Dry Road to Nowhere

Book 2: Frontier Overland Company

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

JOHNSTONE COUNTRY. TRAVEL AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Some call it the most dangerous stagecoach in the West. But the hard-driving owners of the Frontier Overland Company will get you where you want to go—if you don’t mind a detour through hell . . .

The Civil War is over. But Wyoming Territory is still a battleground for the native tribes who live there. Most folks avoid the area like the plague.

But not former Texas Ranger Butch Keeler and his saloon fight buddy Tucker Cobb. They figured Wyoming would be the perfect place to launch the Frontier Overland Company—a rough-and-ready stagecoach operation that dares to go where others fear to tread. Butch and Cobb aren’t afraid of much—but their next stagecoach trip could change all that. And it just might be their last . . .

The passengers are good people: Colonel McBride, who’s delivering much-needed supplies to Fort Washington, and his lovely niece, who wants to visit her dying father. Even though the road to get there is overrun with armed Lakota, Cheyenne, and other deadly threats, Butch and Cobb are determined to help an old friend. Problem is, their worst enemy—a power-hungry business rival and self-described “King”—is out there. Waiting for them. Laying a trap to destroy their operation. And plotting to burn everything to the ground. Over Butch and Cobb’s dead bodies . . .

Release date: May 21, 2024

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 336

Sample

Tucker Cobb could feel the whiskey was starting to get to him and did not mind one bit. “I told you before and I’ll say it again, Butch. I’ll leave when I’m good and ready to leave, Butch, and not a moment sooner.”

His partner, Butch Keeling, stood beside him at the bar. He had pushed his empty glass away from him half an hour before and had not allowed Cobb to refill it since. “Our coachline hasn’t been exactly thriving since Hagen put the word against us. I hate seeing you throw away what little we have on a woman who doesn’t want to see you anymore. Jane’s moved on and so should you before you drive yourself crazier than you already are.”

Cobb closed his eyes. Jane Duprey. Just thinking about her gave him some small measure of comfort. He had not known how much she had come to mean to him until she shut him out of her heart. He had been a bachelor his entire life—content to roaming the open country without any real aim or purpose—until he had met her.

He had once prided himself in the fact that he had made it past forty without allowing a woman to get her hooks into him, but Jane had him hooked good and deep.

He had been a fool to allow her association with “King” Charles Hagen to come between them. He knew that now, but feared it was too late to remedy the situation. He had seen whatever affection die in her eyes that night when they quarreled in front of the hotel all those weeks ago. She had gone on to open the Longacre House since then and, by all accounts, it had been a success.

But no matter how much time Cobb spent waiting for her to come down to see him, she never did.

“We’ve got bigger concerns at the moment,” Butch went on. “We need to keep our wits about us if we have any hope of fighting off Hagen.”

Cobb’s mood darkened as he thought of Charles Hagen. The king of the Wyoming Territory. The industry titan’s hatred of them had spread far beyond Cobb’s love life. It had been several weeks since Cobb and Butch had refused Hagen’s offer to buy their Frontier Overland Company.

Business had been rough ever since. Hagen had already purchased or controlled most of the stagecoach lines in the territory. Cobb and Butch were among the last of the holdouts and were paying a heavy price for their independence. None of the respectable hotels in their part of the territory would recommend their stagecoach line to their guests. They pushed them to ride on Hagen-owned lines instead. Some even went as far as refusing to allow them to rent rooms while they were in towns along their route. The two men had been forced to stay in the haylofts of the same liveries where they kept their team of horses. Lately, some liveries had even begun to refuse their business out of fear of reprisals from Hagen. Cobb expected that number would only increase as Hagen’s vendetta against them spread.

Cobb tried not to think much about it, for when he did, he felt like he was on the edge of a high, steep cliff. “Sometimes I think we just should’ve sold out to him like everyone else.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.” Butch took the glass from Cobb’s hand and placed it on the bar. “We didn’t start this business because we liked working for other people. We started it because we wanted to be our own men, and we can’t live like that under Hagen’s thumb.”

“I’d say we’re already under his thumb,” Cobb said. “Look at the kind of trade we’ve got now. We’re lucky if we roll only half full and that’s on a good run. All we get are widows and drunks who can barely pay their fare. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve had to wash down the inside of that coach in the past few months.”

