Milky Trail To Death

---

Milky Trail To Death - book excerpt

Chapter 1

He came into the town at the back end of a hot, physically draining day. The heat continued to pulse through the thick air as it had since he set out, so hot that his sweat evaporated as soon as it appeared. His canteen of water was empty, his horse bedraggled and close to collapse. The mare needed rest and sustenance and so did he.

A gnarled old man was just shutting up the gates to the livery. He turned and frowned at the stranger’s approach. Blowing out a loud sigh, he reopened the gate. “You’ll be staying long?”

“A couple of days.”

“You were lucky to catch me. It’s late.” He looked to the slowly darkening sky for a moment before returning his bleary, watery eyes to the stranger. “You look all done-in, boy. You been riding far?”

“Far enough.”

The old-timer shrugged and waved the stranger in. “All righty, if that’s how you want it.”

“That’s how I want it.”

“All righty. Go and stable her inside and I’ll see you in the office.” His eyes narrowed. “For payment.”

“Two bits a day,” said the old-timer moments later when the stranger stepped into the office. “That includes feed and it’s a good deal.”

“Never doubted it,” said the stranger, snapping down the coins on the top of the desk separating him from the old-timer. He watched the man scribbling something in a dog-eared ledger. “That’s two nights, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

The stranger drew in a breath. “I need to stay longer.”

“You want board there’s Miss Bessy’s guest house. She provides a comfortable bed with a fine breakfast and dinner.”

“That’s your recommendation?”

The old-timer sat back in his chair. “Mister, it’s all we got. This ain’t exactly the liveliest town in these parts.”

The stranger tipped his hat and turned to go.

“It’s second on the right,” said the old-timer. “Tell her Destry sent you. She’ll give you a discount.”

Pausing at the door, the stranger considered the old-timer with keen interest. “Is that right?”

“Sure is,” he said, a toothless grin spreading across his craggy face, “I’m her husband.”

With the sound of his cackling ringing throughout the tiny office, the stranger stepped outside.

He crossed the yard, pausing at the gate to notice, despite the growing darkness, the tall, angular-looking tough standing across the street from him, leaning nonchalantly against a hitching rail, smoking a cigarette. There was a tied-down six-gun at his hip, set low on his thigh. His stare never faltered, almost as if he was daring the stranger to stare back. Ignoring him, the stranger turned, closed the gate, and walked down the street to find Miss Bessy’s.

The interior was thick with the aroma of pork stew and beans. It hung in the air like a living thing, clinging to every item of tired-looking furniture arranged around the sides of the foyer. The stranger dragged off his hat and wiped his brow with his neckerchief. The heat was stifling. Several large oil lamps belched out a dreary light and contributed to the oppressive atmosphere.

He crossed to the reception desk, picked up the tiny brass bell sitting there, and shook it. He doubted the tiny peal was loud enough to be heard, but within less than a minute, a blonde woman emerged, face glistening with sweat, eyes alight with surprise. She came forward, and the stranger found himself relaxing as she smiled.

“Evening,” she said.

She was a handsome-looking woman, he had to admit. Wrapped in a tight-fitting apron that barely contained her ample bosom. She reached under the desk and produced a large ledger. She opened it and leaned closer, allowing the stranger an undisturbed view of the soft flesh straining against her bodice.She ran her tongue across her full lips as she studied the pages. Her cologne was sweet-smelling.

“You looking for a single room?”

“I am,” he said, placing his hat on the desk. He caught her gaze falling on the dust-covered, battered headgear, the slight down turning of her mouth, her accompanying look of disgust and he swiftly took it back. “Two nights. With dinner.”

“And a bath?” She sniffed but at least the smile returned.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” He watched as she produced a stubby pencil and lowered it towards the ledger. “I met your husband.” She stopped. “He said to tell you I might—”

“Get a discount?” She raised a single eyebrow. He waited. Her smile increased. “Why, that’s just fine, Mister …?”

“The name’s Reece.”

She recorded it in the ledger. “It’s a dollar a night. So, for you, two nights will be one dollar fifty.”

