Lost Mountain Pass, page 26
What Calhoun had said made sense, though, including the reason that Theodore Marberry had put the bounty on Trusty’s head. There had never been any love lost between the two men. The attack by Calhoun had been fortuitous, but dangerous. Trusty had to wonder what else the man on the ground before him knew. Especially what else the man knew. Where was the child now? Did it live or die? Was it a boy or a girl? Did it matter? The last thing Trusty had been expecting to hear was that he might be the father of a child.
The man on the horse, the one Calhoun had called Hobbs, had regained control of his steed, took in the coming riders, and decided to lower the barrel of his weapon in surrender. The other man, Gladdy, the one that had been thrown from his horse, recovered, stood up, and put his hands up into the air, offering the same surrender as the three riders came to a stop. All three men were held at bay, something their defeated faces showed in droops, resignation, and surprise.
“Looks like you found yourself in a bit of a pickle, Trusty,” Bill Tilghman said. Tilghman was a fellow Deputy U.S. Marshal, most often associated with the Guardsmen. The help that Trusty had sent for had arrived in the nick of time.
Tilghman, in his mid-thirties, had been a marshal in Dodge City, and had had a hand in ending the Kansas County Seat Wars. A longtime friend of Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson, Tilghman was a marshal through and through. Trusty looked up to the man, even though Tilghman was only a few years older than him.
“Good to see you, Bill. Thanks for coming out. You got here just in time,” Trusty said. He tipped his hat to Chris Madsen, the other Guardsman. Michael Darby sat alongside Madsen with a glum look on his face and offered nothing. There was no sign of Heck Thomas, the other member of the trio either. Trusty assumed the two marshals had dispatched the other riders one way or another. “Everything’s all set, then?”
“It is now,” Tilghman nodded. He held his nickel-plated. 45 with pearl handles straight at Vance Calhoun’s head. “Any of the three of you move an inch, that’ll be the end of you, you hear?” He wore a Colt SA .38 with a five-and-a-half-inch barrel on the other side of his gun belt for backup if he needed it.
Calhoun was still on the ground, his eyes searching for an escape, his body as still as a turtle soaking in the sun. “Nobody’s gonna take on the Guardsmen,” he said. “Not today or any day.”
Tilghman, with his eyes shielded from his Stetson, and the bottom half of his face covered by a thick, black mustache, nodded. “Two of your compatriots are dead, and the other two took to the wind, running away from your trouble like scared rabbits. Now if they decide to circle back and attempt a rescue, well, I’d be surprised about that. They didn’t seem to be the kind of loyal riders willin’ to put their lives on the line for the likes of you. They ran pretty easy. Cowards I’d say.”
Calhoun didn’t say a word; all he could do was glare at Tilghman with hate and frustration.
Trusty knew better than to get in between Bill Tilghman and his position of control upon arrival. The man didn’t wear any sergeant stripes. None of the marshals did. But there was no mistaking who was in charge when Bill Tilghman was around. Trusty stood back and let the smell of spent gun smoke drift past him and mix with the opportunity of the spring day that surrounded them. Bees went about their business on wildflowers, paying no mind to the humans or the aim of their guns.
Chris Madsen inched his horse a little forward. He held a Winchester on Hobbs, the man on the horse who was still holding his gun, albeit pointed to the ground. Madsen wore a similar thick mustache as Tilghman only it was brown as fresh-cut wheat instead of black as coal. He was shorter, had a rounder face than Tilghman, making him less serious looking. Only a fool would have judged Madsen a lesser marshal than Bill Tilghman, or Trusty himself for that matter. Born in Denmark, Madsen had had a lengthy career as a fighting warrior from the time he could serve. He’d dedicated himself as a young man to duty in the Danish Army, fought in the Franco-Prussian War, then joined the French Foreign Legion. From there he came to the United States in 1876 and joined in the U.S. Cavalry, where he crossed paths with Trusty on more than one occasion fighting in the Indian Wars. Of the Guardsmen, Trusty knew Madsen the least; they weren’t close friends, just trustworthy acquaintances.