Butch was not so easily persuaded. “That’ll get better in time. Besides, we’ve managed to keep ourselves going by running freight, haven’t we? That’s helped some.”

“Barely.” Despite his present drunkenness, Cobb had not lost his head for business. “But there’s only so much our rig can hold. It’s only a matter of time before Hagen finds out what we’ve been doing and puts the stop to that, too.”

“Hagen might be a powerful man, but he ain’t God, Cobb. He’ll lose interest in us soon enough and things will get better.” Butch tried to ease his friend away from the bar. “Hell, they already are. We’ve got that big meeting with Colonel McBride in the morning, don’t we? He’s never been one who looked kindly on drunkenness. You’ll need your rest if you hope to be at your best for it. He’s trying to help us, and I think he will if we let him. He’s always done good by us and vice versa.”

But Cobb would not be moved. At six feet tall, he was bigger than Butch and weighed a solid thirty pounds heavier. He could easily see over the heads of the men drinking around them while scantily dressed women acted like they were hanging on their every word.

Cobb eyed the ornate wooden staircase in the middle of the place and the plush red carpet secured to the stairs by gleaming brass fittings. It was a staircase worthy of a queen. Worthy of a woman like Jane Duprey.

“She’s got to come down here sometime,” Cobb said, “and I aim to be standing right here when she does.”

Butch did not take his hand away from his partner’s arm. “Leave it alone, Cobb. You’re killing yourself over a train that’s already left the station. And no amount of whiskey or heartache will be enough to make it come back.”

It had not been too long ago that Cobb had been obsessed with concerns like time and reputation. About drumming up new business for their stagecoach line and keeping schedules. But all of that seemed silly to him now that he felt like he had a hole right through the middle of him. A hole that could only be filled one way and not by whiskey.

“Why won’t she see me, Butch? Why won’t she give me only a few minutes of her time? She has to know how much it would mean to me.”

Butch sighed as he pushed his hat further back on his head. “Which is probably why she won’t give it to you. Jane’s still mighty sore about you not trusting her like you should have and she’s making you pay for it. Some women get mad. Some yell and throw things. I’ve known one or two that liked to throw a punch when they were angry. You should count your blessings that Jane’s not that sort of gal.”

“She won’t even let me apologize. She won’t let me tell her how sorry I am.”

“Just give it time, Cobb. That’s the only thing that’ll work right now. Time and sleep.” He pulled on his partner’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Cobb remembered something his partner had told him when they had first returned to Laramie. “You said you saw her. What did she say?”

Butch pulled him away from the bar. “I already told it to you. Repeating it won’t do you any good, but I’ll do it if you start moving.”

Cobb let his partner pull him along, but was desperate for any attachment to her. Even a second-hand story he had heard a hundred times was better than being ignored like this. “Tell it to me again.”

Butch began to lead him through the men and sporting ladies toward the door. “She had me come upstairs to talk to her in her rooms. The place still smelled of drying paint and wallpaper paste. It’s done up in red velvet and fancy furnishings. I practically begged her to let you see her for a few minutes, even if it was down here with her customers, but she refused. She said your lack of faith in her wounded her deeply, and it’s best if you both forgot about each other. She said she’s got a new enterprise here and won’t change it on account of you or any other man living or dead.”

Cobb had heard all that before but hoped, with each retelling of it, that he might find some nugget of hope he could cling to in these darkest of times. “Did she sound angry when she said it?”

Butch politely pushed through a group of men in evening clothes as he said, “She sounded hurt more than anything. She doesn’t hate you, Cobb. She just doesn’t want to see you anymore, and you’ve got no choice but to take her at her word. You’ve been down here pining for her every night in the week since we got back, but she won’t come down to see you. That ought to tell you everything you need to know even though it’s not what you want to hear. It’s best if you do what you do best. Move on and leave the past behind you.”

But Cobb could not move on, not from her, which had been the devil of it. He had spent his life being careful to not allow himself to feel much in this world. Besides Butch, he had never bothered having many friends, much less business partners. The world was tough enough without the burden of being tied down to one person or place.

Butch had been different. They had formed a friendship somewhere along the many miles of cow trails between Texas and Nebraska. Jane had just been another pretty lady who had bought a ticket on their stagecoach to take her from North Branch to Laramie. He had not been looking for a woman to love then but had grown to love her anyway. He had not realized how much until he had been foolish enough to question her loyalty to him over “King” Charles Hagen.

