Six-Gun Serenade: A Porter Rockwell Adventure (Dark Trails Saga Book 0)
Six-Gun Serenade
A Porter Rockwell Adventure
Six-Gun Serenade Copyright 2017 David J. West
Cover design/art by: Go On Write
Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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LOST REALMS PRESS
For Ernie
Contents
Six-Gun Serenade
The Money Light
SCAVENGERS: Chapter One
About the Author:
Six-Gun Serenade
“And do you think that unto such as you
A maggot-minded, starved, fanatic crew
God gave a secret, and denied it me?
Well, well—what matters it? Believe that, too!”
― Omar Khayyám, Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyàm
Somewhere on the border of the Utah and Wyoming Territories 1868:
The setting sun painted the clouds yellow like tumbleweeds in the sky. It should have been an uneventful, relaxing mid-summer’s eve, but when schoolteacher Amasa rode his nag home, he was surprised to see a trio of unfamiliar horses waiting out front. He knew most everyone thereabouts but this time he was not expecting visitors. He dismounted with a curious air and slowly went inside, worried that perhaps some type of government revenuer had come calling. He had heard tell of some folks down south being hit with high state taxes just after the territorial lines were changed. But upon looking at the men, he knew they were not revenuers.
His wife was finishing supper and had four cups of coffee laid out for the waiting men and himself. Davison kissed his wife, then extended a hand to the men saying, “I’m Amasa Davison. What can I do for you gents?” He was relieved that they did not look like revenuers but worried all the same that they were likely enough something worse.
The three men were all rough in appearance, looking as much like highwaymen as anything. The pair of younger men were probably twins since they were so similar in facial appearance.
Davison could only tell them apart because one had a wicked pink scar running jagged like a lightning bolt down his cheek and into his mouth across his lips and over his stubble dimpled chin.
The twins both wore six-guns at their sides, their boots were muddy and their pants were torn and frayed at the cuffs. Slouch hats and a devil-may-care-smirks were splashed across their faces. They also smelled of campfires, horses, alcohol and chewing tobacco. By contrast, the apparent leader of the strangers was dressed a little bit finer than the other two, his boots weren’t muddy nor his cuffs frayed quite so much as the others. He was a skeletally-thin man with an equally thin, long beard, stood and he smiled real friendly-like and extended a hand saying, “Evening, Teach. I’m Caleb Landreth, late of Philadelphia, though I am a world traveler. My two associates here are Thursday and Friday Warren.”
“Ma’am,” said one, while they both tipped their hats.
The look of surprise on the Davison’s faces at their names made one of the men say, “We’re twins,” said the other.
“I was born before midnight and he was born right after,” added the one who must have been Thursday.
“Papa wasn’t much on names,” said the other.
Mrs. Davison grunted and said, “Of course.” Nodding her approval, then turning to roll her eyes at Amasa.
Knowing the bore too strong a resemblance to one Ichabod Crane, Davison didn’t care much for being ‘Teach’ so he said so. “I prefer to be addressed as Davison, not ‘Teach’.”
Landreth chuckled, saying, “My apologies Mr. Davison. I am putting together an expedition and heard in town from several of your neighbors and again from your lovely wife just now that you can test and assay gold?”
Davison sniffed. “Yes, sir. But I’m a school teacher, I’m not looking to hire on with any of the mining outfits. My place is here. I have plenty of responsibilities right at home.”
Mrs. Davison put her arm around him, with a firm nod at her husband’s words.
Landreth smiled and held his hands up, “Oh, you misunderstand me sir, we’re not a mining outfit. We are after gold, absolutely, but we aren’t exactly . . . orthodox.”
Landreth’s two gunmen, Thursday and Friday, chuckled, making Davison uneasy.
“So what can I do for you then?”
Landreth beckoned for Davison to take a seat at his own table. “Well, Teach, I happen to have been told about a sizeable amount of Spanish gold that is buried nearby. Seems the conquistadors did come this far north and had it out with the Ute’s hereabouts and forced ‘em to mine and such until there was an uprising and all but one of those Spaniards were slain. He made a map and I was told of it. You happen to live pretty close. It’s only just a few days’ ride from here.”
Scratching at his chin, Davison said, “Well, Mr. Landreth, I’ve heard plenty of tall tales about gold and such. And most all of it is phooey. Especially if you have only heard about this map and don’t actually possess it. I’m afraid the chances of you finding anything in Indian territory is about nil. Whole lotta stories are just that—stories.”
Landreth motioned for the Davison’s to sit and hear him out. “Let me tell you the full story then. Back in 1845 or so Victorio del Negro brought a whole lot of Spaniards up here for that gold. He had the very same map.”
“I’ve never heard about that.”
“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, does it? Well, Victorio had Indians for slaves working the mines, and he plundered this countryside. He was awful cruel to the Utes, Shoshone, and such. When they had enough, there was an uprising the likes of which this country hadn’t seen since they cast the Spanish out of Santa Fe back in 1680.”
