Rincon and his two companions ride out of the frigid night, and demand shelter in the sagging old cabin. They have gold in their saddlebags and the army on their tail, and they need a place to lay low. Letting them inside is the worst mistake the Whittaker brothers will ever make. The riders gun one brother down, and are holding the other hostage when the army surrounds the house. The soldiers unload on the cabin, peppering it with a hundred rounds of ammunition, and killing everyone inside except Rincon. They have their prisoner—but they don’t find the gold.
When Ben Flowers settles in the territory, he’s told the cabin is haunted by the men killed that night. He tries to make a home for himself in the abandoned structure, but as long as that gold is on his property he will never have peace.
Rincon and his two companions ride out of the frigid night, and demand shelter in the sagging old cabin. They have gold in their saddlebags and the army on their tail, and they need a place to lay low. Letting them inside is the worst mistake the Whittaker brothers will ever make. The riders gun one brother down, and are holding the other hostage when the army surrounds the house. The soldiers unload on the cabin, peppering it with a hundred rounds of ammunition, and killing everyone inside except Rincon. They have their prisoner—but they don’t find the gold.
When Ben Flowers settles in the territory, he’s told the cabin is haunted by the men killed that night. He tries to make a home for himself in the abandoned structure, but as long as that gold is on his property he will never have peace.
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Overview
Rincon and his two companions ride out of the frigid night, and demand shelter in the sagging old cabin. They have gold in their saddlebags and the army on their tail, and they need a place to lay low. Letting them inside is the worst mistake the Whittaker brothers will ever make. The riders gun one brother down, and are holding the other hostage when the army surrounds the house. The soldiers unload on the cabin, peppering it with a hundred rounds of ammunition, and killing everyone inside except Rincon. They have their prisoner—but they don’t find the gold.
When Ben Flowers settles in the territory, he’s told the cabin is haunted by the men killed that night. He tries to make a home for himself in the abandoned structure, but as long as that gold is on his property he will never have peace.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781480488427 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 06/24/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 156 |
| Sales rank: | 244,406 |
| File size: | 976 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
On The Great Plains
By Paul Lederer
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 2009 Logan WintersAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8842-7
CHAPTER 1
The starlight striking the snowfield lit it with a strange blue glow as it glimmered away into the distances. The wind was strong at the backs of the three riders as they approached the low-built cabin made of unbarked logs, plastered in its chinks with Dakota mud. It was a stretch even to call the poor shack a cabin.
The three men slowed their weary mounts as they neared the cabin. If there had been any way to avoid the shack, any human contact, they would have preferred it, but they were half frozen and their horses needed rest and food. A stubble field poking through the snow gave evidence that there had been oats or perhaps alfalfa growing here once. Now scythed against the coming winter, presumably baled and stored it might offer their ponies, angry now and fitful as they plowed through the hock-deep snow, a chance to be properly fed.
The cabin had no windows, only two gun slits cut into the front wall to provide firing holes against Indian attacks. A tendril of smoke curled up to meet the night sky from the rough stone chimney, and in the gun slits faint lantern light showed, so someone was home.
The three riders approached the house, calling out to it, then swinging down, standing for a minute in the chill of night, their horses' reins in their gloved hands, waiting for a response from within.
'What do you want!' a voice from the sagging cabin replied eventually. The door had not been opened.
'A little warmth, brother!' Calvin Mercer called back. 'And feed for our horses if you've got it. It's been a long ride and a cold one.'
The wait seemed interminable. Young Billy Carter who still wore his yellow-striped cavalry trousers shivered, stamped his feet and watched the door hopefully. Calvin seemed unconcerned. The big man, looking twice his size in the bulky buffalo coat he wore, snarled. 'I'll give 'em another minute, then I'll open the door myself.'
'Steady, Cal,' the third man said. Mercer's rashness was one of the reasons why they found themselves in their present situation. 'They'll open up. How could they turn men away on a night like this?' Billy Carter looked hopefully at the man speaking, trusting his word. Rincon was a heroic figure to young Billy. Nothing seemed to rattle the lanky, mustached man. If there was ever a man to ride the long plains with, it was Rincon.
Calvin Mercer, growing irritable at the long wait, had just placed a boot upon the sagging porch when the door opened a crack and they were eyeballed from within. 'All right,' they were told, 'might as well come in, boys.'
