CHAPTER FIVE

Blue Corrigan watched the bespectacled man head for the station while his younger brother strode across the open yard.

Without warning, a wounded warrior Hannah had overlooked, jumped up and ran at Deed waving a tomahawk and yelling. In one smooth motion, Deed pivoted to his left, grabbed the Indian’s right wrist with his left hand, and smashed his right elbow into the charging Comanche’s face. Deed yanked away the tomahawk, then drove his fist into the attacker’s chest. The Comanche gasped and fell.

A shot from one of the riders ended any further attempt. Smoke trailed from the barrel of Blue’s rifle. He had fired it like a pistol, one-handed, pushing the stock against his leg. Licking his lower lip, he returned it to his saddle scabbard and swung down. The Oriental nodded and dismounted, too.

As if nothing had happened, Deed strolled over to the two riders. Of medium height and build, the two brothers looked a lot alike, resembling their late father, even down to their once-broken noses, courtesy of their brother, Holt. Deed was eight years younger than Blue, an inch taller, fifteen pounds heavier, and definitely wilder. Blue was as intense as Deed, but directed it toward building a great ranch.

Deed’s reputation for fighting grew as well; Holt’s reputation was more like that of a ghost. Neither Blue nor Deed had seen him since the war ended. Two years younger than Blue, Holt had been riding the outlaw trail, still fighting the war that had ended so long ago. Distinctly, the three brothers had elements of their mother’s approach to life within them. Deed cared about all things of nature, from snakes to birds to deer, much like that of an Indian; his fighting instincts, however, came from their father.

Holt had picked up their mother’s fascination with superstition and reincarnation, believing he had once been a Roman soldier, a knight in King Arthur’s Round Table, even a jaguar in South America, in different lifetimes. He carried a panther’s claw in his pocket and had since he was twelve. His first experience in believing he had lived before had occurred during the war. An enlightening experience, he said. His superstitious ways increased then as well. No one laughed when he told the stories, not even Deed. Like his younger brother, Holt’s fierce fighting abilities had come from their father.

Blue’s beliefs, however, were more traditional. In fact, he served the Wilkon church as a part-time minister, along with a townsman, whenever the circuit rider wasn’t available. Their mother had loved reading, especially the Bible, and so did Blue; their father believed in the need for righteous behavior, but also in never backing down.

Blue’s coat and chaps showed signs of trail dust. The sleeve of his left arm was pinned against his coat. Yankee artillery fire had blown it off; he was lucky to have survived. One of his pockets was jammed with extra cartridges. In the other was a small Bible his mother had given him. He always carried it, even during the war, and credited the scripture with saving his life. At his hip was a holstered Walch Navy 12-shot revolver with two triggers and two hammers. Weighing two pounds, it was twelve inches long. Rarely seen in this part of Texas, Blue had taken the gun from a dead Union officer during the war and decided he liked it, especially since reloading a standard six-shooter wasn’t easy one-handed.

“Glad you could make it.” Deed gave his brother a warm hug, then turned to Silka and hugged him, saying, “Nana korobi, ya oki.”

The old samurai smiled, recognizing the Japanese saying: fall down seven times, get up eight. “Velly good. A warrior must do so.”

The short, stocky Japanese man was many years older than the Corrigan brothers, had a graying mustache, and wore his hair pulled back tight to a tail in back. Carried in a sheath across his back was a classic samurai sword. Nakashima Silka’s clothes were nondescript, but definitely those of a cowboy; a broad-brimmed hat was weathered and flopping. Around his neck was a small engraved brass circle just like Deed wore. It, too, carried a hidden knife behind the Oriental’s back.

He had left Japan when the samurai were forced out and made his way to Texas, learning English as he traveled. In many ways, he was like a stepfather to all three Corrigan brothers and had taught Deed, in particular, how to fight—and fight well—with any weapon and with one’s hands and feet. Silka taught the classic samurai way of the warrior, Bushido, the importance of inner strength and determination, with moments of concentrated energy. At its core were honor and freedom from the fear of death. His swords were the only physical remains of his previous way of life. Under his careful training, Deed had become a fierce warrior even though he didn’t want the reputation.

Deed, Holt, and Blue, with Silka’s considerable help, had built up their family’s ranch southeast of the stage station and a few miles outside of Wilkon. Theirs was one of five ranches doing well in the region; two were quite large, the Bar 3 and the Lazy S. Their mother and sister had died of pneumonia when Blue was eighteen; Holt, sixteen; and Deed, ten. Their father had died six months before their mother from a broken neck after a horse threw him. Three years later, Blue and Holt left to fight for the Confederacy while the much-younger brother, Deed, stayed with Silka to keep the ranch afloat. While the older brothers were gone, Silka had honed Deed’s fighting skills.

“It’ll be good to get home,” Deed said, patting the nose of the extra horse, a steady buckskin that he favored. “Seems like I’ve been gone a long time.”

“Well, you have, Deed,” Blue said and glanced at the station, “but one of us needs to go on to El Paso. Just bought a fine stallion . . . from August Magnuson. Figured we’d breed him with some of our best mustang mares.”

“Magnuson? He’s got some mighty good horseflesh. Usually wants a lot for ’em, too.”

Blue smiled. “He’s in a bind for cash. Made us a mighty good offer. Couldn’t pass it up. Silka agreed.” His smile got wider and he glanced at the former samurai who nodded agreement. “At least, I hope you’ve got money from the trail drive.”

“In my gear.” Deed motioned toward the coach. “I can go on. I’ll take what we need to pay Magnuson and give the rest to you two. We did well.”

Blue looked around and said, “Good. Sorry we didn’t get here sooner. That must’ve been a bad bunch.” He closed his eyes briefly and said a silent prayer for the dead souls.