Cobb glanced at the staircase again as Butch led him toward the exit, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her. But all he saw was one of her hostesses bringing a drunken customer up to one of the rooms above. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked away.

“We’ll be back in a week,” Butch assured him, as they cleared the crowd. “A week can be a long time when it comes to a woman’s temperament. Hanging around here won’t do you any good, but a few hours of sleep will. The colonel wants to see us bright and early in the morning, remember? And from the sounds of it, we might be looking at a decent payday for our troubles.”

But Cobb did not care about Colonel Louis McBride or paydays or reputation. He only cared about getting back in Jane’s good graces.

“Maybe you’re right,” Cobb said, though he didn’t believe it.

“Now you’re talking sense.” Butch pulled Cobb past him and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Once we’re back on the road, you’ll be as good as new. I’m bound to think of another way I can talk Jane into seeing you again. You know I can be mighty persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

As they passed through the red drapes on their way to the front parlor, Cobb saw the doorman step out in front of them. He was a skinny man with bad skin and longish hair already going gray, though Cobb doubted he was much older than thirty yet. He had narrow, quick eyes that never settled on any one thing for long but did not miss much.

“Hold on, you two,” the doorman said, when they got closer. “I want to have a word with you.”

Butch urged Cobb to keep going. “We’ve had more than enough words for our liking for one night, mister. We’ve paid for our drinks and now we’ll be going on our way.”

But the doorman held his ground. “I told you to wait, so you’ll wait.”

Cobb tried the door, but it was locked. The emotion he had barely been able to tamp down began to rise within him. “Open this door.”

But the skinny man with bad skin did not. “Not until we get something straight. You two have been coming in here every night for the past week.”

“And paid for our drinks every time,” Butch said. “We didn’t even complain about how expensive they were, either.”

The man opened his hands as if revealing the parlor for the first time. “A place like this costs money and it doesn’t run on selling whiskey alone.”

“Whiskey’s all we were in the market for,” Cobb said. “Now open this door and leave us be.”

But the man made no effort to look for the key. “You leaving things be is why we’re having this conversation right now. You haven’t been too friendly to our hostesses. Haven’t shown them the least bit of interest. That hurts their feelings.”

“Not to mention your pocket,” Butch said. “We know what this place is and what you are. We don’t come here for that, so you’ll just have to take what we buy in whiskey.”

“Lots of places in town serve whiskey,” the man said. “So, if that’s all you’re here for, you can find that anywhere else in town. I can even recommend one or two saloons for you. But if that’s all you want, don’t come back in here. This here is what you might call a quality establishment, and I don’t like a couple of trail rats like you taking up valuable space that a couple of sporting men could put to better use.”

Butch tried to intervene, but Cobb squared up to the man. “This is your last chance to open that door before I start looking for the key.”

The doorman’s lips drew into a sneer. “You really don’t know who you’re talking to, do you, mister? I’m Lucien Clay and I run this place for Miss Jane.” He offered a slight shrug. “Well, Miss Jane’s true employer, anyway.”

Cobb’s left hand shot out and snatched Clay by the throat. He pushed the smaller man against the wall as he grabbed hold of the breast pocket of his jacket and tore it away. As a handkerchief fell to the floor, Cobb pulled off the pockets of the jacket. He had ruined the second pocket when a key dropped out.

Cobb kept squeezing Clay’s throat as he tried in vain to break the coachman’s grip. “Pick up that key, Butch, and let’s get out of here. Looks like we’ve worn out our welcome with Mr. Clay.”

Butch picked up the key, opened the lock, and threw the door open. “You’d best let him go now, Cobb.”

Cobb pulled Clay off the wall and hurled him out into the street. The doorman stumbled off the boardwalk and fell into the thoroughfare on his backside. Passersby gasped and moved back at the sight of the man splayed in the mud and mess on the ground.

Cobb moved outside and pointed down at Clay. “Let that be a lesson to you, boy. I come and go in here as I please. The next time you raise a hand to me, you’d better have some friends around who can back your play.”

Clay’s small eyes grew even smaller. “Next time? There won’t be a next time.”

In one swift motion, Clay rocked up onto a knee and pulled a knife from his boot before launching himself at his attacker.

