Killer Take All

Book 10: Duff MacCallister Western

by William W. Johnstone, J.A. Johnstone

Genres: Action & Adventure; Historical Fiction; Westerns

Synopsis

Scotsman-turned-cowboy Duff MacCallister traveled far and worked hard to start a new life in America. And anyone who tries to mess with his dream is in for some serious Highland justice . . .

The cattle town of Chugwater may not look like much to outsiders. But for Duff MacCallister and the determined settlers who've staked their futures here, it's a land of opportunity. That's why the whole town is fired up by the latest news. Young railroad developer Jacob Freemantle wants to run a rail line through Chugwater, making it easier to transport cattle. Everyone is on board with the plan—at first. Duff begins to suspect that Freemantle is only after the most valuable land, and he's using strongarm tactics to force reluctant ranchers to sell. Things only get worse when Freemantle's hired guns show up—and the violence really begins . . .

But Duff's got a plan of his own. With a little help from some well-armed friends, he's going to flush this phony out of Chugwater—and run his hired killers out of town on a rail . . .

Release date: March 31, 2020

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

Thad Gorman counted out twenty-six dollars for Bob Guthrie, owner of Guthrie Lumber and Supply. “Here’s what I owe you, Mr. Guthrie.” Gorman smiled. “I got a good price for my wheat, and I thank you for carrying me on your books.”

“Ahh, it’s all part of doin’ business, Thad. Why, most of the ranchers and farmers run a tab with me.” Guthrie chuckled. “And I run a tab with my suppliers. Did Sue come to town with you?”

“Oh yes, Sue and the two young’uns. They’re over at the mercantile now. She’s payin’ off Fred Matthews and stockin’ up with things we been puttin’ off till we had the money.”

“What about Slocum? Did he come into town also?”

“I expect he’ll be in tonight. I just got paid myself, so I haven’t paid him yet.”

“How’s Slocum workin’ out for you?”

Gorman chuckled. “Well, he’s not the friendliest feller I’ve ever known, but his work has been all right.”

“You were a good man to hire him,” Guthrie said. “Not everyone would be willing to hire someone like Drury Slocum, a man who had spent five years in prison.”

“I guess so. But it seems to me like ever’one deserves a second chance. Anyway I guess I’d better go pick up Sue ’n the kids before they spend all my money.”

When Gorman stepped into the Matthews Mercantile a couple of minutes later, he was greeted by a little girl who held out a doll. “Papa, look what I have! Isn’t she beautiful?”

“I suppose so, but she isn’t as beautiful as you are.” Gorman smiled at Ethel, his six-year-old daughter.

“Huh, there’s nothin’ beautiful about a doll,” Jimmy said. He was Gorman’s nine-year-old son. “I got me a pocketknife,” he added proudly.

It took half an hour for the farm wagon loaded with purchases to reach the family farm. When they drove into the yard, they were met by Drury Slocum, Thad’s farmhand and only employee.

“Did you get the money for the crop?” Slocum asked.

Gorman smiled. “Drury, you see all the things we bought while we were in town. Do you really have to ask that question?”

“I’ll take care of the team,” he said as he began to disconnect the two gray mules from the wagon.

“Mr. Slocum, would you like to take supper with us tonight?” Sue asked.

“Nah, soon as I’m paid I’ll be goin’ into town.”

“Look at it this way, Drury. You have to eat. If you eat with us, you won’t have to spend money for food in town,” Gorman said.

“Yeah,” Slocum said. “Yeah, that’s right, ain’t it?”

An hour later, Slocum came into a house that was redolent with the aroma of fried chicken, biscuits, mashed potatoes, and gravy.

“Drury, are you ready to be paid?” Gorman asked.

“Yeah.”

Gorman reached over to the sideboard where lay the three hundred seventy-five dollars he had been paid for his wheat crop.

“I’ll be giving you thirty-five dollars,” Gorman said. “The extra five dollars is a bonus.”

“I’ll take it all,” Slocum said.

Gorman smiled. “Yes, I didn’t think you would turn down the extra five dollars.”

“No, I mean I’ll take all the money.” Slocum pulled his pistol and pointed it at Gorman.