“That’s mighty generous, ma’am.”

“I know it is.”

Her eyes danced as she held his gaze. He felt his stomach lurch and a thrill ran through his scrotum. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d conversed with a female and certainly not one this alluring. How in the name of sanity had that old goat at the livery managed to marry someone so lovely? No wonder he was so worn out. A woman such as she could wear out any man.

“Where you from, Mr Reece?”

“You need that for the register?”

A slight flush appeared around her jawline. “Why no, not exactly. But times being what they are and all …”

“Missouri.”

“Miss …?” Her expression changed, a sudden veil of suspicion descending over her face. “You ain’t …?”

“What? A Redleg on the run? Bushwhacker?” Reece smiled. “No, ma’am, I ain’t either. But I did serve and I’m on my way home if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Honestly speaking, I wasn’t, but seeing as you have been so gracious, I shall defer from asking you anymore personal questions.”

He went to respond but stopped when a large shadow blocked out the dismal light from the lamps. The woman stepped back, her eyes wide with alarm. Reece knew what this meant. It was thelook of fear, one he’d seen all too often. Slowly, he turned around.

There were three of them, the man in the center large and angry looking, jacket pulled back to reveal a sagging paunch, hands on his hips close to the twin guns holstered there. One of the others Reece recognized as the man who had watched him emerging from the livery.

The big man cleared his throat. “Miss Bessy may not have asked you your business here, mister, but I will.”

Reece, leaning against the desk, scanned the three of them. The third, smaller but as mean-looking as a coyote on the hunt, held a rare Gibbs carbine in his hands. Impressed, Reece pressed his lips together. When he spoke, his gaze never left the breech loader. “I’m resting up.”

“Resting up from what?” The lean one asked this, his eyes narrowing, his shoulders tensing.

“Travelling.”

“What the fu—”

“Hold it, Frank,” said the large one, raising a hand to cut the other off, “let’s just see what our visitor has to say for himself.”

Reece didn’t feel as if he wanted to say anything, except telling these three bullies to back off before he bounced them down the street…but he didn’t. Instead, he drew in a breath, forced a smile. “I’m going home,” said Reece. “I got my discharge papers. You wanna read ‘em?”

The big man tilted his head. “Discharge papers? Mister, we get all sorts coming through here and most ain’t welcome. You have the look of someone who looks for trouble. You can leave tomorrow. First thing.”

“Henry, he’s but just paid for two night’s bed and board.” Bessy’s voice came to Reece as if borne on the wings of angels.

“Refund him the diff,” said Henry.

Reece pushed himself from the edge of the desk and looked from one man to the next. “You got any authority to put your weight around the way you do?”

“This is the only authority we need,” said the one holding the Gibbs. He waved it in Reece’s general direction.

“I hope that’s loaded,” said Reece.

“It is.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself by squeezing the trigger on an empty breech.”

“Mister,” breathed Henry, “I don’t much like your tone.”

“And I don’t like yours. Now, who in the hell are you to confront me like this, all tied-down guns and cavalry carbines?”

Behind him, Bessy’s voice sounded smooth and friendly when she said, “Henry, why not just go back to Mister Quince and tell him Mr Reece here is only passing through. We can then all take our supper, get a good night’s sleep, and get ready for another day in paradise.”

The little weasel snorted, Frank guffawed, and Henry blew out his cheeks.

For a long time, nobody said anything until Henry, at last, let his coattails fall across his gut and, with a nod towards Reece, growled. “Just you keep that Remington in its holster until you leave, mister.”

Reece nodded and watched them go.

From behind, Miss Bessy released a long sigh. “Why don’t I run you that bath, Mr Reece? Then we can all relax a little. What d’you say?”

Reece turned. “I’d say that sounds just perfect, Miss Bessy.”

“Bessy is just fine, Mr Reece.”

And with that, he followed her through the rear door which led to the narrow staircase and the waiting guestrooms.

Chapter 2

Quince was in his study, poring over a collection of papers strewn over the top of his large desk. He did not look up as someone rapped gently on the door before putting their head around and saying, “Excuse the interruption, Mr Quince.”

