the wagon, concealing them beneath his most recent order.

Jim’s wallet had about fifty dollars in it, but the gambler’s contained more than ten times that amount. He’d clearly been doing well—or, more likely, cheating a lot—in the saloons along the riverfront. Both wads of greenbacks went into Walt’s pocket. He tossed the empty wallets into a stall, then grunted with effort as he picked up each body in turn and deposited them in the same stall, where at least they’d be out of sight of anyone casually glancing into the stable in passing. He didn’t dare drag them, for fear of the highly visible marks that would leave on the earthen floor. He used his bare hands to brush dirt and straw over the bloodstains.

He opened the doors, wincing as the rusted hinges squealed in protest. No one was visible in the alleyway, but he knew that if he went back the way he’d come, there might be another wagon being loaded behind the store. If the clerks recognized him, they’d be bound to wonder what he’d been doing further up the alley. When, sooner or later, the bodies were found, they might become suspicious and inform the city police of his movements.

He tried to picture the layout of that part of town in his mind.
If I go up the alley for a few more blocks, I should come to the rear of a feed store. I can stop there and buy a sack of oats for my
horses and mules. The
clerks
won’t suspect anything’s wrong—it’ll be just another sale. I can load the sack out back, then drive down the alley next to the store onto the street, and head out of town with
no one
the wiser.

He suited his actions to the thought. Within fifteen minutes he was on his way back to the barn, still shaken at his folly.

I made so many mistakes this morning, I don’t deserve to still be alive. It’s not Rose’s fault, but it’s because of her. I’ve been thinking too much about her and the fine time we’re having together, instead of concentrating on what’s going on around me. I’ve got to get my scout’s instincts back! There’s a long, dangerous journey ahead, and I’m the only experienced person among us. If I don’t shape up, I might make another mistake that’ll kill us all.

Briefly he considered leaving town immediately, but discarded the idea almost at once. Elijah was still not able to handle a wagon on his own, and there were too many preparations still to be made. Besides, if if he came under investigation over the deaths of the gambler and his sidekick, it would only reinforce the authorities’ suspicions if he gave the impression of having fled in panic. No, better to continue as he’d planned and brazen out any inquiry. He wouldn’t say anything to the others about this morning’s events, either. What they didn’t know, they couldn’t let slip to others, even by accident.

―――――

It took another week to prepare for the journey across Missouri. Every day Walt and Samson coached Elijah in how to handle a six-mule wagon, and Rose practiced driving the Rucker ambulance around local farm roads. Walt continued to teach both servants to shoot. He decided that with Rose, three wagons and their loads and teams to protect, they’d need good weapons, so he gave each of them a seven-shot Spencer to replace the single-shot Sharps each had been using. They were delighted with the repeaters, and made good practice with them. He also gave them an Army Colt and an army flap holster apiece, and taught them how to perform a cavalry twist draw.

“If you expect trouble, get ready for it before it arrives,” he told them. “Open the holster flap and tuck it behind your belt. Your draw will always be slower if you have to knock it out of the way first. Don’t grab at the gun, trying for speed. That’s a sure way to be slow. Practice taking a firm hold of the butt, drawing the gun smoothly, cocking the hammer with your thumb as you swing it into line, holding the gun dead on what you want to hit, and squeezing the trigger. Point your whole arm at the target, not just the gun, and use the sights. Forget all the stories you hear about shooting from the hip. You can try that at close range when you’re more experienced, but that’s a long way ahead for you yet. Move slowly enough to be smooth. Speed will come with practice.”

They took his words and his lessons to heart. By the time they were ready to leave, both of them could draw, shoot, and hit a dinner-plate-size target ten feet away in three seconds. Even though he could do the same at triple that distance in half the time, Walt was satisfied. “That’s a good start,” he told them. “Now it’s just a matter of practice. Remember, too, the fastest draw when trouble starts is to have the gun already in your hand. Keep your eyes open. If you have your gun out before you need it, you’ll react and shoot much faster.”

