Authors: William W. Johnstone

Wyoming Slaughter (22 page)

BOOK: Wyoming Slaughter

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C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

I sure wasn't feeling much like a sheriff. Those fellows were serious, and they were going to do whatever they had to do, and they were organized to do it, and were prepared to face the consequences.

“All right,” said Throckmorton, “you have one last chance: we can go to the courthouse or the hanging tree.”

“What do you expect to gain from this?” Cernix asked.

“A new county government. I've already been elected the provisional chairman. The other provos, as we call them, will remain secret.”

“And the state militia will never show up,” Sally snapped.

“No, they won't. The state's officers are bought and sold like apples.”

“And the cavalry's not riding in,” Cernix said, scorn in his tone.

Throckmorton smiled. “The cavalry we might worry about.”

That sure entertained me. A column of blue-clad cavalry was the only thing on earth these revolutionaries feared. It was true the cavalry had a little magic. Over in Silas Magee's haberdashery the snappy cavalry officer's uniform in the window had drawn customers for as long as I could remember. Magee always bragged that he'd been a cavalry officer, but no one could ever prove it.

It sure was dark. There was a long pause, and then Throckmorton spoke quietly. “Let's get on with it. The whole thing must be done before dawn.”

The cowboy revolutionaries prodded the count and countess, Rusty, and me, outside and into the summer's night. It was utterly silent in Doubtful, where citizens slumbered peacefully. A sliver of a moon did nothing to allay the deep dark. I wandered along barefoot, in my stained white union suit; Rusty in his white underdrawers; the von Strombergers in their robes. The destination became plain after a bit. Southeast of town, on the creek, rose a massive cottonwood with burly, sheltering limbs, as noble a tree as ever grew in Puma County. Twenty or thirty cowboys stood around the tree. There were ten nooses strung from a single splendid limb, lit only by a single lantern. The cowboys were all masked, but I figured I would know plenty of those faces if the masks came off. Rusty would know them, too.

When we arrived, not much happened at first. We simply settled on the ground and fought mean and hungry mosquitoes. The revolutionaries were waiting for something, and I finally figured it was the rest of the county officials. Throckmorton had said the whole batch would be strung up if the tax laws weren't repealed. That meant waking all those people and dragging them to the hanging tree. The revolutionaries were sure well organized.

“You still know how to play the bugle, Rusty?” I asked. “You could play âTaps.'”

Rusty glared at me and hunkered down inside of himself.

“I always liked them cavalry commands, Attack, Boots and Saddles, all that.”

“No cavalry's gonna show up, Cotton,” Rusty said.

“Never know,” I said. “Cavalry shows up most any time.”

Rusty stared at me.

The count and countess sat quietly. They had a special burden on them. Their decisions were affecting the fate of several lives. But the count just glared proudly at his captors. The seconds and minutes clicked on, and finally some men showed up dragging Lawyer Stokes in a nightshirt. He looked pale, if not terrified, his hair disheveled and his gaze piteous. Collecting the rest was apparently proving to be difficult, but I didn't doubt it was going to get done. It still was not far past midnight, and there was another four hours to dawn.

I couldn't sit still anymore. “You fellers mind if I head into the bushes? This here's making me needful,” I said.

Oddly, my captors laughed. Throckmorton jerked a thumb. “Keep an eye on him,” he said. I rose slowly and headed for the riverbank where willow brush grew thick, and as soon as the lamplight had dimmed, I stripped my union suit off and arranged it in the brush to look like I was sitting, my back to the lamp, the suit faintly visible to the crowd. Then I pulled up river mud and clapped it over me, especially my shoulders and neck, and my cheeks, too. I hoped the shine of dripping water wouldn't catch lamplight.

Then I simply stepped into the creek, hoping not to snag my feet on deadfall or sharp rocks, and headed upstream, toward Doubtful. I thought I might have only one minute, so I moved as fast as possible, feeling the uneven riverbed under me, but making progress, and then the blessed darkness covered me entirely. I was naked and it was after midnight, and I could enjoy the sliver moon.

Behind me I heard shouts and knew the ruse had been discovered, but darkness is infinite, and it extends three hundred and sixty degrees and embraces both sides of a creek, and catches up everything in its murk.

