This is a work of fiction any similarities between the characters, events, or locations in this story and actual locations, events, or people are purely coincidental.
© 2004 Warlord
Krista quickly had us back under the shower, rinsing off the soapsuds. Then she dressed us for the trip. Luckily, we were used to dressing in authentic costume for our shooting sports.
Preparations began to move along at a quicker tempo. We pulled the buckboard and harness out of the shed. Dan easily threw the wooden ‘gang box’ on the back of the buckboard. J and K were quickly stocking the box with short-term necessities. D and I were collecting the weaponry for our trip.
It was fully dark by the time we were ready to move. That suited me just fine. As we left the B and B, Francis was pulling the buckboard with me at the reins. Krista was slightly ahead of me on Duke. J and D were following on their horses.
We were all armed; maybe even a bit over-armed. Extra guns and ample ammunition were stashed in the gang box. We each carried the equivalent, in twenty-dollar gold pieces, of a couple years’ pay for any miner in Deadwood.
I had my Winchester Yellow Boy replica in 44-40 tucked in the scabbard next to my seat, with a short-barreled, twelve-gauge, double barreled shotgun tucked in the dashboard.
My seven inch barreled Colt with the walnut stock fittings was in my strong side holster. Two shorter Colts were in my radical cross draw and shoulder holsters. One more was tucked in my belt behind my hip.
Krista had her ‘Snake’ fanner in her strong side holster, with another short Colt on her weak side. Her seven-inch Colt was in her radical cross draw position. Her strong side holster was an extreme forward rake holster, almost horizontal, strapped to her thigh.
Jan wore a long barreled Colt in a strong side holster. She would be carrying her .38-.55 Winchester lever gun.
Dan carried his oak staff with the brass strapping and end caps. His large bowie knife and tomahawk were in his belt. He would have his ten-gauge double shotgun as well.
The reins felt light in my thin leather gloves. Despite the hurried preparations I felt good about our journey. The moonlight lit our way very nicely.
Krista swung down from Duke to open the livery stable. She ground tied him while she backed my pickup and the horse trailer out. Jan directed her onto a small grassy area next to the barn.
I was backing the buckboard into the stable while they were busy. Dan took a position next to Francis’s bridle.
I had one last thing to do before we ‘left.’ I had a CK-6 timer in the cab of the truck. It was a digital count up timer with a scale up to 99 days then hours then minutes. I plugged it into an accessory plug that would remain live when the truck was off. I reset it to zero then, starting it just before I slammed the truck door heading for the barn.
Krista asked, “Why time us?”
I said, “We need to know how long we’re gone -- to keep our story straight.”
Everybody nodded. Krista was holding Duke while Jan held Buttercup’s bridle. I walked to the counter in the stable attendant’s office. I silently held up my lucky silver dollar. Glancing around the stable, I saw nodding and heard words of assent. I gave thumbs up, and said, “Three, two, one, drop.”
The room rocked once to the left, then spun once on its axis to the right. It was no less stunning the second time. Again the building was in better shape, with oats and fresh straw in the stalls.
I picked up my coin as the others were peeking out the door at Gold Rush Deadwood. I moved to Francis but he was unfazed by the transit. We quickly organized. I stepped up into the buckboard, untying my reins from the whip socket.
Krista swung the stable door open. Dan led Francis and his horse Red into the street. Jan followed, already mounted on her Buttercup, leading Krista’s Duke.
Krista closed the big door, joining us in the street. Krista was quickly aboard Duke, taking the lead. I followed, spanking Francis lightly with the reins to get him moving. Dan and Jan were just behind me.
Krista moved Duke through the moonlight at a walk on the deeply rutted dirt road that was Deadwood’s main street. She walked Duke past the Bullock House Hotel. I was looking for Saloon Number Ten, where Wild Bill Hickok died, shot in the back of the head, while holding his aces and eights.
Krista stopped in front of a saloon called The Orient, mostly because the alleyway next to it made a good spot for our small wagon. I backed into the alley. I stepped down with a small weight with a line that I clipped to Francis’s headstall. He was well trained, so this would effectively hold him. They tied their three horses to the hitching post.
The front door was completely open. I let Krista walk through ahead of me, with Dan and Jan just a bit behind.
The bar was on our left with tables on our right. The middle of the bar was empty so we stepped up to it. Jan and Dan stood back at the curve of the bar. I dropped a couple of silver dollars on the bar to get the bartenders attention, glancing at the big mirror on the wall behind the bar.
Suddenly a thin short man with long greasy black hair and yellow teeth was standing up from his table.
He yelled, “Whore. My name’s Johnny. I’m your REAL man. I got a whole silver dollar for you. Or maybe you’ll pay me.”
Now Johnny was moving toward Krista. Krista and I both squared up to Johnny.
I said in a loud voice, “She doesn’t…”
Johnny yelled, “Fuck you!”
He drew his pistol.
The sound of the three shots was so fast that they blended together into one thunderous noise.