The three tramped across the swaying porch and into the low-ceilinged, smoky cabin. The heat of the hotly burning fire was nearly overwhelming after the bitter cold of the open Dakota plains, and they shucked their long coats quickly.
Billy Carter slipped into a corner near the stone fireplace and turned his back to the crackling flames, studying the men inside the cabin. He felt certain that they had already seen the cavalry trousers he was wearing, imagined that they knew his secrets.
The two men living in the house were similar in appearance – they might have been brothers – both had black beards streaked with gray, deep-set dark eyes and powerful arms. Their expressions were dour. Obviously they had had a long debate about the wisdom of opening the door at all. Obviously neither was satisfied with the decision they had come to. The nearer man held a cup of chicory coffee which he sipped as he approached the new arrivals across the uneven plank floor of the cabin. He halted in front of Calvin Mercer, lowered his cup, squinted at the big man and said, 'Hey! You're —' and his right hand dropped to his holstered pistol.
Calvin shifted his feet, brought up his Colt revolver and shot the man in the throat, sending him stumbling back, falling near the fire. His tin cup clattered free.
'That was sudden,' Rincon said. He had drawn his own revolver to cover the other brother.
'It's a sudden country,' Calvin Mercer said in a growl. He walked to the man he had shot, assured himself that he was dead, frisked his body and turned back to the second man.
'Got hay ricked up out there?' Mercer asked. There was no tremor in his voice. He asked the question as if nothing had happened. Billy Carter, the dead man lying within inches of his boots, found himself trembling, and it was not from the cold. He looked to Rincon for guidance, but Rincon's eyes were unreadable.
'There's some, Mercer,' the bearded landholder answered. There was no dread, no uneasiness in his voice either. Billy felt a boy among men. How far had they ridden from civilization?
'You know who I am then?' Calvin Mercer asked.
'Yes. I knew, too. But I knew better than to draw a gun on you.' The man clicked his tongue, took three strides to stand over the fallen man and shook his head. 'He was my brother, Mercer. I just want you to know there are six of us altogether. You have started something here.'
Calvin looked at the fire, again at the dead man, holstered his pistol and asked, 'You got anything to eat? I haven't had a meal since Fargo.'
After devouring some kind of pasty stew which seemed to be mostly old potatoes, onions and buffalo meat seasoned with about half a pound of black pepper, Calvin Mercer went out to see to the horses. Billy had been dispatched on his own secret mission: they had to find a safe place to stash the gold, if, as they had been told, there was a chance of four more armed men riding in.
Rincon sat in a chair, its back tilted against the wall, near the glowing fireplace. His blue Colt revolver rested on his lap. He asked the black-bearded man a few careful questions.
'What name do you go by?'
'Deuce. Deuce Whittaker,' the man answered, without glancing at Rincon as he scrubbed the dirty bowls at a bucket in the kitchen.
'Sony about your brother,' Rincon said. 'Cal Mercer is kind of trigger-happy.'
The bearded man, Deuce Whittaker, slammed a tin plate down. Still without turning, he said, 'Yeah. I'm sure it really bothered you. Your name is Rincon, isn't it?'
Rincon did not answer, but he frowned, his drooping dark mustache rising unevenly. This was not good. If the dead brother had recognized Calvin Mercer, it could have been through any of dozens of chance encounters. Now Rincon, too, had been identified. If the men following them were to be pointed in the direction they were going to take, it would be very bad indeed. Perhaps Cal Mercer's apparently abrupt killing of the other brother was more prudent than it had first seemed.
'You said there's six brothers in all,' Rincon commented. He asked languidly, 'Any idea when the others might be coming here?'
'They roam,' Deuce Whittaker said. 'It could be tomorrow, next week, could be in the next hour.'
Rincon nodded. It seemed they had made a big mistake in halting here, but what else could they have done? The night was frigid, the horses exhausted. The door opened to admit Calvin Mercer, carrying their long guns with him. He stacked the rifles in the corner and stood slapping his arms for warmth. He glanced around and asked, 'Where's the kid?'
'Doing what you told him to do,' Rincon answered.
'How about my brother!' Deuce Whittaker demanded. 'Aren't you going to let me bury him?'