I knew Doubtful would be bristling with sentries and patrols because this coup had been well planned. I also knew, because Throckmorton had blabbed a little, that some of the cowboys were patrolling Wyoming Street's business district, which is where Magee's haberdashery was, and where I needed to go. I hoped Rusty would act but doubted that he would. But Rusty was no dummy; he'd eyed me sharply at the hanging tree.

It sure felt strange wandering around buck naked, and I hoped Eve Grosbeak wasn't nearby, but there wasn't anyone to see me anyway. The town slumbered. I got into town and past the old sporting district and the tumble-down saloons, and kept a sharp eye out. I didn't see any cowboys around, and suspected the revolutionaries had all gotten settled in Barney's Beanery since there wasn't anything to do.

Still, I edged from shadow to shadow, never sure of anything, and when I got to the block with Magee's store in it, I studied extra hard. I wasn't sure how I'd get in, but I'd find a way. I hated to break glass, though; I was barefoot and the noise might stir up the sentries.

I worked around to the alley. Something, probably a shard of glass, bit my foot. I couldn't see the ground, and alleys were not the place to go barefoot, but I had no choice. At the rear of the haberdashery I felt around for a key on a nail. Half the merchants in town kept one stashed in such places. It sure was no easy task, and the clock was ticking and lives hung in balance, but I kept feeling around, aching for that key, but I didn't find one. I fumbled around, found the door handle, turned itâand felt the unlocked door give away. I sure hoped Magee wouldn't mind if I borrowed the stuff in the window. I remembered to close the creaking door behind me. Then I worked forward, past shelves of fragrant woolens and cottons and linens, past glassed counters full of cravats and bowler hats and suspenders and leg garters.

And there it was in the window, the mannequin wearing the blue uniform of the United States cavalry. I only could hope the damned thing would fit.

It did, well enough. I got the tunic and coat and trousers off the dummy and got myself into them, glad I was a medium and the cavalry outfit was a medium. I got into the blue pants with the stripes down the side, the shirt, the jacket. The boots, that was another matter. I pulled and yanked but I was out of luck there. Maybe I could ride barefoot. I got the kepi on my head and buckled the fancy sword in its sheath. There wasn't anything else; no revolvers to wave. But the sword might do if there was a bit of moonlight. Then I saw the cavalry bugle at the foot of the dummy, and I was glad of that. I didn't know how to blow it, but Rusty did, and maybe Rusty would find a way, if Rusty was still alive.

I wished I could light a lamp and see how I looked in a mirror. My ma always told me to enlist, and I never did, but for an hour or two I'd get to be a cavalry officer and make holy hell around Doubtful.

I sure wondered about stepping out into the alley. That sword sheath would shine and clank. The bugle would catch starlight. But there wasn't any choice, and there wasn't any moon to speak of, so I did.

Sure enough, the revolutionaries had collected at Barney's Beanery and were brewing up some java in there. I hastened across Wyoming Street and down the block, and reached Turk's Livery Barn. I plunged inside, into a wall of utter blackness, and felt my way along to Critter's stall. Critter nickered. That was unheard of, and I was extra wary as I opened the gate and stepped in. My bare feet immediately plunged into warm horse apples, which were a comfort, as any barefoot farm boy knew.

“All right, I'm going to do this in the dark, and if you mess with me I'll cut your ears off,”

I said.

“Don't cut mine off,” Rusty said.

“Rusty!”

“Oh, that was fun, Cotton, except there's people fixing to get hanged.”

“Saddle up something, and tell me.”

“What do I hear clanking?”

“I am now a cavalry officer, thanks to Magee. Here's a bugle for you.”

“Ah, it all comes clear,” Rusty said. “When you slipped out, they sure were having a fit. It took a couple of minutes, maybe even five, because that old union suit was plain there in the lamplight, and it just didn't occur to them you'd left the suit behind. About then, the next bunch of county officials showed up in their underwear, and that was a real good moment for me to get out, and I did. They haven't got all the county officials yet, but we got no time at all.”

“You're good for some bugling?”

“Like a rutting elk, Cotton.”

“All right then, it's the cavalry going at 'em.”

We finished saddling in the livery barn aisle, mostly working in the dark, and Critter obliged, trying only twice to rip off my hands with his buck teeth.