Madsen continued to hold the Model 1886 Winchester on the man on the horse. He carried a nickel-plated Colt. 45, without pearl handles, with a four-and-three-quarter-inch barrel and could match shooting skills with Tilghman or any man in the Territory. Both men were not to be dallied with, allowing Trusty to breathe a long sigh of relief. “If’n I was you, mister, I’d toss that gun to the ground and join your partner with your feet on the ground and keep your hands up in the air,” Madsen said.
Hobbs smirked, then spit to the ground. “Not today,” he said. He flipped his six-shooter up, popped his finger on the trigger, and flat-handed the top of the gun with the obvious intention of fanning the hammer. His hope of taking out the gathering of marshals was thwarted; he was too slow.
Tilghman fired first, followed by Madsen. Both men pumped three pieces of lead into Hobbs, knocking him backward off the horse. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Calhoun and Gladdy didn’t move, went from petulance to shock.
Once the gun smoke cleared, Tilghman said, “Either of you try such a thing, the result will be the same. You want to live, you do as you’re told. You want to die on this fine spring day, go ahead and point a gun at any of us and see what happens. I’ve already been shot at today, and there ain’t much that gets my ire up more than that, other than a foul-mouthed snake talkin’ bad about my mother, may she rest in peace.”
Madsen nodded and climbed off his horse with ease, holding his aim on Calhoun. “You need to stand up slowly with your hands up in the air and do as Marshal Tilghman says.” There was a stilted, detectable Danish accent on the end of each of Madsen’s words. The difference in speech had caused the man some trouble in the past, but he didn’t seem too worried about being overtaken by discriminating thugs at the moment.
Calhoun stood up and did what he was told. “Now what?”
“Go join your partner,” Madsen said. “We’ll bind you together so we don’t have to worry about you doing anythin’ stupid.”
“He’s not my partner,” Calhoun said. “Not now, or ever.”
* * *
The man said his name was Gladdy O’Connor, but Trusty didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Regardless, the two men, O’Connor and Calhoun, sat back to back, bound by a thick rope, their feet and hands manacled in irons while their fate was being decided. Neither could cause any trouble. The dead man, Hobbs, with eyes wide open to the heavens, was already drawing flies. He wasn’t going to cause anyone any kind of trouble ever again.
“Where’s Heck?” Trusty asked Tilghman casually. They were standing over an easy fire waiting on a pot of coffee to boil.
“Broke off to Kosoma. There’s been a couple of killin’s startin’ two days prior with a hotel clerk, then the next day another fella who ran the mercantile. Folks are all up in the air as you can imagine. They thought this kind of thing was behind them with the three Darby brothers seeing the end of a rope, but that wasn’t to be. No surprise, if you ask me. Rumors point toward the Darby girl you’re a trackin’ after to be the one that did it, but there was no witness of that, just a woman’s handkerchief found near one of the bodies. No sightings, no nothing. Pure speculation. Heck’s got as good a nose as any of us when it comes to rootin’ out the truth. He’ll figure it out by the time we get there. You can count on that. But the rumors don’t settle well with me. That girl was on the run after killing Judge Hadesworth. Seems unlikely she’d risk a killing spree of some kind in a town where everybody was on the lookout for her.”
A studious look crossed Trusty’s face as he held Tilghman’s attention. Madsen was twenty yards away, close to the road, keeping an eye out for anything that moved and making sure the two errant riders didn’t surprise them. Michael stood with the picket of horses on his own. He had been quiet and reserved since arriving with the two marshals.
“According to Michael, the Darby girl’s brother,” Trusty said with a nod toward the man, “she was intendin’ on meetin’ up with her husband, a Choctaw called David Folsom. The timing doesn’t seem right to me either. I wouldn’t rule it out, because she’s the vengeful type, and it’s said she is headin’ to Kosoma to finish what she started when she killed Judge Hadesworth.”
Tilghman stiffened and looked to the east. “That makes our next move all the more obvious then. We need to head back to Kosoma to help out Heck. He can handle a man and his wife, but if there’s more riders with them, he might be in a little more trouble than I thought.”
“What about those two?” Trusty said.
