The Trigger - Chapter 9

Spike someone's guns ~ (idiom) To frustrate or prevent someone from accomplishing a plan.

Scott moved to the President's side and encouraged him and the other guests to rise and follow him. "Gentlemen, please follow me."

The young man, Ulysses Grant, Jr., jumped to his feet and asked Johnny, "Perhaps you'd allow us a demonstration with your gun, Mr. Lancer?"

Johnny looked Grant's son over. Ulysses looked to be a couple of years younger than himself, but his fresh face and eagerness made Johnny feel old. "Call me Johnny. Maybe later." He glanced at the French doors in the great room and knew they had to get the guests out of there. Even with the curtains drawn, the dining table was blazing with several large candelabras, and Grant would make an easy target should anyone get close to the hacienda. "Murdoch, maybe you can show our guests around?"

Scott quickly suggested, "How about the tower? Maybe before it gets too dark you can see the wonderful view of the whole valley."

Grant's son sought out his father. "I'd rather stay with Scott and Johnny."

The President glanced at Murdoch, who nodded, then replied, "I am sure you'll be safe with them, son. I can see our guards are anxious for us to move away from the windows. These fine gentlemen and I will be happy to accompany Mr. Lancer to his tower." He stood as if there was no urgency and pulled his waistcoat down over his fair-sized stomach before leaving the table.

Fox moved to the President's side, but when Grant gave the leader of his Secret Service team a sideways look, the man stepped back. Grant turned away as if Fox didn't exist and said with enthusiasm, "Lancer, lead the way."

Maria emerged from the kitchen with a tray of desserts but set it down when she saw the guests rising from the table. She saw the ill-disguised uneasiness on Teresa's face and was quick to put her arm around the young woman's shoulders.

Immediately Murdoch escorted President Grant and the women from the dining room, stopping only long enough to surreptitiously retrieve his gun belt from the coat tree. He buckled it on as they headed for the main staircase. From there they would have access to the big tower that rose from the center of the hacienda. Hoffsteader picked up a bottle of brandy from the dining room table and Rockwell grabbed some glasses then followed their host without question.

The moment everyone else was out of the room, Scott turned to Fox. "Put all of your men outside on alert and make sure they're all in position."

Fox responded, "My men know what their duties are and mine is to stay by the side of the President and his family."

"I'll be fine with these fellows," Ulysses said. He smiled as if he was going on an adventure.

Scott assured Fox, "He will stay right by my side. Johnny, I'll head for the roof and take Ulysses with me. Stay close," he ordered the young man. Scott headed for the gun cabinet and took out a couple of rifles.

"I'll check the perimeter," Johnny said. "Give me a box of shells."

Scott grabbed a box of shells, handing them off then, after only a slight hesitation, he offered one of the guns to Ulysses, who loaded it like he knew what he was doing. "Come on then," Scott said. He headed quickly through the kitchen and up the back stairs with the President's son on his heels.

Fox looked undecided but then scurried off in the direction that Murdoch, President Grant, and the rest of the party had gone.

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Johnny went out the front door cautiously, then sprinted towards the side of the house where their men were supposed to be stationed. He took a shortcut across the courtyard and along a rear arcade until he came to a wooden door in the high exterior wall. Like the kitchen door, it was not bolted, as it was supposed to be.

Johnny drew his gun, then slowly opened the door and peered out. Despite the gathering dusk he had a clear view of the open, grassy area, and beyond that, a six-rail fence. A quick look around told him there was nobody lurking about, but he wondered where the Lancer guards were. A clatter from up on the roof caused Johnny to pivot on his heel, revolver raising, cocking, his finger pulling back on the trigger.

"Don't shoot!" A young man stood up on the tiled roof of a one-story section of the building and raised his hands. He held his rifle aloft and called down, "It's only me, Johnny!"

Johnny removed his finger from the trigger and eased back on the hammer of his Colt when he recognized the speaker. "Walt, what the heck are you doin' up there? You see anything?"

"Only you." Walt came to the edge of the roof and crouched down to talk to Johnny, keeping his voice low. "I thought you was a ghost or somethin'."

"If you've got that much imagination, you shouldn't be on guard," Johnny said impatiently. "No movement?"

"Nope." Walt climbed down onto the top of the wall then dropped to the ground next to Johnny. He stuck his head and shoulders out the doorway in the thick adobe wall to look around. "You expecting company?"

Johnny pulled the young ranch hand back inside the hacienda walls and firmly shut the heavy door. He jammed the bolt home and ordered, "Go on up to the tower with the others but don't let anyone else in. And keep your eyes open. Could be a dozen men coming and there will be hell to pay if they get inside the house." Johnny muttered to himself, wishing he hadn't been so set against having Scott's cavalry friends on hand to help out in case of trouble. The hacienda was far too large a building to guard with the amount of men they had on hand. "Look, if you see Scott, tell him I'm going over to get the men from the bunkhouse-."