'There'll be time when we're gone,' Mercer muttered, moving nearer to the fire.
'He says he doesn't know when his other brothers might he riding in,' Rincon informed Mercer.
'He doesn't, doesn't he?' Calvin Mercer said, flashing Deuce an ugly glance. 'He better hope it's not before we're ready to leave. Those other boys might find that they have two brothers they have to bury.'
Deuce understood the threat for what it was. He returned to the room and sat stolidly in the corner, keeping his bulky arms folded. He wasn't going to try for a gun.
The front door burst open and Billy Carter, wide-eyed, entered. 'I think they've caught up with us!' he said wildly.
'Them? Or the Whittaker brothers!' Cal Mercer asked.
'Can't tell,' Billy answered. He was shaking from head to foot, and not from the cold of the night which drifted into the cabin through the open door. 'There's three, maybe four riders. I caught their silhouettes against the stars while I was doing.' – he glanced at Deuce Whittaker, and grew cautious – 'what you told me to do.'
'All right, boys,' Rincon said rising lazily to his feet, 'let's fort up. The time has come to pay for our sins.'
Peering through a gun slit in the unbarked logs, Rincon saw that it was worse than they had thought. He looked at the eager-eyed Deuce Whittaker and told him, 'It isn't your brothers.'
'The army patrol!' Calvin Mercer said, shouldering Rincon aside so that he could look out the gun slit into the starry night. 'Damn! I was sure we'd lost them.'
'They must have a pretty good Indian scout with them,' Rincon muttered. 'I thought the new snow had covered our tracks well enough.'
'What do we do now?' Billy Carter asked. His nerves were jangling loud enough to he heard.
'Do?' Rincon replied. 'Why we fight them, Bill. It's that or we'll surely hang.'
'We could give up,' Billy said. His face was waxen in the firelight.
'We could. Then your worries would be over ... except for that firing squad that's waiting for you.'
'Maybe if we gave them back the gold —'
'Then they'd only shoot you for desertion,' Calvin Mercer said derisively. 'You knew what you were getting into when you opened that safe for us. Now, Billy, it's time to pay the piper. If we can fight clear of this place, we've still got a chance. There can't be more than half a dozen of them,' he guessed, still peering out through the gun slit.
'Hand me my Winchester,' Rincon said coldly. 'There's only one way out of this mess.'
Before Mercer had even given him his rifle, the soldiers opened up on the house. They were taking no chances with the fugitives. Bullets peppered the front door, sending splinters flying. The walls were peppered with .45-70 loads from their Springfield rifles. Billy Carter hit the floor.
'Damnit all!' Deuce Whittaker shouted. 'Tell them to hold their fire; you've got a prisoner in here. I have nothing to do with this!'
'You do now,' Calvin Mercer growled. 'Life can be tough, can't it?'
Rincon had shouldered his Winchester and now he levered four shots in a row with it. driving the soldiers to ground.
'Get any?' Mercer asked.
'Might've nicked one. It's too dark for sure shooting.'
It wasn't too dark for the soldiers who had plenty of ammunition and all the time in the world. Also they had a large, unmoving target and they continued to spray the cabin with gunfire. Rincon, and Mercer, who was now positioned at the gun slit on the other side of the door, shot back, aiming for the muzzle flashes from the army patrol's guns.
Not many of the rifles beyond the walls of the tumbledown cabin did any real harm, but the plank door which seemed to be their prime target was taking on the appearance of a sieve as the fight continued. The old rotting wood could not take much more. Nearly a hundred rounds had been aimed at the cabin, and some of these did penetrate, singing off the fireplace stones, cutting deep furrows along the badly plastered walls. One round found its way into the kitchen and drilled a neat hole through Deuce Whittaker's newly scrubbed stew pot. The cabin filled with acrid gunsmoke from the answering weapons that Cal Mercer and Rincon fired until the barrels of their rifles were hot.
'I'm giving up!' a frantic Billy Carter shouted wildly. 'I can't take any more of this. I don't care what they do to me!'
He lunged toward the door, swinging it half open. Cal Mercer caught his arm before he could wriggle through.
'Don't be a fool!' Cal shouted. 'Get down.'