“We’ll drop them off at the jail in Atoka and check in at the wire office for any orders from Marshal Grimes. He’d like us to make a showing in Muskogee for Judge Hadesworth’s funeral.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“We need to ride hard,” Tilghman said. “Unless you got cause for not wanting to show face at the judge’s funeral.”
Trusty hesitated, then said, “The man is dead because of me.”
Bill Tilghman stared Trusty in the eye, unwavering. “You’ve fought enough battles to know that war takes the best of men. You did all you could. I’m not the kind of man to tell you how to live, or what to carry with you, but if I was you, I’d pay that man and his family my respects and do my best to make sure something like that didn’t happen again. Last I heard, nobody was asking you to take off your badge. If that was the case, Grimes would have made that clear from the first word of the killing.”
“We’re in no war,” Trusty said.
“Sure we are,” Tilghman answered. “We’re always in a war of good and evil, right against wrong. There’s no land to claim or a victory parade to celebrate our fight, but trust me, it’s a war that all of us who wear a badge are fighting. That girl that pulled the trigger and killed Judge Hadesworth and wounded you is as bad and unjust as any of her brothers, or them Daltons. They’re the enemy, and the bad thing is, once they’re behind bars, someone else will take their place. The war will never be over. So what are you going to do? Give up the fight? Or keep on riding and paying heed to your calling? You’re a good marshal, Trusty, just like you were a good soldier. You think about that. We got a battle ahead of us if you’re right about this girl. She needs to be stopped and stopped soon before someone else gets hurt.”
All Trusty could do was nod. He let Tilghman’s words settle inside his heart and mind. The words were a salve, but he feared there was no cure for the hurt and doubt he felt about what happened to Judge Hadesworth. “Thanks, Bill, I appreciate your kindness.”
“Ain’t kindness, just the truth. You can’t let this stop you. If you do, that girl killed the best part of you too. You gonna let her win that easy? That’s never been your way as far as I can tell.”
Trusty made his way to Calhoun and O’Connor. “On your feet, Calhoun,” he said, hoisting the rope at the man’s back.
Bill Tilghman was two steps behind Trusty, but he stopped hard in his tracks. “Calhoun? I’ve heard that name recently. The rancher from Texas? Vance Calhoun?”
Calhoun looked away as if he was hiding his face, didn’t want Tilghman to be able to see him clearly.
“That’s the one,” Trusty said. “At least that’s the name he claimed himself to be.”
“I heard he was dead.” Tilghman allowed his hands to rest at his sides, within reach of both of his guns.
“I assure you, he’s not,” Trusty said.
Tilghman tried to take in Calhoun’s eyes, but it was impossible. “Last he was heard from was in Kosoma, right before them two fellas were killed. One at the hotel. I’d guess a man like Calhoun would stay at a place like that instead of a flophouse. Then there’s a newspaper story that claimed his death in Kosoma, but there was no body or evidence to show for it. Sounds like a convenient alibi to me, doesn’t it to you, Trusty?”
“I’ll believe anything these days. What say you, Calhoun?” Trusty said. “You told me everybody believes you’re dead.”
“I’m not the only Calhoun in the world,” he said to the ground. “I’m an innocent man.”
“An innocent man who came up on me shooting, then holding me to account for something that had nothing to do with you.” Trusty stiffened and felt a bit of anger rising up that had been set aside from their first encounter.
“What are you talking about?” Tilghman said.
“Calhoun gave me the reason I have a price on my head.”
Tilghman nodded, a little more clear-eyed than he was a second before. “I heard about that. Something for us all to be aware of.”
“There might be more trouble waiting for us because of that,” Trusty said.
Tilghman smiled and said, “We’ll handle whatever comes our way, don’t you worry about it.”
Trusty turned his attention back to Calhoun. “I bet there’s only one Gladdy O’Connor that rode with Vance Calhoun. Won’t be too hard to confirm such a thing,” he said. “If that’s the case, then it might not be that difficult to put the two of you and your gang right back in Kosoma, responsible for those two deaths. That would be cause for another hanging in Kosoma if you ask me.”