But Cobb saw him coming and threw a roundhouse right that connected flush with Clay’s jaw while the smaller man was still in the air. He was unconscious before he landed on the floorboards of the boardwalk. His knife clattered away and into the street.

Cobb stood over the fallen man. “I have half a mind to stay here until he wakes up so I can be sure he got the message.”

Butch looked down at Clay. “Judging by how hard you hit him, I’d wager we might be waiting a long time for him to wake up. We’d better get out of here while we still can.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” a man called out from behind them.

Cobb turned, fists up and ready to swing, but lowered them when he saw it was Rob Moran, sheriff of Laramie. He was fast approaching with one of his deputies close behind.

Cobb had learned through bitter experience that it was best to stay away from lawmen when he could, but Sheriff Moran was a different sort. He liked and respected the man.

As was his custom, Butch stepped forward and did the talking for both of them. “It was a fair fight, Sheriff. That fella pulled a knife on old Cobb here, and he had no choice but to defend himself.”

“Was that before or after you threw him into the street?” Moran asked. “Clay’s the doorman of this place. He had a right to ask you to leave if that’s what this was about.”

“We were leaving, anyway,” Butch said, “but he locked the door on us and refused to let us go. Wouldn’t let us leave until he spoke his mind. That’s got to be against some kind of law, don’t it, Sheriff?”

Moran motioned for his deputy to tend to Clay as he said, “Only Butch Keeling would try quoting the law as he’s leaving a whorehouse.” He surprised them by taking Cobb’s arm. “Let’s go, Tucker. I’m locking you up for the night until you dry out.”

Cobb was too surprised to be taken in hand to resist. “But I’m not hardly drunk.”

“Drunk enough to start a fight,” Moran said. “And dumb enough to have spent every night this week in there mooning over a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with you.” He pulled Cobb closer. “You don’t think people talk about this? You think you’re the first man to be thrown over by a woman? Especially that woman? Her kind break hearts in there every night of the week.”

Cobb balled his hand into a fist, but the cold look in Moran’s eye made him stop.

“I’ve seen this play out hundreds of times, Cobb,” Moran said. “Tonight, it was Lucien. The next time it could be the bartender or one of the customers or worse. You’ll never get Jane back by turning into a drunk, and I’m not going to waste my time worrying about you every time you pull into town. A night in a cell will do you some good. Probably more than you know. Now get moving. I’d hate to have to force you.”

It was only then that Cobb noticed all of the people on the street who had stopped to look at him. He had not realized he had raised that much of a ruckus. He looked back inside the Longacre House in the hope that all the trouble he had caused might have been enough to bring Jane down from her room to see what had happened. Just a glimpse of her would have made all of this worth it.

But all he saw were potential male customers peeking outside with drinks in their hands and cigars in their mouths. A couple of sporting ladies were fussing over Lucien Clay as Moran’s deputy tried to get him back on his feet.

Cobb felt all of the fight go out of him. He felt ashamed. For what he had done and for what Moran said he might do because, deep down, he knew he was right. “I won’t fight you, Sheriff.”

Moran kept hold of Cobb’s arm as he led him out into the street.

Butch trailed after them. “How long are you fixing to keep him locked up, Sheriff? We’ve got a meeting with Colonel McBride tomorrow morning, and I’d hate to have to explain Cobb’s absence.”

“If he behaves himself,” Moran said, “I’ll let him go around sunup. But if he so much as looks at me or one of my men sideways, I’ll keep him in jail for a week until he cools off.”

Cobb’s shame only grew worse as he heard Butch stop following them. He took a final glance back at the house of ill repute and could have sworn he saw a curtain on the second-floor drop back into place. He liked to think it had been Jane looking out at him. It was not much of a hope, but it was all the hope Tucker Cobb had at the moment.

The next morning, as he sat across from Cobb at Colonel McBride’s dining room table, Butch could see his partner was in a bad way. The dark circles under his reddened eyes were almost the size of saddlebags and his skin bore a yellowish tinge to it. He looked like he had not slept a wink in jail, and Butch imagined alcohol was only partly to blame for his sleepless night. His sorrow over losing Jane’s favor and his violent run-in with Lucien Clay had likely played a part in keeping him awake. He knew Cobb was a man of great pride who was capable of feeling great shame on those rare occasions when he allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

But although Cobb looked the worse for wear, he managed to remain attentive to what Colonel McBride had begun to tell them.

