Chapter 16

Krista led us back to the kitchen entrance. We walked in, to be greeted by Gabrielle coming at a dead run. She launched herself into my arms full speed, staggering me back against the kitchen wall. Gabrielle was silent, holding me tightly, verifying my safety by her touch. Krista smiled as she untangled me from Gaby. K petted Gaby, calming her.

K came close, regarding me carefully. She asked softly, "Are you alright?"

I nodded, as I leaned forward for a kiss. I asked, "How about you?"

She nodded soberly as she said, "It happens so fast! It's all about our training and conditioned reflexes; only later, you realize the consequences."

Krista looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. She pointed and said in a very businesslike tone, "We need to get you to the stage office. J and D will stay here. I'll drive you. Your clothes and equipment are upstairs. Come along - it's time for you to get dressed."

Krista led me upstairs to our room. It was out of my dress clothes, and into work clothes. My shoulder holster and mid back sheath knife both came off and immediately went back on after I dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt.

Dan had picked out a long-barreled Colt in a straight up cross draw holster on the left side, with a Bowie knife on the right side, and twenty-four big .50-95 rifle rounds directly in front. I called it my 'Texas Ranger' gun belt, after the many pictures of rangers attired like this before their manhunts. The walnut stock for the Colt went in a pocket on the jacket.

The jacket was sheepskin lined, with a cowhide exterior. The coloring was a kind of a natural camouflage. A short-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun was carried in a scabbard on my back, accessible over my left shoulder. The shotgun shells went in the cavernous left jacket pocket, with more rifle cartridges in the right.

K looked at me carefully as I completed dressing. She pulled me into her arms and kissed me. Leaning back slightly, she made eye contact as she said, "Be careful, but not too careful. Take the risks that are warranted."

K handed me my .50-95 Winchester. She handed me each shell as I loaded the magazine through the side loading gate. K picked up my saddlebags. packed for the trip. She kissed her fingertip, and touched it to my lips. It was time.

We walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Gabrielle was ready to travel, dressed in a smartly tailored burgundy and blue-velvet-with-suede riding jacket and split riding skirt - the 'skirt' was actually loose pants, with a decorative front panel buttoned on. Gaby had a petite cameo brooch at her throat, white with a black rose at its center.

She wore a satin covered buckram riding hat. The hat and its long back bow were, of course, color coordinated with her outfit. The hat's veil was stylishly down over Gaby's eyes. Gaby had her very full carpetbag packed for the trip.

Emma kissed me thoroughly before she hurried out of the kitchen. Caitlin kissed me as she handed me my straw skimmer. The surprise was Jan, who pulled me into a bone-jarring kiss, driving her tongue deeply into my mouth. She simply said, "Come back," as she walked out of the kitchen, rejoining Dan in the bar.

K led us out the door, where Francis was already harnessed to our buckboard. Gaby refused my help with her bag, setting it on the back of the wagon. I helped K and Gaby aboard, then I joined them on the single seat.

K clucked at Francis, and we were off. I had hoped that, leaving at midnight, we would depart quietly, catching the robbers off-guard.

A low-key departure was not to be. Pandemonium is a far better word to describe the scene.

As Francis turned toward the stage office, the street was packed with yelling men, carrying torches and passing bottles. This mob was merely here to watch the stage depart!

Preacher Norton had his entire congregation standing in the street behind the stage singing hymns and loudly praying for Hannah's safety.

A very drunk Junius Brutus Booth was standing, naked, on the balcony across the street from the stage office, with two equally naked young ladies. He was yelling the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V at the top of his lungs.

A gambler in a top hat and tails was standing with a large blackboard, just down from the stage office, loudly taking bets on the stage's likely demise.

The crowd parted for us as we rode up to the stage office. K looked around with some amusement, then concern. She turned to me, raising an eyebrow. I replied, "Can't be helped."

We rode up to the boardwalk. Gaby again grabbed her carpetbag, heading for the stagecoach. Krista stopped me for a kiss as she softly said, "You don't come back, Gansevoort is a dead cocksucker."

I introduced Krista to Hannah Norton. If at all possible -- she was even dowdier tonight, with her floor-length, shapeless cotton dress in drab faded grays surmounted by a gray flounced bonnet, tied tightly under her chin. Her baggy, formless, dark gray flannel coat just added a colorless note to her dreary appearance. She had a fair sized brown wood and leather English hatbox clutched in her hands.

By this time, Douglas Gansevoort arrived, accompanied by his brother Sheriff Lester W. Gansevoort. If corruption had a face, it would be Lester's. If you remember the "Dukes of Hazzard" and a character named "Boss Hogg," you know Lester!