“Mr. Slocum, what are you doing?” Sue called out, her voice high-pitched with fright.

Slocum didn’t answer. He pulled the trigger, shooting Thad Gorman in the chest from point-blank range. The bullet lodged in Gorman’s heart, killing him instantly. Slocum then turned his gun on Gorman’s screaming wife and crying children, firing three more times.

With the four members of the Gorman family lying on the floor, Slocum grabbed two pieces of chicken and two biscuits and left the house.

Slocum was in the Wild Hog Saloon later that same evening. His plan was to be very visible in town, then when word came that the Gorman family had been murdered, he would have the alibi of having been in town. That way, he wouldn’t have to go on the run. But something he overheard from a nearby table caused him to change his mind.

“It was the hired hand that did it. Mrs. Gorman was still alive when Duff MacCallister ’n Elmer Gleason stopped by to buy some hay from ’em. She told ’em it was their hired hand that done the killin’. They tried to bring her into town but she died before they could get her to the doctor.”

Not everyone in the saloon knew that Slocum worked for Gorman, and those who did hadn’t noticed that he was there. Slocum got up and went through the back door as if going to the privy.

He had no horse of his own, nor did Thad Gorman. Slocum had come into town riding one of the two mules Gorman owned. He had considered stealing a horse, but he didn’t want to take a chance. He needed to get out of town as quickly as possible.

But the mule wouldn’t cooperate.

“Get up, you worthless, long-eared galoot!” Slocum said, trying to urge the mule into a gallop.

He headed south, and no matter what he did to force the mule into a gallop, it wouldn’t respond. Then, quite unexpectedly, the mule balked, bucked, and threw Slocum off its back. The mule decided to run then, leaving Slocum stranded on the road.

“There is someone in the mine,” Wang Chow said to Duff and Elmer Gleason the next day. Wang was speaking of a gold mine, played out now, that sat at the extreme north end of Sky Meadow.

“How do you know?” Elmer asked.

“Tracks go into mine but do not come out,” Wang said.

“Well, let ’im snoop around,” Elmer said. “He won’t find anything, and if he does, we can give him a commission for finding it.”

Before Duff had built Sky Meadow, before even he and Elmer Gleason were friends, Elmer had discovered and was working an old mine that had been abandoned by the Spanish more than a hundred years earlier. Legally the mine and all proceeds belonged to Duff, but he shared the money with Elmer, and Elmer invested back into the ranch so that he was not only the ranch foreman, but a junior partner.

“Elmer, have you considered that it is nae someone looking for gold?” Duff asked in the heavy Scottish brogue that he had not lost in all the time he had been in America.

“Well, who else could it be?”

“Perhaps it is the one who murdered Xinshng Gorman,” Wang suggested.

“I’ll be damned. That’s what you was thinkin’ too, ain’t it, Duff?”

“Aye.”

“Well then, maybe we should go have us a look,” Elmer suggested.

“I’ll go in first,” Elmer said when they reached the mouth of the mine. “There don’t nobody in the whole world know this mine better ’n I do.” He was justified in making such a comment, since he had actually lived in the mine for almost six months.

Elmer went in first, surrounded by a bubble of golden light cast from the torch he had lit. Duff and Wang followed, but were just outside the light.

“All right, mister, you can just stop right there!” a voice called from the darkness before Elmer.

“Who the hell are you?” Elmer asked.

“It don’t matter who I am. You’re in light ’n I ain’t.”

Elmer started to reach for his gun.

“Uh-uh,” the voice said from the darkness. “I already got my gun out, ’n if you pull that ’n of your’n, I’ll shoot you.” Slocum appeared then, holding a pistol in his hand and pointing it at Elmer. “You know who I am, Gleason?”

“Yeah, Slocum, I know who you are. What I don’t know is why the hell you are here. After what you done I figured you’d be long gone by now. Hell, ever’body figured that.”

“Yeah, I would be if that damn mule I stole from Gorman hadn’t throwed me ’n run off. You got a horse here?”

“What if I do? I ain’t goin’ to let you have it.”

Slocum’s laugh was short and without any real glee. “You think I’m askin’ you for it? I ain’t a-askin’. I’m goin’ to kill you ’n take it.” He extended his hand and pulled the hammer back.