“I’ve asked you gentlemen here this morning to discuss a matter of grave importance and urgency,” the colonel explained. “I’m asking you to help not only me, but your country.”

Butch had been expecting McBride to hire them for a private charter, not this, but said, “We’ll help if we can. You know Cobb and me owe you for getting us out of that scrape with Hagen a few weeks back.”

“Doing a decent deed is its own reward,” the retired colonel said, “and doesn’t require gratitude. If you agree to do this, I’ll be the one in your debt and so will the army.”

Butch did not know Colonel Louis McBride well, and he had not known him long, but he knew McBride was not given to exaggerating. The former army man was about sixty with iron-gray mutton chops that did little to hide how jowly his face was becoming. His suit was expensive and had been tailored to fit his roundish frame. But although age was beginning to gain the advantage on him, his deep-set eyes were as clear as they were intense.

“Sounds serious, Colonel,” Cobb pointed out. “Might as well lay it out for us so we can give our answer.”

McBride cleared his throat. “The matter concerns Fort Washington, which is only an hour’s ride from here. I take it you’re familiar with its location.”

“We’ve ridden past it a few times,” Butch said, “but we’ve never had call to go inside yet.”

“Colonel John Carlyle is the commanding officer of the fort. He was an artillery officer who served under me during the War between the States. He was only a major then, but received a battlefield promotion that was made permanent after the war. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that almost every such promotion was rescinded after the hostilities ended. John kept his rank. That should give you some idea of his merit as an officer.”

Cobb said, “I can’t imagine an army colonel like that would have much use for a couple of mule skinners like me and Butch.”

“Unique problems call for unique solutions,” McBride explained. “Jack is a sick man. His doctors believe he is suffering from a cancer that has spread to most of his innards. They don’t believe he has much longer to live. The colonel sent for his daughter as he would like to see her one final time before he passes on. In fact, she’s upstairs sleeping right now. Her name is Eustice, but she goes by Tess for short.”

Butch saw Cobb bring his hand to his mouth as his empty stomach growled and cramped. His body was beginning to make him pay for his excesses from the night before.

Butch spoke quickly to cover his friend’s obvious discomfort. “We’re sorry to hear about your friend, but Cobb was right earlier. I don’t see why he can’t send some of his men to fetch her and bring her to him.”

“Under normal circumstances,” McBride said, “that’s exactly what he would do. Unfortunately, these aren’t normal circumstances because Fort Washington is currently under attack.”

The colonel spoke over their expressions of surprise. “I only learned of the attack last night when a rider from the fort managed to escape under cover of darkness and bring word to me here. A band of Lakota and Cheyenne warriors have laid siege to the place. They attacked a supply wagon train more than a week ago, and when Colonel Carlyle sent a patrol to find them, the warriors attacked them, too. The fort has been cut off from the outside world ever since and is in desperate need of supplies.”

“A siege?” Cobb said. “I’ve never known a tribe to attack a working fort. They like to hit and run in the open ground.”

“I fought a different sort of enemy in the war,” McBride said, “but this time they seem intent on using the army’s foolishness about fixed fortifications against them. Those soldiers have been trapped behind their own walls for the past week and are running mighty low on provisions. That’s why I’ll need your help. Not only to bring Tess to her father, but to get those soldiers the supplies they so desperately need.”

Cobb’s mouth dropped open. “You mean you want us to run a stagecoach laden down with supplies and a woman through a band of hostile Indians on the warpath?”

McBride nodded. “That’s exactly what I want you to do, Mr. Cobb. And, what’s more, it needs to be done this morning. Without delay. Both Colonel Carlyle’s condition and the condition of his men demand it.”

Butch knew there had to be a better way. “Did you send word to one of the other forts? The army’s better able to take on Lakota and Cheyenne warriors than we could.”

“The young private who brought word to me here also sent a telegram to all the forts in the territory,” McBride explained. “The tribes planned their attack well. The closest forts are short on men as they’ve already sent out their regular patrol. Fort Laramie should be able to send men within a couple of days, but those men in Fort Washington don’t have that much time, hence the urgency. I hate to say it, but Colonel Carlyle’s desire to see his dau. . .