"But they've all gone to town, Johnny. That Fox fellow gave everyone the night off. Said he didn't want them in his way."

Cursing aloud, Johnny ran his hand through his hair. He thought of the vaqueros who lived with their families in their casitas down by the Lancer gate. "The other vaqueros. . . I'll go get them."

"There's nobody here, I tell you. There's a festival down at Santa Maria tonight and they took their wives and kids along. There ain't a soul left on the ranch except us." Seeing Johnny just standing still made Walt ask, "Are you all right, Johnny? 'Cause you don't look too good." He held his rifle awkwardly, its barrel swinging around to point at Johnny as he talked.

"What? I'm fine. And aim that rifle at the ground, Walt, or I'll take it away from you." Johnny knew the ranch hand was clumsy with firearms and wondered why the heck Murdoch or Scott had chosen him to be one of their few guards, especially when the safety of their guest was so important.

"Well you don't sound fine. More like a bear that's slept too long over the winter."

"Just get up in the tower," Johnny ordered gruffly. He watched Walt go on his way and then moved briskly through the house, checking that everything was locked up tight. There were iron grilles on most of the ground floor windows, relics left by the previous owners, the Spanish padres, so Johnny knew that most of the windows were secure. By the time he started up the back stairs, Scott was coming down.

"I sent Walt up," Johnny said. "Why'd you pick him to be on guard?"

"I didn't. Pedro was working up at Black Mesa with Walt. Walt came back and said that Pedro was sick and couldn't make it back so Murdoch got Walt to take his place. The men are all in position. Hal Brewer is out back with two of Fox's men, but once it's dark, if someone rushes the house, by the time we see them it'll be too late."

Johnny raised his Colt a little. "So we may have to do some close work. Won't be the first time." He peered beyond his brother. "You lose Ulysses?"

Scott gave a reluctant smile and started down the staircase. "He's up with Cipriano on the roof, happy to be shown how to use a Sharps. Fox is with his men guarding the back of the house. I'm going down to the great room. Are you going to join me?"

"Only if there's something left to eat. I'm starvin'." Johnny was surprised that Fox wasn't babysitting the President. But then Grant was locked up in the tower with the other guests and Murdoch, the safest place he could be.

"Come on then, brother, and meantime you can tell me what's been going on." Scott landed a slap on his brother's back and followed him to the great room. They doused the brightly burning candelabras on the dining room table and lowered the wicks of two other lamps as they passed them.

Johnny stopped long enough to grab a slab of cold steak and a piece of bread then stepped out onto the verandah. He ate hurriedly while keeping an eye out front. It was pretty dark and the bulk of the barn and the unlit bunkhouse were black. It seemed almost peaceful and he wondered if his imagination had got the better of him. Maybe nobody was coming after all. But then he thought about Pedro's unsettling absence. The man was as steady as a rock and twice as reliable. If he had to be back on a certain day, he'd be back, sick or not. Guess it was a good thing Walt came back or we'd be a man short, he thought.

Scott leaned against one of the big pillars a few feet away and scanned along the tree line on the other side of the pasture for any movement. "So? Are you going to tell me where you've been?"

After finishing up his hasty meal and wiping his hand on the seat of his pants, Johnny took a deep breath. He had to tell Scott what had gone on back in Atwater sometime, he guessed - at least some of it. "After meeting up with Fox, someone sandbagged me and kept me in a house aways from here." He shifted his weight but didn't know what else to say. He didn't want to admit he'd been suckered or that a bad feeling still hovered over him. The emotions he'd felt when he'd learned his family had been killed hadn't entirely dissipated even though now he knew everyone was alive and well. Finally Johnny added, "They tried to fool me into giving away information."

Scott didn't look at his brother but after a pause asked carefully, "Did you give away any information?"

Even though Scott's tone didn't carry even a suggestion of accusation, Johnny's head jerked up. He took a minute before responding. "Enough. I didn't. . ." Johnny stopped and began again. "See, I believed what they told me."

Scott turned his head in Johnny's direction and frowned with concern. "What did they tell you?" Johnny began to reply, but both he and Scott caught a slight movement up on the crest of the hill that brought them to attention. Johnny stepped back into the dark shadow cast by the stone pillar and his brother did the same.

One of the men on the roof signaled them with a bird call, just loud enough for the brothers to know that their men had also spotted the furtive movement of several men coming in slow. There was no doubt that whoever they were, they were up to no good. Johnny took his Colt out of his holster and checked it even though his gun was always prepped and ready. "Scott, are Murdoch and Grant safe up there?"