Johnny cleared leather. Barely. He never got off a shot. He was sagging forward to the floor, his chest and stomach a mass of blood. I had my gun out as I heard the rick-rack of Jan’s Winchester behind me.
There was an immediate rustle of movement, with chairs scraping and people starting to their feet.
A penetrating voice came from a table next to the wall, “Sit down. Johnny ain’t worth dying over. They have a shot gun right of the door. Rifle left by bar. His pistol is already out.”
As the room settled I looked for the voice. A tall cadaverous looking man in a black frock coat over a white dress shirt with a black string tie was sitting alone at a table against the wall playing patience.
Next to his layout of cards he had a Lemat revolver. A curious gun for the time, as it was of civil war vintage. Much favored by the southern cavalry, J.E.B. Stuart carried one in battle. The Lemat featured nine .42 caliber shots and a .60 caliber shotgun under barrel. His seemed to still be percussion in this new age of cartridge.
I looked over at Krista. She had her gun covering Johnny, with her palm hovering over the hammer. She was exhibiting classic gunfight behavior noted by Ayoob. She was fixated on Johnny, with tunnel vision to the exclusion of other possible threats.
I wanted her attention but I remembered what Elmer Keith wrote about it being safer to juggle nitroglycerine than to startle a gunfighter. I decided to talk to our ‘benefactor’ until Krista came out of it.
I nodded my thanks for his intervention. He studied us for a bit before he spoke with a soft Virginia accent, “John Leigh Hyatt, late of the river boats that ply the water near the port of New Orleans. Our late and unlamented friend Johnny was planning to pistol-whip you. After he had amused himself making you drink the spittoon and lick his boots he was going to take your lady friend in the alley for a fuck that she would likely not enjoy.”
I said, “He’s done this before?”
Hyatt replied, “Oh, yes. A bit of a reputation had our boy Johnny. You gain some notoriety tonight.”
He continued to play his game in a slow calm rhythm, only pausing to look up at me when he had to place cards close to his revolver. He smirked at me, pointing toward my revolver with a card saying:
“Those work better when you pull back the hammer.”
I nodded, “Yes, then I end up cleaning it. No end of bother when you actually shoot one of these noisy damn things.”
Hyatt laughed at that. The room seemed to calm a bit more as we talked. They were watchful but with less antagonism.
Finally Krista snapped out of it! She did a very slick border shift dropping her fully loaded pistol under her right hand and the fanner in the left holster.
Hyatt watched that move as he played on. He cleared his throat softly to get my attention. He asked, “Looking for work?”
I shrugged. He smiled as he continued, “Miss Emma’s could use a bouncer. They keep getting killed. I think you four might do well with Miss Emma. No offense certainly.”
“None taken. Where is Miss Emma’s?”
Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be the same building as the B & B. I asked, “Anything else for people who do well?”
Hyatt answered quickly, “Stagecoach guard.”
There was a loud explosion of laughter across the room. The air was filed with raucous comments. The gist being dead men can’t spend their bonus money.
I smiled with one eyebrow up. “Problems?”
Hyatt said, “The robbers steal the gold, kill the men, rape and kill the women, then burn the coach. They tend to torture the guards. This has an unsettling effect on hiring guns. There is quite a backlog of gold in various forms waiting for transport to the railhead at Fort Cheyenne.”
It was well past time to be moving along. I reached in my vest to retrieve a gold piece. I set it on the bar. I told the bartender, “For clean up.”
He was nodding with a much happier smile.
I touched Krista lightly. She began moving down the bar to the door. Jan followed her backing out. I saluted Mr. John Leigh Hyatt as I took my leave, stopping at the door to allow Dan to precede me.
I backed out with a final look around. I tossed the bartender another gold piece as I said,
“Buy the boys a drink. It’d be better if they didn’t follow us out.”
That got a yell of appreciation from the patrons as I slipped out the door. I found Dan covering the door and windows with his shotgun with Jan across the street sitting on Buttercup with her rifle across her saddle pommel.
Krista was standing next to Duke. For the first time in her life she was having trouble finding the stirrup. I stopped her. I led her to the buckboard and got her seated. I tied Duke to the back of the wagon. I unsnapped the weight from Francis, setting it under my seat.
I pulled her fanner out of its holster for a reload. With no half cock notch, it’s a tricky maneuver. You hold back the hammer, rotating the cylinder as you punch out each empty and load each new round through the loading gate.
Our Colt guns are each essentially a five shooter. Leaving an empty chamber under the hammer prevents accidental discharge if the gun is dropped or the hammer is bumped. The drill is you load one, skip one, load four, then pull back the hammer, letting down on the empty chamber.
I tucked her freshly reloaded favorite pistol back in her right hand holster. Krista grabbed my hand as she sat silently. She began to shiver. I put my free arm around her shoulder.
Jan’s whistle from across the street interrupted us. She gestured impatiently at me. I untied my lines from the whip socket, giving Francis a soft tap on the butt with the reins. Francis walked us out of the alley and down Main Street with J and D following.
Francis just naturally turned the corner toward the B&B, now apparently Miss Emma’s High Quality Cat House