Douglas said, "Passengers and U.S. Mail to Fort Cheyenne. I have your money and the deed right here, as we agreed. You can take them with you. Lester is here to witness the transaction."

I stopped him, saying, "Give them to Krista."

Douglas balked for just a moment. Krista ostentatiously flipped the leather hold down off the hammer of her 'fanner.' She pulled her half glove on her left hand as she began flexing her fingers of her right hand, hovering over the gun butt.

Douglas and Lester took a long look at Krista, with their gaze settling on her Colt's ivory handle with its inlaid snake. They had apparently heard about Krista in action at The Orient.

Krista suddenly looked straight at Douglas, making eye contact. Her hand froze, poised inches above her gun, and she smiled.

Douglas hastily said, "That's an excellent idea. She can take real good care of them for you. Put your mind at ease."

He reached down for a bank sack. "Here. Do you want to count it?"

Krista looked at him. Her expression was glacial as she coldly replied, "No, it will ALL be there. Or you two will make it right personally!"

There was a visible wince from the brothers Gansevoort at this pronouncement. Lester began edging away. Clearly he remembered important business elsewhere. Soon he was ambling toward the nearest bar, out of harms way.

Douglas introduced Earl, the stagecoach driver, a small man tougher than whang leather. Earl spat a massive wad of chewing tobacco, hitting Douglas's boot toe. Earl looked at me. He said, "Mount up."

A man of few words, Earl. I tossed a twenty dollar gold piece to the bookmaker. I said, "Safe arrival in Fort Cheyenne."

He laughed. "Sucker bet."

I loaded the ladies into the highly polished bright red Concord Coach. Neither would relinquish their bag. I looked to my left; K smiled as she tipped her hat. I touched the brim of my skimmer. I climbed up to sit next to Earl. The top of the coach was covered with mailbags chained to the metal railing. I settled my Winchester between my legs. Earl picked up his 'ribbons' connected to his six horses and whip. He glanced over, saying, "Lean back."

I did and Earl spat across me toward the boardwalk, hitting Douglas flush on the chest with another huge wad. Earl faced front smiling, cracked his whip loudly and yelled at his team. They were at a gallop immediately. I held my skimmer. The crowd scattered before an unheeding Earl as he took us out of town at a dead run.

We galloped through Plume and Lead. Earl slowed us to a ground eating trot as we traveled toward the trail junction called Cheyenne Crossing. Earl looked over, I pointed toward the coach and he nodded.

I stepped over the side of the box, flipping the coach door open, levering myself inside. Just like all those competitions, except this time we were moving at a hard trot on a rough road.

Hannah yelped loudly when the door opened. I entered, to find them on opposite corners of the coach. I apparently had interrupted an argument. Hannah folded her arms and looked sullenly out the window into the darkness. Gaby looked petulant as she began to recount her grievances. I put up my hand as I said forcefully, "I don't want to hear it."

Gaby flinched in surprise. I growled, "We will be together in this little coach for this long trip. You two WILL get along. I want you both to be clear that I will not tolerate further arguing."

Gaby's mouth snapped shut as she regarded me peevishly. Then she, too, folded her arms, turning her head away from me to gaze out her window at the featureless dark.

I stood in the coach rocking with its motion as we pounded along. I said, "Fuck it."

As I opened the door crawling up to rejoin Earl. As I settled next to him Earl grinned, saying, "Women trouble?"

I nodded. Earl spat over the side. The immediate feminine yell of distress confirmed Earl's uncanny ability. Earl half stood as the team broke into a gallop. We ran through Cheyenne Crossing in the early morning darkness.

Earl was trying to build up a bit of momentum. We were on a long upgrade, crossing O'Neil pass. We gradually slowed, until the horses were moving at no more than a brisk walk. I looked over at Earl, asking, "Why?"

He smirked. "Money."

The he nodded. "The money and you."

"Me?"

Earl was emphatic. "You're a very cool customer, Mr. William. I'll bet sheep count you."

I shrugged. Earl, worn out from this incredible verbal effort, lapsed into silence. Shortly Earl pounded on the roof of the coach with his whip stock. The ladies' heads came out of their windows. Earl announced, "You walk."

I left my rifle in the box as I swung down. I opened the door, helping the ladies down on the road. Earl lightly spanked his team with the reins. They leaned into the harness, walking toward the summit.

I had my shotgun over my arm as we followed after the coach. Standing on the trail in the pervasive dark, both Gaby and Hannah decided that they liked my, and each other's, company.

They finally began chatting about Deadwood, exchanging gossip. Gaby and Hannah discovered a mutual antipathy toward the brothers Gansevoort. I dropped back a bit, watching our back trail, and just listening to the night sounds. I put my shotgun back in its scabbard on my back

I took a moment to critically examine our hard working team and the heavily laden stage far down on its leather springs. Note to self -- if you survive, kill that lying snake Gansevoort.

