January 2014

Stagecoach

Chapter 1

It was about midday when Dillon arrived back in Dodge. It had not been the easy trip he had planned it to be.

The Marshal had left Hays early the previous day having escorted a prisoner there for trial. Fortunately he himself was not involved in the proceedings and once he had delivered the prisoner, he was free to leave. He decided to return home taking a cross-country route rather than the main trail. It was still fairly early in the year, but the weather had been good. He knew that in a few more days the cattle drives would begin to hit Dodge and then his personal alone time would be seriously limited for many weeks. The prairie would be quiet right now and, with a little luck, he would have most of it to himself. Just him and the big buckskin horse he was riding. One night to camp alone under the stars and gather his strength for the stressful times he knew were ahead. There was a place where his route would cross the main stagecoach trail heading east, but there were only two coaches a day passing that way so all should be quiet. Of course, he thought later, he should never have allowed that presumption to enter his head.

As he crested the rise just before striking the main trail he saw something happening below that made his hand reach for the rifle he carried. Then he thought again – at this distance he could just as easily hit an innocent passenger as one of the bandits he could see waylaying the stage, so reluctantly he held his fire and watched for an opportunity. At first there was no violence, he saw the driver hand over the metal strong box and watched in silence, preparing himself to go after the road agents once the stage had gone safely on its way. Then a passenger foolishly opened the side door of the coach and fired a rifle he'd had stowed beneath the seat. Matt watched helplessly as one of the bandits drew his gun and fired. Whether it was a lucky shot or the outlaw was good with a gun, he could not tell. In the end the effect was the same, the man fell from the coach and landed in a crumpled heap on the prairie floor. A hand appeared from inside the coach and slammed the door shut as the driver whipped up the horses and made a mad dash to get the coach to safety. This gave Matt the diversion he needed and he headed down the hillside towards the outlaws as fast as the terrain and his horse would allow. He watched as the three men were frantically cramming as much money as they could, from the strong box into their saddlebags. This kept them so distracted that at first they did not see him. His noisy approach was masked by the sound of the retreating stage and he managed to get close enough to fire an accurate shot before he was noticed. Even then he was loath to fire at men whose backs were turned towards him.

"Hold it!" he yelled at the three road agents and fired a warning shot in the air. For a fraction of a second they hesitated, exchanging glances then mounted their horses and scattered in different directions. He fired several shots at them as they took off, wishing now that he had handled the situation differently.

He spared a look for the man on the ground – even without dismounting from his horse he could tell that the unfortunate individual was dead. Spinning the buckskin around, he took off after the man he had seen fire the deadly shot. It isn't easy to shoot accurately when riding a horse moving at a flat out gallop, never the less Matt knew he had to stop the killer. He did have the advantage of aiming at a target in front of him; even so he never liked shooting someone in the back – even a murderer. At first he fired a couple of wide warning shots but that had no effect, the man kept riding, his only acknowledgement being a quick backward glance at the lawman chasing him. Then he reached for his own gun and started firing at the Lawman The shots did not deter the Marshal; the ability of a man firing at a target behind him while riding a galloping horse, was severely compromised, and the chance of a bullet hitting him was small. He was managing to close in on the man but figured he only had two more shells in his gun before he would have to reload. He took as good an aim as possible and fired twice, he thought he had hit the man, but if he had it didn't seem to slow the bandit down. The outlaw continued to urge his horse on ever faster. Matt felt a bullet whistle past him from behind, not close enough to do any damage but it meant that the two other men he had seen were now attempting to come up behind him. There was no sense in getting caught in the crossfire, especially with an empty gun. He needed to find some cover. Even if they did get ahead of him he would be able to track them later. Certainly that was a better option than the one he now found himself in.

He pulled the buckskin over to a small collection of rocks and grabbing his Winchester Rifle, hurriedly dismounted to take cover behind a group of boulders. He needed to reload the colt peacemaker he had been firing and at the same time watch the movements of the three men. He could only see two of them now and they were both headed towards him trying to get a clear shot. He pushed his reloaded handgun back in its holster and raised the rifle to take aim at the closer of the two outlaws he could see. His finger tightened on the trigger as he focused his sight on his intended target but his concentration was shattered by a loud shot from further up in the rocks behind him. A fiery pain in his arm and a sensation of warm blood on his skin immediately followed it. He looked around and caught a glimpse of the third outlaw, the one who had killed the passenger and now fired at him, disappearing over the rise. The man must have circled round him, no sense in firing at him now, he was well out of range and it would just be a waste of bullets. He turned his attention to the two men still approaching from the front and fired again, thinking they would try to move in closer to get a better shot. Luckily they seemed more intent on escaping with the stolen money than chasing him down. A few more shots were fired before it was over, then the two quickly given up the chase and followed the first man over the rise.