It was too late for that. The snipers beyond opened fire again, and Rincon saw at least two bullets tag flesh. Billy Carter slapped at his forehead as if he had been stung by a bee, but a .45-70 slug had penetrated his skull. Another shot hit Calvin Mercer high on the arm and he spun around, dropping his rifle. Arterial blood spurted from a badly damaged blood vessel and he fell face forward to the plank floor, twitching and kicking.
At Billy's first movement, Deuce Whittaker had leaped to his feet rushing to snatch up his own rifle which he now held on Rincon.
'All right?' he panted at Rincon. 'Now what are you going to do?' They could hear pounding boots approaching. Rincon opened his hand and let his Winchester clatter to the floor.
'Surrender, I guess,' he said, and he took a seat in the corner chair to wait for the soldiers' arrival.
The first man through the door, an over-eager recruit, startled Whittaker and he turned that way. Deuce had his rifle in his hands, and the young trooper, mistaking the move, shot him dead. His eyes turned toward the mustached man seated in the corner, his hands raised.
'I give it up,' Rincon said quietly.
Then a trio of other soldiers entered, looked at the carnage. They tried to do something for Mercer who was still somehow, alive. They disarmed Rincon who complied with every order placidly.
Eventually a lieutenant, who appeared even younger than the soldier who had shot Deuce Whittaker, entered the room and told Rincon, 'There's going to be hell to pay for this night.'
'I expect so,' Rincon agreed. 'The devil always wants his dues, doesn't he?'
CHAPTER 2Benjamin Flowers stepped out of the county recorder's office into the bright spring day, wearing the smile of success. He folded the deed he held in his hand and tucked it into the inside pocket of his worn leather iacket. Then he stood for a minute, taking in the warmth of morning. He allowed himself the time to bask in the pleasure of his achievement even knowing that there were months, years of toil and trouble ahead.
He meant to have breakfast and then shake the dust of Fargo from his heels. He wanted to be riding ... home to his newly purchased ranch north of Pawnee. Ben Flowers was only twenty-six years of age, but he had been on his own since he was fourteen and he had worked every one of those years, saving his money while the men around him squandered theirs on whiskey and at the gambling tables. They had mocked him at times, but he was steadfast in his determination: one day he would have a place of his own.
And now he did.
Half a section of Dakota land with a structure already on it. He couldn't resist glancing at the deed in his pocket once more. It was true. The land had been put up at auction after the former owner had been delinquent in paying taxes for the five previous years. A notice in the Fargo Times had caught Ben's eye. The auction had been scantly attended and his bid of $513 dollars had been accepted. So Ben Flowers, former cowhand and roughneck, now was the owner of 320 acres of Dakota land. He hadn't seen the property. He was working on instinct, but instinct told him that if the former owner had taken the time to erect a building of some sort – undefined in the notice – it must have shown some promise as a ranch.
No matter, he would continue to be optimistic until proven wrong. He was young and had the time and strength to invest to try to prove up on the land. In time ... well, a lot of things might happen in time, but he would not let concern darken his thoughts on this bright, sunny morning. All of the hard labor lay ahead; for today he would not let anything darken his mood. He was walking on clouds as he crossed the dusty street, dodging a freight wagon and a pair of racing cowboys on their cutting horses.
Entering the shaded stable to reclaim his sorrel pony, he felt that nothing could be as fine as the way he felt on this morning. Then it became even brighter, warmer.
He had slipped the pony its bit and smoothed the saddle blanket when he lifted his head at approaching footsteps to see the pretty blonde girl in the blue gingham dress walking toward him, her expectant eyes on him. Slender, she was, but attractively built. Her hair was loose, drawn back into a tail. Her mouth was full, her nose slightly arched. She was tall and moved deliberately as she approached Ben Flowers.
'That is your name, isn't it?' she asked, as Ben paused before throwing his saddle onto the sorrel's hack. 'Ben Flowers?'
'Yes,' he replied. 'Have we met?'
'No. I need a man to escort me to Pawnee.'
'You can't mean me?'
'Yes.' She leaned against the stall partition, resting her arms on it. 'You see ... Ben, it's like this. My husband, Tom Cole, is returning from a long cattle drive to Oregon. He wrote me to say that he will meet me in Pawnee where we hope to take up residence.'
(Continues...)
Excerpted from On The Great Plains by Paul Lederer. Copyright © 2009 Logan Winters. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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