"They locked themselves in the tower. Hoffsteader had the foresight to take a bottle of brandy with him so they should be content and Teresa and Maria are safe with them. Walt's on guard outside the door." He smiled thinly and added, "At least if anyone gets that close, he should be able to hit his target."

Johnny pulled back the hammer on his gun to half cock. "Nobody is gonna get that close," he said firmly. Suddenly, he caught sight of a couple of men running towards the rear of the barn, keeping close to cover. They were good and if he hadn't been looking out for them, he might have missed their presence altogether. In a low voice he asked Scott, "The men on the roof won't shoot until we give the say-so, will they?"

"They know what to do," Scott said tersely. "Look! There are some more of them over there." He pointed to their left, towards the side of the house where Johnny had entered the kitchen only a short while earlier. In the darkness they saw several men snaking their way towards the back of the house, using whatever cover they could find. "I'll take care of them," Scott said in a low voice. Before Johnny could reply, Scott headed towards the far end of the verandah, staying in the darkest shadows, his revolver at the ready.

Johnny kept his eye on the barn, waiting for the enemy to attack from that direction. His every sense seemed to be heightened and his heart was beating fast. If even one of the assassins got past them there would be hell to pay.

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They never knew who let off the first shot, but Scott thought it came from one of Fox's men at the back of the hacienda. Within seconds, lead was flying from somewhere in the direction of the barn. Just as Scott was about to run from the end of the verandah to take advantage of the cover a low wall afforded, the window behind him shattered and glass flew everywhere. He heard the roar of Johnny's gun and knew the assailants were attacking the house from all directions at once.

Even as Scott ducked he saw two men rushing towards him. He dove back towards the protection of one of the big stone pillars and got off two shots. Suddenly, he was down with a man atop him. As Scott struggled, fighting for his life, he saw the second assailant aim a gun at his head. Then, there was a loud report of gunfire and the second man fell back with a gurgling cry.

Scott grappled with the remaining man, trying to disarm him. Just as he began to fear this was a battle he was going to lose, the man's head was jerked back and a blade sliced across his throat. Blood gushed everywhere, its warmth soaking through Scott's clothing. Johnny jerked the dead man off his brother and put out a hand to help Scott to his feet. The smell of blood and death emanating from the dead man was pungent.

Scott stood with his chest heaving and looked at the weapon in Johnny's hand - not a gun, but a knife - dripping with the dead man's blood.

Johnny gave a smile that held no humor at all and said, "No time to reload. Let's get inside."

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They had no sooner made it into the great room than the door splintered behind them in a hail of bullets. The brothers both hit the ground and rolled behind the closest pieces of furniture for cover. A lamp exploded right above Johnny's head and he heard the dull thunk of lead hitting the wall as he rapidly reloaded his revolver. He slammed the chamber shut and cocked the hammer, and felt, rather than saw, Scott rising to his feet at his side.

At that moment several men crashed blindly through the remains of the French doors and laid out a hail of lead as they stormed into the great room. Scott and Johnny fired back at their assailants with scant regard for their own safety. When the shooting finally ceased, the room was full of gunsmoke and reeked of cordite.

The heavy smoke slowly cleared to reveal that only two men remained standing.

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Scott stood with several pistols in his hands, all taken from the four deceased men sprawled on the great room floor. One had lived for a few minutes but now they all lay still.

Johnny kicked the body closest to him to make sure the man was dead. There was nothing to mark them as assassins; they looked like ordinary men - ranchers or cowhands. Somehow Johnny had expected them to appear different, to bear something that marked them as evil men on a mission.

"Johnny," Scott urged. "C'mon, we have to make sure everything is secure upstairs."

Johnny stared at the man lying at his feet. His hat had fallen off to expose fair, curly hair. His eyes were slightly open, his mouth agape like he was surprised about something. The fellow would have looked like he was resting, except the back of his head had been clean blown off and there was an ever-expanding pool of blood around his body.

"Johnny!"

Johnny dragged his gaze away from the dead man and looked blankly at his brother with haunted eyes.

Scott looked at the mess on the carpet and swallowed. "You know this man, Johnny?"

Johnny nodded. Without thinking he repeated the way the man had introduced himself to him when they'd met in Atwater. "Name's Bradley Trader. Out of Sacramento." Johnny shook himself, then glanced at the other three dead men. He didn't recognize any of them, he thought with slight relief.

There was no longer any sound of gunfire from up on the roof, and none of their own men appeared once the firing had halted, something that concerned Johnny greatly. But there were no further assaults on the house, so maybe they'd stopped the attackers after all. There was no way of knowing how many assassins there were or if any of them were still alive, out there and ready to mount another attack. Esther had told him that there could be up to a dozen men bent on assassinating Grant, but all it would take would be one bullet to cause grave harm.

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tbc