Rose joined them in their target practice. “If we run into trouble on the trail, I’d better be able to defend myself,” she pointed out. She became very accurate at close range with her little Colt Pocket Police revolver, to Walt’s satisfaction. She found his Henry rifle too long and heavy for her petite build, so he shopped around in the St. Louis stores. He was happy to find a used Henry carbine with a twenty-inch round barrel, holding twelve rounds instead of the sixteen of his rifle. It cost more than he’d paid for his rifle in Nashville, thanks to the scarcity of the carbine model, but he didn’t quibble. He had the store’s gunsmith shorten the stock to fit Rose, paying extra for a rush job. She found she could handle the shorter, lighter carbine more easily than the full-size rifle. Walt attached revolver holsters and stiff leather tubes for rifles behind each wagon seat, so the drivers would always have their weapons available in case of need.

He used the training to re-attune himself to constant vigilance. Over time it grew easier to give Rose all the attention, warmth and affection she desired and deserved, but also maintain the higher level of alertness he needed.

On the penultimate day Walt retrieved his valuables from the strong room in town, then the men began the back-breaking task of loading all the weapons, ammunition and supplies. They tried to divide the cargo evenly, putting about two and a half thousand pounds into each wagon. His and Rose’s weapons, ammunition, clothes and personal effects went into the ambulance, where they’d be protected against the jolts and jars of the road by the vehicle’s springs. Samson and Elijah overhauled and cleaned the harness for the vehicles, spread and tied down the covers and awnings, filled the water barrels from the well, greased the wheel hubs, and generally made sure all was in order for an early start.

On the last night they helped Rose clean up after supper, then relaxed around the fire on folding camp stools, watching lazily as the sparks flew upward into the darkness, with cups of hot coffee in their hands and the warmth of full bellies to lull them into relaxation.

“I cain’t hardly b’lieve how much I’s learned dese past couple o’ weeks,” Elijah confessed. “Nebber had de chance to drive a team befo’. What would my ole Mammy say if she could see me now?”

“Where does she live?” Walt asked.

“Oh, she died afore de war, suh. We wuz slaves in Mississip’. I wuz freed by de Union after dey took Vicksburg, an’ went to work on de river.”

“Were you a slave too, Samson?” Rose asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I was freed by de Union in Alabama in ’64.”

“And your family?”

“My mama died when I was real young, Miz Rose. I was raised by anudder slave.”

“I’m sorry. At least both of you can start afresh now.”

“Dat’s true, ma’am. De west gonna be a new beginnin’ f’r both of us.”

Walt hadn’t told any of them about his deadly affray with the gambler and his accomplice. He still felt guilty about almost getting his wife and servants killed through his lack of awareness and attention. Silently he swore to himself never to make that mistake again, or to casually break the law, as he had in the past. The west would be a new beginning for him, too.

The seven days it took them to reach Columbia, halfway point of the journey, were almost idyllic. Once St. Louis was out of sight behind them, Walt was able to relax for the first time since his second encounter with the gambler. The sun shone, but not too warmly; occasional showers dampened the ground, but not enough to make the going difficult for the wagons; and the traffic on the road was light.

They settled into a routine of making camp an hour before sundown. Each afternoon they asked a farmer for permission to camp on his land, which was usually given in return for a small fee. They drew up the three wagons in a loose triangle formation, using ropes to join them to form an impromptu corral for the animals overnight. The horses and mules were picketed on grass wherever possible, to graze while Rose began preparing supper. They ate as the sun set, then the men drove the animals into the enclosure formed by the wagons and secured them for the night while Rose washed up, made coffee, and prepared next morning’s breakfast. Walt, Samson and Elijah took it in turn to keep watch through the night.

An early night was followed by an early start. In the first half-light of dawn, the men crawled from their bedrolls, lit the fire, and made coffee while Rose washed and dressed; then she cooked while they washed in their turn. Breakfast was a big meal intended to sustain them during the day ahead, and usually consisted of oatmeal followed by eggs, bacon, beans and skillet bread. Rose cleaned and stowed the utensils while the men harnessed the teams to their wagons and cleaned up the campsite. By an hour after sunrise, they were on the road again.