“I had heard of that. Didn’t the Puebloan’s kick them all back to Mexico?”
“For a spell, they did, sure.”
“Still don’t mean there is any gold hereabouts.”
“You really think there isn’t?”
Mrs. Davison broke in, “We heard tell of all that wealth Caleb Rhodes found. What about that?”
Davison scowled as he knew he couldn’t deny those rumors. Everyone had heard about the Rhodes mine. “All right, I’m sure there is gold in those hills somewhere, but it’s probably cursed, and when it comes to lost mines and such, those ought to be left alone, unlessen you want some serious troubles with the Utes. Map or no map. I doubt that gold is meant for the likes of us. You would have to be some kind of magician to find it and keep it.”
Landreth nodded amiably but said, “I’d expect you and near anyone else to say much the same, but how about this? I have a certain set of unique skills to help us out on this venture. My talents will absolutely find us that gold. We’ll only be gone about a week or so I expect, so this won’t be any great amount of time for
you to be away from the wife, neglecting your duties as they were. No sir, I just want you to accompany my party, assay any gold we find, and tell me of its purity. For doing just that, you will receive an equal share. I’m offering you a helluva investment for just a wee bit of time.”
Davison scrutinized Landreth, asking, “What kind of unique skills do you have?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Landreth answered with a wry grin, before motioning for his men to leave. “Boys,” he said, “why don’t you ride on back to camp and wait for Pope and anyone else he has rounded up, while I explain things to the Davison’s here.”
Thursday and Friday rode away, the thunder of their horse’s hooves beating like a drum into the distance. Landreth finished his coffee, then pulled out a deck of cards, still wrapped tight in their waxed box. He made a show of it to the Davison’s that the cards were still brand new in the package.
Mrs. Davison said, “I don’t mean to offend you, Mr. Landreth, but that was a rough looking set of men you have there. Looks like you’re heading into trouble. Right now, isn’t a safe time to go traipsing off into Indian territory. Black Hawk’s War may be just coals but it’s still smoldering. And I can’t have anything happening to my man.”
“That’s exactly why I have a rough set of men. I’ve fiercer men than those two back at camp. For protection, of course,” he said.
“About those skills,” asked Davison again.
“Right, Mrs. Davison. I know you’re worried for your husband, and who wouldn’t be, but what if I could prove to you by the fates that no harm will come to your husband?”
“That would be quite a trick,” said Davison with a smirk at his wife.
“Oh, it’s no trick. I’m what you might call a spiritualist, a seer, or any other blasted word that suits your fancy. It’s an occult gift that I’d like to show you.” He winked as he took the deck of cards and handed them to Mrs. Davison. “You break the seal Mrs. Davison. I won’t even touch them. You shuffle them for us. Now here is what ‘we in the know’ understand about the meaning of the cards. Spades are bad luck; everyone knows that. Clubs are trouble, hearts are love, and diamonds mean riches.”
Mrs. Davison broke the seal on the deck and shuffled them.
“Draw one for your husband,” said Landreth. “No peeking, just pull the first one you feel is right.”
“King of Hearts,” she said.
“See, Mrs. Davison, that card represents your husband. Another shuffle, then you draw one, Teach, for her.”
She shuffled again. Davison drew a Queen of Hearts.
“And that represents your wife. See how this works? Now shuffle again and draw five cards from anywhere and leave them face down on the table. That is going to show our fortune involved here.”
Mrs. Davison randomly chose five and placed them on the table.
“Turn ‘em over,” said Landreth.
She did and was surprised to see an ace, king, queen, jack, and ten of diamonds.
“Riches untold!” declared Landreth, “and not one whit of danger. What do you say to that?”
“I dunno,” said Davison, as he examined the deck thoroughly, though he could find no evidence of tampering or trickery. It was indeed odd, but he was sure Landreth had never so much as touched the deck.
“I’m convinced. I think you should go,” said Mrs. Davison with a smile. “It could be an awful lot of money and you’ll only be gone a week he said. Lord knows we could use the money.”
Davison grudgingly took to their prodding. “All right, I’ll go. Let me get my acids and blow pipe for assaying, but that’s the only reason I’ll be there. I’m no gunfighter if there is trouble.”
“Understood. That ain’t your job on no account. Let’s ride.”
***
The journey only took a couple of hours, but it was well after dark by the time they rode into Landreth’s camp. Davison saw at least a dozen men bivouacked there already Most looked especially rough. He recognized a couple as possible outlaws of the territory—robbers, rustlers, and the like.
“I gotta admit, Mr. Landreth, none of these men look like miners.”
Landreth cracked a smile, saying, “They are born of toil and molded from the clay of sorrow. They wander the world for a time, then set off.”
Wrinkling his brow at that answer, Davison said, “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“I was quoting my good friend, Omar Khayyàm. But you’re right, these men aren’t miners, near everyone ‘cept for the cook, Roberts there,” he pointed a spindly finger at the taller man beside the chuck wagon, “is a hired gun, plain and simple. While the cards did say we would be safe, I also believe in being prepared for trouble. And in being prepared that we may avoid trouble. Understand?”