I was surprised by the shared laughter ahead of me, as Gaby and Hannah, in a far better mood, were walking along together. They paused with smiles, to let me catch up. Then each of them took an arm as we headed after the coach. Hannah now carried her bonnet as she walked.

Hannah's long blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight as she talked animatedly about this, her first trip away from home.

Earl finally halted the team as we came down out of the pass. I helped the ladies aboard, then clambered up next to him. Earl handed me a large canteen. I took a healthy swallow, saying, "Thanks."

He tapped the canteen, and pointed to the coach. I nodded, flipping the canteen strap over my neck. Earl started the team on the downgrade. They were quickly at a trot. I again swung down, joining the ladies in the coach.

This time, Gabrielle and Hannah were sitting across from each other, engaged in an amiable conversation. I passed the canteen to Hannah. After her tiny sips, she handed it to Gaby, who drank gratefully. Gaby moistened her handkerchief, wiping her face and neck. Gaby began unbuttoning her blouse wiping lower.

Pounding on the coach roof interrupted my enjoyment of Gaby's cooling off ritual. I quickly rejoined Earl, who simply said, "Buckhorn. Change."

We pulled into Buckhorn, which consisted of a small barn with a shanty next to it. I was off the coach before the wheels stopped, standing on the trail with my Winchester at ready. Earl was yelling for the stableman to help him switch teams.

Gaby and Hannah were out of the coach, much to Earl's annoyance. They headed for the Shanty's crude outhouse. Earl had the new team hitched in record time. He stood next to the coach, glowering into the dark.

I walked over. He looked up. "Where?"

"Outhouse."

"Fucking hell."

He started to climb into the box. I said. "Don't make me shoot you."

Earl stood with his leg up on the small step looking at me. He leaned over to spit. The wad hit a hand's breadth from my boot toe. Earl scrambled into the box. Leaning down, he tapped the door of the coach with his whip then pointed it at me.

I found our two passengers and hurried them back to the coach. I had them settled and started to climb into the box. Earl stood up cracked his whip and yelled. The horses lunged into a run as I tumbled into the box next to him.

Earl spat just past my head as he kept the horses at the gallop. We galloped past the Four Corners. He settled the team in the ground eating trot as we headed toward Mule Creek.

3-BAR ranch on Mule Creek was our meal stop. Emit and Clara Stauffer, with their twelve children, ran 3-BAR. Emit and Clara came to the territory after his service in the civil war. Emit bought his land from the tribes. The deer hide with the One Hundred Section Land Grant hung in their dining room.

Despite their rather amiable relations with most of the tribes, 3-BAR headquarters was a study in fortifications. It occupied the highest elevation of ground, with lofty timber walls connecting the stoutly built ranch buildings. Emit diverted the creek into his waterwheel, also providing a fine moat in the process.

The attic of the main house peeked over the walls; it had loopholes for firing points around its perimeter. All twelve of the Stauffer children, male and female, were well qualified in using firearms. They had beaten off attacks by Indians, mostly young braves out to steal horses and count coup.

Emit still drove a couple head of cattle into the nearest Indian encampment every spring. He knew they were hungry after the blizzards of winter.

3-BAR was more profitable than any goldmine, providing beef cows, horses and mules to Deadwood. 3-BAR also provided the teams for the stagecoaches, and was a principal stop for the Deadwood-to-Cheyenne line.

We galloped up to their gate. It swung open, allowing us to enter without slowing. Earl ran us into their large barn. We dismounted as the Stauffer's efficiently unhitched our old team, replacing them with fresh horses.

One of the Stauffer sons was sitting in the hayloft with a shotgun, two more with rifles occupied the roof of the main house, and the gate was already bolted closed.

Gaby and Hannah were on the porch by now, talking to Clara. We stopped by the corral, while Earl watched his team settle in. I turned to him, asking quietly, "So, Earl, tell me about the gold."

Earl spat, then he turned to me, asking, "When?"

I answered, "O'Neil Pass. Fucking team looking like they were pulling stumps."

Earl nodded. "Douglas took the coach to the mines. They packed the boot with strong boxes; that's why mail sacks are on top."

"Son of a bitch. Fucking cocksucker. He said MAIL!"

Earl said, "His lips were moving. He was lying."

"Earl, remind me to blow his fucking balls off when I get back."

Earl snickered. "Yes, sir. Let's eat. No sense in dying on an empty stomach."

We walked up to the ranch house. Gaby and Hannah were already sitting on crude benches at an outsized table. Clara was busy in the attached kitchen. One of her daughters, Abigail, was serving coffee from a jumbo sized blue enamel coffee pot.