“Come in Henry. Take a seat. Take some coffee if you wish.”

Henry stepped inside. He stood still, eyed the coffee pot holding down some of the papers, and declined.

Eventually, after studying a large map for some time, Quince looked up. “Well, what is it?”

“A stranger, Mr Quince. Frank saw him coming out of the livery late last evening. Frank said he was wearing a Remington Army and looked as mean as a rattler. We confronted him at Miss Bessy’s.”

Quince, leaning forward across the desk, considered Henry for a while. Henry grew uncomfortable under his employer’s gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the next. He had settled his hat in front of his ample belly, gripping it with both hands. He now ran the brim through his fingers. Quince continued to stare. Henry coughed, ran a trembling hand through his hair, and got away from those damned eyes by looking at a large painting on the wall beside him.

“Who was he?”

Henry turned, drew in a breath. “He struck me as being—”

“A lawman?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly say for sure, Mr Quince. He was covered in dust and looked as though he’d been riding for days, if not weeks. I didn’t notice any—”

“Badge? He didn’t wear a badge?”

“No, sir.”

“And his clothes? Dusty you say, but a suit? Dark grey, formal?”

“No, sir. Range clothes. Shirt, rough pants, leather gloves in his belt. Gun belt that is. Like I said, Remington Army. Cavalryman’s gun. Federal cavalry, sir.”

“There’ll be plenty of them moving through right enough. From both sides. We need to be watchful, Henry. And marshals. Pinkertons maybe.I don’t want no lawman poking his nose in, you understand?”

“Indeed, I do, sir, which is why I followed him to Miss Bessy’s. Confronted him.”

“And what were your impressions?”

“I did not take him to be with the law, Mr Quince. He seemed too … I don’t know, just a feeling I got.”

“You fought in the War, Henry. You witnessed a lot of bad things. You must have some idea of who he might be.”

“A man not easily spooked, Mr Quince. As if he were used to it. Threats, I mean.”

“You threatened him? Henry, that’s not the best course to take with men like that. If he is ex-army, he could be as tough as Hell.”

“So is we, Mr Quince.”

“I know that Henry, but Frank is a hothead, miffed that he didn’t get a chance to fight before Appomattox put an end to it.”

“As are a lot of the boys, sir.”

“That’s as maybe but we have to maintain a modicum of control, Henry. I don’t want my plans compromised by any gunplay.You understand me?”

“Yes, sir, indeed I do, sir.”

“Good.” Quince pulled himself up straight. “You think this stranger is gonna be trouble?”

“Not sure, sir. He certainly did not take kindly to being asked questions.”

“Well, that’s his right, I reckon. No need to push, Henry.”

“No, sir.”

“But if he pushes back perhaps you could put him straight.”

A tiny frown creased Henry’s forehead. “Run him out of town, you mean?”

“With a fly in his ear, yes. But if he’s a lawman …” He turned, stood up, and crossed the room to the large bay window that looked out across his manicured lawn. He watched Radcliffe, one of his servants, trimming the grass. He liked that. It gave him a sense of comfort knowing that life continued unabated despite the uncertainties that peace had brought to his land, his business. “We have to be careful, Henry. If he is the law, he may only be a vanguard. We have to make sure he doesn’t stumble upon anything. Suspicions must not be raised.”

“But how would he know anything, Mr Quince?”

“Easily. A misplaced word in a crowded saloon, a drunken lout’s revelations about what we are doing here … Keep an eye on him, Henry. But from a distance.” He turned. “Be wary, Henry. Cautious. Patient. And tell Frank to keep that waggling tongue of his in his head.”

“Yes, sir, Mr Quince.”

“Now go get yourself something to eat. Me, I still have to work out if there’s another way into those old mines.”

Henry gave a slight bow, turned, and left.

Quince stared at the closed door. He hoped, no, prayed that the stranger, whoever he was, proved not to be anything more than a passer-by. Anything else would need to be met with consequences. If the War had taught Quince anything it was that violence always paid.