“We need to ride,” Tilghman said. “The sooner we’re free of these two, the quicker we can get to Kosoma. Best way’s through Lost Mountain Pass.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Trusty hoisted Calhoun to his feet, waited until Tilghman walked off before he said, “Me and you still have some business to conclude,” as quietly as he could to Calhoun.
“We have no business to conduct,” Calhoun said. “You’re on your own now.”
* * *
Trusty, Michael Darby, and Bill Tilghman sat on their horses with their saddles packed and their eyes on the trail toward Kosoma. Madsen was still on the ground, preparing to leave. The sky was blue in the east but starting to gray behind them with a wall of clouds building into a dark mood. Distant thunder rumbled and lightning jabbed down from the sky. The air smelled of another spring rainstorm, which could either be a swift drink of water or spiral into an angry twister set on destroying anything in its path. There was no way to know for sure what was heading toward the riders, or whether they could outrun nature’s resolve. As far as Trusty was concerned there was no stopping them, no matter what. Especially now that he had a man to the right of him that he could trust. Michael, on the other hand, was as predictable as the swirling clouds. There was no way to know what to expect from him next.
“You got this, Chris?” Tilghman said to Chris Madsen, looking past him to the grumpy sky.
Madsen finished cinching his saddle, stood back, and looked to the two horses behind his. Calhoun and Gladdy were in their saddles, hands bound by manacles, their horses tied together with Madsen’s ride in the lead. The two men had been stripped of their weapons along with anything that could be used as one, like a belt, if they somehow managed to free themselves.
“Sure, I got this,” Madsen said. “Once I lock them up in Atoka, and drop off the dead body, I’ll join you. No sense slowing you down. There’s no time to waste from where I sit. If I can’t escort these two thugs in on my own, I might as well give up right now and set myself out to pasture.”
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” Tilghman stiffened and looked to Trusty and Michael. “You two ready?”
“Let’s ride,” Trusty said, kneeing Horse, spurring the roan gelding into a run. A roll of thunder followed as all three men rode off. The rain and trouble held in the angry clouds promised to catch up, doing its best to stop them from getting where they were going.
Chapter 26
Approaching Lost Mountain Pass, Indian Territory, May 1888
Rain fell steadily from the sky, muddying the trail, forcing the trio to ride slow with more caution than they wanted to. Trusty led with Michael in the middle and Bill Tilghman in the rear. Once they got to the mountain, the trail would turn from thick mud to slick gravel, making the ascent through the pass even more treacherous than it already was.
Trusty wore his slicker like the other two men to ward off the rain and cold wind that came with it. With Lost Mountain in sight, he held back and paced abreast with Michael. “Anything that you can tell us to be on the lookout for when it comes to Amelia and David Folsom will be helpful,” he said.
“You know as much as I do,” Michael answered, allowing his horse to match strides with Trusty. “I’ve already told you everything I know about my sister’s intentions. I left our home a long time ago, so her ways are little known to me. She’s a Darby. Expect the unexpected. Expect her to come at us with everything she has if she has reason to, if she is lying in wait.”
“I know that.” Trusty didn’t have to say any more. The ache in his shoulder was enough of a reminder of what Amelia Darby was capable of. “You’ve said little of David Folsom.”
“That’s because I don’t know him well at all. Amelia was young when I left home. I’ve been inside the church a long time. But I don’t know of David being a killer. That doesn’t make him any less dangerous. He’ll do anything for Amelia. That’s all I know. Any man pinned against the wall will defend himself or the one he loves.”
“I can only hope they’re in Kosoma.”
“She knows we’re coming for them,” Michael said. “You can count on that.”
“What happened back there?”
“I’d be a dead man if those two marshals hadn’t shown up.” Michael cocked his head back to Tilghman, who was riding steadily, eyes on the trail to avoid the rain in his face. Fighting men had a sense of trouble on the horizon and usually met it with a brooding silence. Trusty could tell that the conversation between him and Michael annoyed Tilghman, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know what he was riding into. “I go from being a killer to almost getting killed in a matter of days. That’s a far cry from my normal life inside the safety and quiet life of a priest.”