A bright muzzle flash lit up the mine even beyond that of the flickering torch, and the sound of the gunshot was almost deafening in the closed-in area. The gun flew from Slocum’s hand as Duff and Wang suddenly appeared. A narrow wisp of smoke curled up from the end of the Enfield Mark 1 pistol Duff was holding.

“We’ll be for taking you in now, Slocum,” Duff said.

“How you plannin’ on gettin’ me there? Like I said, I ain’t got no horse to ride.”

“You can walk, can’t you?” Elmer asked.

“What do you mean, walk? It’s five miles to town,” Slocum complained.

“You don’t have to walk if you don’t want to,” Elmer said. “We can drag you into town.”

The courtroom was filled to capacity for the murder trial of Drury Slocum. Wang Chow had testified to finding Slocum hiding in the abandoned mine on Sky Meadow, and Elmer had just testified to finding, along with Duff, the bodies of Thad Gorman and his family. At the moment, Duff was on the witness stand.

“Tell the court if you would, please, the condition of the bodies when you and Mr. Gleason found them.” Jim Robison was the prosecuting attorney.

“Mr. Gorman and the two wee ones were already dead,” Duff said. “Mrs. Gorman was nae yet dead, but she died before we could get her to the doctor.”

“Did she say anything before she died?”

“Aye.”

“What did she say?”

“She said ’twas the black-hearted Slocum that shot her.”

“Objection, Your Honor, to the term black-hearted.” Milton Gilmore was the court-appointed defense attorney for Slocum.

“Sustained,” Judge Goff said.

“Do you see Slocum in this room?” Robison asked.

“Aye, he is sitting at the defense table.”

“Thank you. Your witness, Mr. Gilmore.”

Gilmore stood, but he didn’t approach the witness. “Mr. MacCallister, did you actually see the defendant shoot Thad Gorman or any of his family?”

“Nae, I dinnae see such a thing.”

“Thank you, no further questions.”

Robison eschewed any redirect, and as Gilmore had no witnesses for the defense, he began his summation.

“Remember this,” he said, holding up his finger to emphasize his point to the jury. “Both Mr. Gleason and Mr. MacCallister testified that they did not, personally, see the defendant shoot the Gorman family. We have only hearsay evidence from someone who cannot be questioned. Hearsay evidence is not enough to convict, and without proof beyond a doubt, you must acquit.”

Robison gave the closure for prosecution. “We have the sworn testimony of two witnesses who heard, in her dying testimony, the declaration that Mrs. Gorman and her entire family had been shot by Drury Slocum. In addition, three hundred and seventy-six dollars was found on Slocum’s person when he was arrested. Where did he get such a sum of money?

“Mr. Gorman was paid four hundred twenty-five dollars for his crop. He paid Guthrie Lumber twenty-six dollars, which left him with three hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Mrs. Gorman spent twenty-four dollars at Matthews Mercantile, which left Gorman three hundred seventy-five dollars. That money was not found at the house and it wasn’t found there because it was in Slocum’s pocket.

“Prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

“Jury may retire to consider the verdict. Court is in recess,” Judge Goff said with a rap of his gavel.

Less than ten minutes later, Marshal Bill Ferrell, acting as the bailiff, shouted out to the court. “Oyez, oyez, oyez, this court is about to reconvene, the honorable Judge Amon T. Goff presiding. Everybody stand until the judge is seated.”

Judge Goff came out of the back room and took his seat at the bench.

The trial of Drury Slocum had taken no more than an hour, and the jury’s deliberation lasted only five minutes. Then the jury sent word that they had reached a verdict, thus causing the court to be reconvened.

After taking his seat, Judge Goff, who had a splotchy red face and a rather prominent nose, adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose then cleared his throat. “Would the bailiff please bring the prisoner before the bench?”

Marshal Ferrell walked over to the defendant’s table and looked directly at Slocum. “Get up,” he growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”

Slocum made no effort to move until Martin Gilmore stood and urged Slocum to stand as well. Gilmore remained standing at the defense table while Slocum approached the judge.

“Mr. Foreman of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Judge Goff asked.