“Cut it out,” I snapped.

“We got any guns around?” Rusty asked.

“There's a few lariats hanging around here. Take one if you can feel it out.”

“Anything else?”

“I've got one hell of a sword,” I said, “and you have one hell of a bugle. You know the calls?”

“Most of 'em. I've got Boots and Saddles down, and I know Forward, Rally on the Chief, Gallop, Charge, and Commence Firing.”

“All right, you're the artillery, then,” I said.

I led Critter into the night and then mounted, and waited patiently for Critter to quit his humping and complaining. Then we rode out, our horses clopping loudly in the street. There were still dozens of revolutionaries around, in the courthouse, the jail, the business district, and gangs of them were dragging county officials out of their homes. But the clop of horses evoked no challenge, and it didn't take long for us to pass the sporting district and turn off the roads toward the creek bottom half a mile distant.

“You know how we're gonna do this, Cotton?”

“Sure, we're going to ride right in.”

“And I hit them over the head with the bugle?”

“That'll do,” I said.

Up ahead there was turmoil, and now half a dozen lanterns lit the giant cottonwood and the crowd at its feet. There were shrieks and sobs, but the masked revolutionaries were slowly getting the Puma County officials ready, putting them all on horses, sliding nooses over the necks and tightening them, and getting the horses lined out. In a minute or two there'd be some sort of yell, a mess of cowboys would slap the rumps of the death-horses, which would plow forward and the nooses would pull the county people off the nags and leave them twisting in the night breezes. It sure wasn't a very pretty sight, all the masked men getting things set up. But Throckmorton sat quietly in his saddle, his face alone unmasked, observing the show.

It was too far ahead for me to see who was up and ready and who wasn't. I couldn't tell Count von Stromberger from Lawyer Stokes. I couldn't see where Sally was. I only knew that in moments, an entire government would be massacred, and all for a few cents an acre of taxation.

“You fixing to go?” Rusty asked.

“You know the call for Charge? Let her rip,” I said.

Rusty lifted the horn to his lips:
Da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah; da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, da-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah, dee-dah . . .

And he and me kicked our horses into a gallop.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-EIGHT

That bugle sure stirred up things at the hanging tree. After a little confusion, those lamps were snuffed, and all that remained was an eerie half-light, a foretaste of the dawn that was coming in a while. It had taken them a long time to collect the county officials.

Rusty knew his bugle was the only real weapon he and I had, so he kept on blatting away, the notes keen in the night air. Gallop, Commence Firing, Rally on the Chief. That old bugle sang in the night, and every veteran among the cowboys knew those songs and knew what was coming, and pretty quick there was an uproar around there.

I sensed, more than saw, that the revolutionaries were fleeing for their lives, climbing on panicked horses, skedaddling on foot, getting out, anywhere, somewhere. Me and Rusty hammered forward, our mounts at a lumbering gallop, Rusty easy in the saddle, tooting away.

It was a good thing there wasn't any light, or they would see that Rusty was wearing only his underdrawers. Rusty sensed it, too, and pulled up just beyond what starlight afforded, and began noodling out more bugle calls while I plunged straight into the camp. I pulled that handsome saber out of its sheath and began waving it around, flashing the air with it as I roared in. But the last of the cowboys had fled, howling, into the night. I emitted a rebel yell that might well have carried clear back to Doubtful and headed straight toward the line of panicked horses carrying the county government on their backs. Most of the doomed had not yet had their hands tied, and were hanging onto the hanging ropes or nooses even as the horses plunged out from under them.

I could see just enough to tell that these people might be hanged after all, so I rode in hard, and with giant sweeps of my saber I severed rope, letting struggling men tumble to earth. I saw my blade slice Sally's rope, and the count's, and saw that Lawyer Stokes was struggling, hanging on to the rope for dear life. I thought about it for a moment and decided even Lawyer Stokes needed saving, and sliced the rope in two. Stokes landed in a heap, howling with indignation. I wasn't so sure the county treasurer should be rescued, but my better nature conquered my instincts, and I sliced the man free. The horses skidded out from under and trotted away.

I could just make out the count and countess yanking the noose away from their necks, and frenzied officials wrestling with their own strangulation. But there was no time for more. It was getting almost light, and the ruse would likely be uncovered, and the revolutionaries would swarm back in and end the whole charade.