Dillon cursed his luck and his own stupidity. He hated to be got the better of – especially by a group of road agents who had just murdered a stagecoach passenger. In frustration he pulled a dirty bandana from his pocket and tied it around his arm to slow the bleeding, then got back on his horse and headed to where the dead man lay. He looked through the man's pockets hoping to find who he was. There was a wallet that he put it in his own pocket to investigate later. Luckily he found enough rocks to cover the body because he didn't think he could dig a grave with one hand.

Dillon gathered up the reins of the buckskin and swung back into the saddle. He started out in the direction he had last seen the outlaws heading, but the ground was dry and rocky and their trail became almost impossible to follow. Several times he got down from his horse to examine tracks he could see in the softer sand between the rocks. After a while the rocks became fewer and the soft prairie yielded up the information he was searching for. One of his bullets had hit the man who killed the passenger, he could see an occasional splatter of blood on the ground that became more frequent the further he went. The hoof prints he was following became unevenly spaced indicating that the rider was not sitting squarely on his mount, probably because of Dillon's bullet. A little farther on he noticed that track he was following began weaving from side to side, probably because the rider was becoming disoriented. Then he found the place where the other two riders caught up with the first man and it looked like they had taken him in tow and circled back south towards the main trail once more. He tracked them all the way, but once on the main trail it became almost impossible to follow because of he number of prints and wagon tracks in the soft soil. He rode up and down for a mile or so hoping they had turned south and he could pick up their distinctive pattern again, but no such luck.

By now the wound in his arm was beginning to bleed quite heavily and the bandana he had hastily applied was soaked. He knew his only option was to head back to Dodge which, at his current pace, was still a good three hours ride away. He knew he would have to return later.

xXx

It took Dillon a little over three hours to get back to Dodge. By the time he pulled up in front of the livery, his arm was stiffening up and he had begun to feel light headed.

When Moss came out to great him, the first thing the stable man noticed was the blood stained shirtsleeve.

"You better get on up to Doc's, Marshal, I'll take care of your horse and take your stuff along to the jail."

Matt would have protested but thought that with a little luck he could make it up the Doctor's stairs unaided if he went now.

Doc looked up as the door opened. He was used to his friend the Marshal coming home carrying a bullet or bearing a broken bone or two, and this time was no exception. He noted the torn sleeve and bloodied bandana tied around the Dillon's upper arm.

"You better come in and have a seat," he said pulling out a chair.

"I don't think it's too bad Doc." Matt hung his hat on the stand by the door and carefully sat in the offered chair.

"Maybe you should let me be the judge of that." The physician was removing his spectacles from their case in his vest pocket. He placed the wires deliberately over his ears and then proceeded to remove the blood soaked bandana. He tore the sleeve open a little more.

"No not too bad," he pronounced with a swipe of his mustached. "The bullet is still in there, not deep but it needs to come out.."

He produced a half full bottle of whisky from a drawer in his desk and poured a generous measure into one of the white coffee mugs hanging by the stove.

"Here you drink some of this while I clean some instruments."

Matt accepted the mug and took a tentative swallow then nodded in appreciation, "This is the good stuff Doc."

"Yeh well don't go tellin' everybody or they'll all be lined up out there. Now hold still this won't take a minute."

The bullet was out and Doc was already applying a clean dressing by the time Kitty arrived.

"I heard you were back," she said to Matt while watching Doc fasten the last of the bandages. "How is it?" she was looking to Doc for an answer.

"Oh he'll be fine, Kitty, it wasn't deep, looks worse than it is. I advise you to go find a clean shirt Matt and get yourself a few hours sleep."

Matt walked as far as the Long Branch with Kitty, but instead of going inside he walked along to the jail. He needed to make out a report about the stage holdup even though he had no good description of the men involved because they had all had their faces covered. The only facts he knew for sure was that there were three of them and he had got a bullet into one.

Laboriously he wrote down every detail he could remember then put the report in a brown government envelope and handed it to Chester to take along to the depot to catch the mail. He also wrote out a wire he wanted sent to all the local lawmen within a hundred miles of Dodge. There was just a chance that a man with a bullet in him would show up looking for help. Lastly he packed the wallet he had found on the dead passenger in another envelope and locked it in the safe The stage company should have a list of people who had been travelling that day and he would have them check that out later.

"Chester I'm going to get some sleep for a few hours, just keep an eye on things here. If I'm not back in time to make evening rounds, come and wake me."

With that he left the office and made his way across to the room he had at Ma Smalley's. It served him well as a quiet retreat away from the noise of the town.

Removing his gun belt and boots he laid on the bed and closed his eyes.

TBC