“We have, Your Honor.”

“What is the verdict.”

“Your Honor, we have found this sidewinder guilty of murderin’ Thad Gilmore, his wife, and their two innocent children,” the foreman said.

“You damn well better have!” someone shouted from the gallery.

The judge banged his gavel on the table. “Order!” he called. “I will have order in my court.” He looked over at the foreman. “So say you all?” he asked.

“So say we all,” the foreman replied.

The judge took off his glasses and began polishing them as he studied the prisoner before him. “Drury Slocum, you have been tried by a jury of your peers and you have been found guilty of the crime of murder and robbery. Before this court passes sentence, have you anything to say?”

“Yeah, do your damndest, you red-faced, hook-nosed ass,” Slocum growled.

“Hang ’im! Hang ’im right here!” someone from the gallery shouted.

Judge Goff pounded his gavel again until, finally, order was restored. He glared at the defendant for a long moment, then he cleared his throat once again. “Drury Slocum, it is the sentence of this court that a gallows be built so that you may be hanged, such act to bring about the effect of breaking your neck, collapsing your windpipe, and, in any and all ways, squeezing the last breath of life from your worthless, vile, and miserable body. And may the Good Lord have mercy on your soul, because I do not.

“This court is adjourned,” he said with a rap of his gavel.

It had rained earlier in the day, and though the rain had stopped a couple of hours earlier, the sky was still gray. The newly built gallows stood in the middle of Clay Avenue between Second and Third Street, a harsh-looking construction with a single rope and loop hanging from the crossbeam.

It was 11:15, lacking forty-five minutes of the hour appointed by Judge Amon Goff that sentence was to be carried out for Drury Slocum.

At the moment, the prisoner was standing at the barred window of the jail looking out toward the gallows.

Marshal Ferrell went to Slocum’s cell. “I know it’s a little early for lunch, but under the circumstances, if you want anything to eat, now would be the time to ask for it.”

Slocum looked toward the marshal with a glare. “Now why the hell would I want to eat anything?”

“I just thought I’d make the offer. Would you like a drink?”

“Whiskey?”

“If you’d like.”

“Yeah, I would like some whiskey. I doubt that I have enough time left to get a good drunk on, but I’d sure as hell like to try.”

“One drink,” Marshal Ferrell said.

“All right. I’ll take what I can get.”

Out in the street, a crowd was beginning to gather. Some had come just for the morbid fascination of watching someone die, but most were there just to see justice done. Thad and Sue Gorman had been well-liked. Their murder, and the murder of their two small children, was incentive enough even for the most sensitive of souls to watch their killer be hurled into eternity.

“They say that the Chinaman who works for Duff MacCallister is the one who found the tracks leadin’ into the mine,” said someone in the crowd. “I can’t think of his name.”

“His name is Wang Chow, ’n I don’t care if he is a Chinaman. He’s a damn good man in my book. ’N yeah, he is the one that found ’im,” a second man said, confirming the first.

“I’ll say this. Ole’ Slocum sure picked the wrong place to try ’n hide out,” another said. “Duff MacCallister is the last person you’d want a-comin’ after you.”

“Where is MacCallister? I’d like to go shake his hand.”

“He ain’t here, nowhere. I done looked.”

“Why ain’t he here? He’s the one that catched up with Slocum. You’d think he’d be wantin’ to see this, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe he gets a little queasy from watchin’ someone hang. Lots of folks do.”

“Not me. After what Slocum done to them nice folks, I want to see his neck stretched out ’bout six more inches, ’n I want to see his eyes pop near plumb out of his head.”

“Here he comes!”

Every eye in the crowd turned toward the jail and they saw Slocum, flanked on one side by Marshal Ferrell and on the other side by Ferrell’s deputy, Thurman Burns. Reverend E. D. Sweeny of the Church of God’s Glory followed behind. By the time they had climbed the thirteen steps to the scaffold floor, Nigel Black, the hangman, was already there.