“Get out of here; get to safety,” I yelled at the count.

“Safety, you say. Are you daft? Give me a horse! We're going to whip those scoundrels.”

Rusty still hung just out of sight in the murk, bugling Boots and Saddles.

“Where he goes, I go,” Sally yelled.

“Get the rest to safety,” I yelled.

But Count Cernix was stalking the horses intended to hang them, caught two, brought them in, and hunted around.

“There were some rifles lying here,” he said, kicked around, and then yelled happily.

“Got a repeater and a scattergun. All right there, Sheriff, off we go.”

“I'll join you,” yelled Stokes. The man found a horse and mounted.

A bit more light revealed the county officials knotted about, freeing themselves from their nooses.

“Get to safety,” I yelled. “The town's full of cowboys. Maybe two hundred in there.”

“We'll rout them out,” Cernix said.

“Courthouse, Wyoming Street, and all roads out.”

“We'll fix them. Time to roll.”

“Off we go,” Cernix howled, and the howl sent a shiver through me. That man had been in war.

It had grown quiet. There was no telling where the cowboys had gone. I hoped they had gone straight to their ranches.

“Rusty, cut that damned bugling,” I said.

“My lips ain't what they should be,” he said. “Count, you mind lending me that scattergun? If there's some fighting in town, it'd be handy.”

“It's yours,” the count said.

The cavalry command rode toward town even as the eastern horizon began to show a line of light blue. I waved the saber around, just to flash some light toward observing eyes. There sure wasn't much of an army behind me, but it'd have to do.

“My dear sir, have you any plans?” Cernix asked.

“Maybe you got some,” I replied.

“The jail and the courthouse. The citadel of government. The heart and soul of Puma County. Fly the flag.”

“Which first?”

“The jail,” Cernix said. “It might yield treasures. But then the courthouse. We're going to fly the flag by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed in the twilight's last gleaming.”

I had never figured out what all those words meant, but that was fine. They'd hammer the jail and snatch the courthouse.

“Likely snipers along Wyoming Street,” I said. “Swarmed with them before.”

“Up the bloody alley, then,” Cernix said. “Scare the daylights out of 'em.”

“Mr. Pickens, have you a plan?” Stokes asked.

“I'm thinking daylight's gonna end our game. So we've gotta do her on the sly. I might be dressed like cavalry, but my boots are at Sally's and daylight will show bare feet, and Rusty's pants, and the rest of you. Say, there, Stokes, can you tell me my rank?”

Lawyer Stokes edged his mount closer and smiled. “You're a lieutenant colonel, Sheriff.”

“That's enough to command a regiment,” Count Cernix said. “Very good, sir, we are a regiment.”

“I'm thinking, let's sneak in, no bugle, nothing to wake up the world.”

“Done!” said Cernix.

“Mr. Sheriff, I'd like the honor of storming the courthouse. I would like it on my rÃ©sumÃ© that I led the charge, and was first into the citadel.”

“You got her,” I said.

“Very well, dear friends, and now, into the breach,” Cernix said.

We stormed the alley, clopping up three blocks, past the business district, and finally onto Courthouse Square, where the only resistance came from a flock of subversive pigeons.

“Rusty and me, we'll take the jail. We've been there. The rest, you capture the courthouse. We've got the shotgun, you've got the rifle.”

“Farewell, dear friends, and may we meet again,” Cernix whispered, and he and Sally and Lawyer Stokes headed their mounts across the square, while some magpies began squawking.

At the sheriff office, the door hung open. But I took no chances. Me and Rusty slid along to the side and then swung into the dark aperture, Rusty's shotgun ready and my saber drawn.

The place was empty. It had been abandoned in a hurry. There was no one in the cells. There weren't any keys visible, and no arms, but that would all get squared away. Then Rusty spotted the keys on the wooden floor. And soon we found some shotguns stashed under a cell bunk.

Me and Rusty smiled at each other.

“Better help those fellers at the courthouse,” I said. “We've got the jail in our pocket.”

The sky was bluing now, and the promise of a fine summer's day was at hand. A bird trilled. The city of Doubtful scarcely knew what the night had brought. Me and Rusty slipped cautiously into the courthouse, saw no one, and I thought it might be smart not to surprise anyone equipped with a rifle, so we began shouting and pretty quick found the rest in the courtroom.