“Well, I want them fellers to know darn well that I’m unarmed and on no occasion, am I a threat to anyone. I’m not here to pick fights nor be bullied.”
“Understood. You go ahead and get something for your belly from Roberts and then turn in. We’ll break camp first thing in the morning. Then you’ll really see something in relation to my gifts.” Landreth dismounted, signaled to a pair of waiting gunmen to follow him to his command tent. They disappeared into the tent, though the glow of the lantern cast eerie shadows that made them dark giants against the pale canvas.
Davison strode to the chuck wagon, passing a long-haired gunslinger walking the opposite direction. He was about to say howdy but was struck mute looking into the gunslinger’s eyes. They were the coldest ice blue he had ever seen and it chilled his soul. There was something about the gunslinger that seemed familiar and yet especially ominous. Davison couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as the man faded into the gloom, feeling as if he had just stepped across the path of a vicious predator.
Gathering himself, he turned to Roberts, the assistant cook, and a skinny young gunman who was standing so close he almost seemed Roberts shadow. “Evening, I’m Amasa Davison, new to the company.” He was trying to be friendly but was yet unnerved enough at the cold-eyed gunslinger that he had to look behind at the darkness to reassure himself he wasn’t about to be devoured. He started as a match flared to life, illuminating the gunslinger’s face as he lit a cigar.
Roberts shook Davison’s hand, bringing him back to the present, saying, “Good to meet ‘cha. I’m Robert Roberts. But just call me Roberts. The kid here is Echo, and my assistant there is Moslander. We call him Mozzy.”
The kid designated as Echo tipped his hat. He had a fancy rig for his six-gun and an awful pretty silver buckled belt for it. Mozzy gave a small wave hello from over the top of his stew bowl.
Roberts continued, “He’s supposed to be pretty good with a gun. Ain’t cha?”
Echo grinned.
Mozzy said, “You hungry? Try my Mulligan Stew. It’s what I do best.” He scooped up a bowl, handed it over, and patiently watched as Davison ate the steaming confection.
Davison nodded, blew on the hot surface, tasted a mouthful and pronounced, “It’s good.”
“Thankee.” He looked Davison over then as surprise washed over his face, he shouted, “Hell! Where’s your gun? Coming out here without a gun? Why’re you here?”
“Yeah. Where’s your gun?” echoed the gun slinging kid.
Davison grimaced but tried to smile as he said, “I’m a teacher. I teach chemistry at the Bridger Valley school, and they’re hoping for someone to assay some samples, so here I am. Mr. Landreth made it sound like easy money.”
“Yep. He has way with words, doesn’t he? He says we’re all gonna be mighty rich.”
“Mighty rich,” said Echo. “All of us.”
“You know who any of these others are?”
“Only some. Most of ‘em haven’t been too friendly. That big, scar-faced man that Landreth is talking to right now is Rock Pope, he’s the gun boss of most of these fellers here. Bandits mostly, I suspect. I heard ‘em saying something about some bank jobs down south. I’ve tried to be neighborly but they don’t say t
oo much. And that long-haired feller seems awful familiar but I don’t recall ever hearing ‘bout a man named Warner in these parts before. You?”
Mozzy raised his brows in the vain attempt at recognition but surrendered with a shrug.
Davison felt eyes on his back. He turned around to see the long-haired gunslinger, Warner watching him. The gunman kept to himself with a bottle of Valley-Tan whiskey in hand while cigar smoke wreathed his head in a devilish halo, but his eyes still blazed through the darkness, unnerving Davison.
Roberts noticed Davison’s uneasiness. “You talked with Warner, Echo. You know anything about him?” he asked.
Before Echo could answer, the twin brothers Davison had met at his home earlier walked up for some supper. “This here is Thursday and Friday Winters,” said Roberts. “Boys, this is Amasa Davison. He teaches school down in the valley.”
Davison shook their hands again. “We met earlier at my place.” He smiled and tipped his hat.
“What’s so funny?” snarled Friday, before shoving Mozzy out of the way and serving himself.
“Nothing,” said Davison, regretting his friendly smile.
Thursday said, “Our names is who we are. I was born right before midnight and my brother was born just after. Pa was drunk when he named us, but the names stuck.”
“Well, its original, ain’t it?” said Roberts, trying to ease some tension. “You boys been riding with Landreth long?”
Friday ignored him but Thursday said between bites of hot stew, “Oh no, we just got word from Hathenbruck that Pope wanted a few more guns last week. We’ve worked for him before. So, we signed on and Warner there joined up a couple days ago too.”
Davison couldn’t help but ask, “Do you know Warner?”
Mozzy jumped into the conversation hoping to get some of the teasing off himself for a change, saying, “School teacher here is afraid of him. Says he’s got a killer’s eye.”
“Hells yeah, mister killer’s eyes. Am I right?” said Thursday. “Nobody here knows him, but he must be quick if he passed mustard with Hathenbruck.”