Marshal Ferrell stepped out to the front of the gallows platform, cleared his throat, and began to read. “Draw nigh and listen. Drury Slocum, having been tried before a jury of his peers, was found guilty of the heinous murder of Thad Gorman, Sue Gorman, Jimmy Gorman, and Ethel Gorman. Having been found guilty I, Amon T. Goff, Circuit Judge of Laramie County, sentence Drury Slocum to death by hanging. Sentence is to be carried out at the stroke of noon on the fifth day of this month.”

The marshal folded the paper and looked out over the crowd, which represented nearly three hundred spectators. “Having been given the time and date of the execution, I, Marshal Bill Ferrell, have carried out my duty and delivered Drury to the place where he is to be hanged by the neck until dead.”

Ferrell turned toward Slocum, who was standing on the trapdoor with his arms tied to his sides. The mask had not yet been put over his head, and the expression on his face could best be described as resigned.

“Does the prisoner have anything to say?” Ferrell asked Slocum.

“Is there anything I can say that would stop this hangin’?”

“No.”

“Then no, I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Would you like the preacher to say a few words for you?”

“No.”

Ferrell looked at the hangman. “Mr. Black, you may carry out your assignment.”

Black started to put the mask over Slocum’s head.

“I don’t want that. I want to look right into the faces of all those who have come to—” Slocum stopped and stared at one man in the crowd. “You’re here? I didn’t think you would be here, but thank you. I’m glad you came.”

The crowd was still wondering about Slocum’s strange remark when the trapdoor was sprung. There was a collective gasp as the bottom half of his body dropped through the opening. He turned one quarter of a turn to the left then hung there with his tongue extended and his eyes open and bulging.

Some in the crowd grew sick.

Meagan Parker was sitting with Duff MacCallister at “their” table in Fiddler’s Green Saloon. Although it was a saloon, it was considered a decent enough establishment that no stigma was attached to women who visited. She was discussing with Duff the prospect of taking some cattle to market

“According to the Cheyenne Weekly Leader, top steers are bringing eighty-seven dollars a head.” She put some figures to a piece of paper and looked up with a broad smile. “Sixty-five thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars. That is, assuming we can get every head to the railroad without losing any of them.”

“Sure ’n there’s nae we in this, Meagan, as you will nae be for goin’,” Duff replied.

“Are you forgetting, Duff MacCallister, that of the seven hundred and fifty head you’ll be driving to Cheyenne, seventy-five of them are mine?”

“Aye, ’tis a ten percent owner of Sky Meadow you be, Meagan, ’n you are nae for letting me forget that.”

“Duff, you aren’t saying that you don’t like having me as a partner, are you?” Meagan asked with a pout.

“Nae, lass, nae!” Duff said quickly, reaching over to lay his hand on Meagan’s. “Sure ’n ’tis no finer partner I would be wantin’.”

Biff Johnson laughed out loud. “Duff, I do believe the beautiful Miss Parker has her bridle on you.” Biff, who had served with Custer in the Seventh Cavalry, was owner of Fiddler’s Green. He had been standing close enough to overhear the conversation.

“’N would you be for tellin’ me, Sergeant Major, if there be a more beautiful lass for me to submit to?”

“You’ve got me there, Duff, because I sure can’t think of one.”

“Here comes Elmer,” Meagan said.

Like Meagan, Elmer was a partner in the ranch.

“Did Wang come into town with you?” Duff asked.

Wang Chow’s absolute loyalty to Duff was earned when Duff kept him from being lynched. The offense for which he was being lynched was being Chinese while riding with a white woman.

“Nah, I left the heathen back at the ranch to get the cows gathered for the drive tomorrow.”

Neither Duff nor Meagan questioned Elmer’s use of the word heathen. They knew that Elmer and Wang were very close friends and would take a bullet for each other.

“Elmer, would you do me a favor and leave seventy-five of the cows behind?” Meagan asked.

“What?” the question came in unison from Duff and Elmer.

“Meagan, are you for saying that you don’t want your cows to go to market?” Duff asked.

“Oh, I want them to go, all right. But since you won’t let me go with you, I suppose my cows and I will just have to go on our own. I’m sure I can get someone to help. It’s only a three-day drive, after all.”

Elmer chuckled and shook his head slowly. “Duff, m’ boy, I think the woman has got you caught in a vise.”

Duff chuckled as well. “Meag. . .