Stokes was hunting for something, which proved to be a Wyoming flag, and this he carried to a staff that projected off the front of the courthouse. He opened the window, ran the flag out, and saluted smartly. It fluttered there in the dawn light, caught by the first rays of the sun.

“It was a great honor,” he announced. “We have conquered the seat of government. We have driven the foe out. We have restored order. We have rescued Puma County from sedition and rebellion. We have pledged our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.

“We subdued the hosts of darkness. We defeated the armies of the night, armies meant to do great harm to the placid and honorable citizens of the county. We have curbed insurrection, fought against insuperable odds, against an insidious enemy, a fiendish cabal of malignant subversives, whose purpose was to deprive this state and these citizens of a just and good government. And all this was done by the perpetrators for the sake of a small, inconsequential, tax on their holdings, which in their unscrupulous and hollow minds, they conceived as an evil to be extirpated by violent means.

“Gentlemen, lady, we have carried the day, and may it live forever in the annals of this city, this county, this noble state, and this glorious nation. I am proud to be a part of it. If my own small contribution to this great restoration is someday honored with a bronze statue on the square, I shall be more than rewarded. I shall be humbled. May my children and grandchildren pause at that statue and whisper, âThis was his finest hour.'”

With that, he sat down and wiped tears from his eyes. I felt the same things he did; every person present had felt the breath of death on him only hours before. This was no dime novel; this was bitter reality, which almost swept us all into our graves.

“Guess you fellers ought to get along home,” I said. “Me and Rusty have a lot to do. There's roadblocks to look at, and a telegraph wire to patch together, and all. Count, there's a mess of county officials off somewheres, and I'd like you to track them down. I'd also like you to get ahold of the businessmen around here and get a militia together. No telling whether this here rebellion's over or not.”

“At your service, sir,” Count Cernix said.

“Rusty and me, we'll come with you to the boardinghouse. I'd like some boots and Rusty would like anything to cover his pretty near bare-naked carcass.”

We locked up the courthouse and the sheriff office, and slipped back to the boardinghouse, where we found some of the rest, who had intuitively come there for news or safety. The count swiftly took over.

I was feeling mighty peculiar about wearing that uniform, so I ditched it and got into my regular stuff, with the sheriff badge pinned on my shirt and my feet in my scuffed boots, and that felt much better. I'd get that uniform back to Magee real quick, and tell him how it all worked out.

I was tired. We all were. We had been up all night. It wasn't over, either. Who could say what Throckmorton was even now conjuring up?

“Guess we better check things out,” I said to Rusty, and we rode quietly south, where we found nothing, twisted the telegraph wires back together, and then checked the east, north, and west roads out of town.

“You can see where they were hanging around. Look at the prints. Look at the horse apples. But it all came to nothing.”

I nodded. I was wearing out fast, and I could see that Rusty was asleep on his feet. I had one more thing to do, which was to get the uniform back to Magee, along with an explanation. I hoped the haberdasher wouldn't mind.

But by the time we got back to Courthouse Square, we found a crowd. All the relatives of the county employees had been talking, and now there were plenty of folks wondering what had happened. But Lawyer Stokes was filling them in.

“We defeated them, with courage and grace, with intelligence and audacity. We faced doom and responded, and drove the vandals out of our precincts. I am proud of the modest role I played, as the Scourge of the Rebellion, flailing away at dark design, chastising evil, encouraging our troops, heartening those whose necks were in the noose. Yes, friends, I am proud. See that flag flying proudly from the courthouse? I raised it this morning. With my own two hands, I defied gunshot and death and ran that flag out the staff, where now it resides, the legitimate emblem of our fair state. Yes, friends, I led the charge into that very building, against all odds, and now you see the result. Good order, peace, and safety.”

“Holy cow,” said I. “It's General Stokes.”

“I'm going to bed,” said Rusty. “Lieutenant Colonel, you gonna dismiss me?”

“He wants your seat, Rusty. He's running for office.”

“Fine, I'll resign and you can make me your deputy again.”

“You can bugle that around town, Rusty. Make it Rally on the Chief.”

BOOK: Wyoming Slaughter

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