“Came out of the earth, it seemed like,” Deed said.

The Oriental asked, “How many hurt?”

“Two passengers as well as the shotgun guard are dead. So is the station manager. Another passenger, a German farmer, got hit hard in the shoulder,” Deed said. “He’s inside being cared for by his wife.” He shook his head.

“What happened to your driver?” Blue asked.

“Last time I saw him, he was running for that barn. I think the stock tender’s in there, too. Haven’t had time to look. Or cared to.” Deed motioned toward the barn, then turned toward three painted Indian horses standing with their heads down, adorned with paint and feathers tied to their manes and tails. He gathered their simple reins and led the ponies to the water trough, then let them loose in the corral. Blue and Silka tied their own horses to the trees and headed for the coach’s downed horses.

As they walked, Deed asked, “Ever hear of a gunman named James Hannah?”

Blue nodded. “Most have, I reckon.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t look like a gunman though.”

“Hai, what does gunman look like?” Silka asked, a slight smile working its way onto his flat face.

“Some would say Holt, I guess. Or me.” Deed bit his lower lip.

Silka waved his arms in disagreement. “No. You are fighter. Warrior. Big difference.”

Deed rubbed his mouth with his thumb. “Anyway, Hannah was a big part of our making it. He and I just took the station manager’s body to his house. We’ll bury him later. Wherever Mrs. Forsyth wants.”

“Where’s he headed? James Hannah,” Blue said, glancing at the station again.

“Going to El Paso, I think. Why?”

Blue said, “Well, it’s one more gun.”

“Yeah, a good one.”

Finally Tade Balkins and Billy Lee Montez emerged from the barn; the one-eyed Mexican holding his shotgun and looking both ways with each step. Tade’s face was taut and his rapid-fire speech made it obvious he was coiled and nervous. Silka’s presence seemed to make him even more on edge.

“Any more of those red devils left?” He glanced at Silka without meaning to do so, then looked away.

“They’re gone—or dead. We killed their leader and that sent the rest running,” Deed said, motioning to the bodies lying across the yard.

“Thank God for that,” Tade shook his head.

“Yes, thank God,” Blue repeated.

“Never had ’em come at me like that before. Holy damn!” Tade shook his head again. “They got Hank early on. My guard, ya know. Was. Then the bastards cut down my two lead horses. Damn them to blazes. They were great Morgans. Two of the line’s best.”

“O soroshi,” Silka said solemnly.

Tade stared at him as if the old samurai had just given a war cry. Both Corrigan brothers recognized the Japanese word for “awful,” but added no comments of their own. It seemed to Deed that the driver was more upset about his two horses dying than losing his guard. He introduced Tade to Blue and Silka, and asked to be introduced to Billy Lee. After mumbling an introduction, Tade walked over to the coach while the others exchanged greetings.

“Hard to believe. Those red bastards didn’t even try for the gold.” The stagecoach driver shook his head and motioned toward the heavy box under his seat. It was filled with gold coins, certificates, and bars for the El Paso Bank.

Deed glanced at Blue, then Silka, then back to the high-strung driver. “They got the station manager, too, while you were hiding out in the barn.”

“Caleb Forsyth? They killed Caleb? My God, that’s awful!” For an instant, it looked like Tade was going to kick the closest Indian’s body. Either he didn’t get the bite of Deed’s remark or chose to ignore it.

“Yeah. You lost two passengers, too. Another, Mr. Beinrigt, is hurt bad. We carried him into the station.”

Silka walked over to the coach and muttered something in Japanese. Tade licked his lips and stared at the dead drummer still wearing his top hat, as if seeing the body for the first time, then gazed at the expressionless Silka. “Where are the womenfolk?”

“They’re inside. They’re all right.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Tade walked over to the two dead horses. “I’ve got to get going again. Mail’s gotta get through, ya know.”

It was Blue who spoke first and his words were practical. “Well, we can’t leave these dead horses here to rot. Maybe we can pull them out of the way. We’re going to need to hook up some of the team in the barn to haul the dead ones away.”

“Sure. Sure.” Tade was already gathering strewn-about clothing from the broken-open luggage and laying the garments and suitcases in the coach. One mail bag was ripped apart so he gathered the loose envelopes and boxes and placed them inside the coach as well.

“We’re going to need your help here,” Deed said.

Tade looked up. “Oh, sure. I wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t thinking.”

Billy Lee Montez laid the shotgun against the coach and helped untangle the harness. The two rear horses were eager to get away from the nightmare of snarled leather. The left rear horse reared and snorted. Billy calmed the frightened horse into standing again. Unharnessing the animals was slow work, but gradually they freed one of the downed middle Morgans and the animal stood, shook itself, and was ready to be led away with the other two. The remaining middle horse had a badly broken leg and couldn’t stand. Mercifully, Deed shot the animal, then knelt, touched the dead animal’s head, and said a silent prayer. Blue and Silka watched without comment.

Billy said, “I bring grease for de axles.”

“Let’s get these horses out of here first,” Blue affirmed. “We’ll need some horses to pull them.”

“Sí. I bring two hosses. Enough?”

Silka nodded. “Velly good. Bring rope also.”

Billy hurried away and Blue and Silka walked the three unhurt coach horses to the holding corral. Returning to their own horses, they led them to the water trough and then retied them to the outside of the corral gate. Billy brought a set of harnessed horses and they finally got the three dead horses dragged away into a long ravine, surrounded by brush. Tade urged them on while leaning against the coach and watching the old samurai walk among the downed Comanches, using his long sword to assure himself that they were all dead since James Hannah had obviously missed one.

“What do you want to do about these dead Indians? The ones close in here?” Deed asked. “They’ll bring coyotes and buzzards—and smell like hell.”

Tade shook his head. “Well, I’ve got to get this coach going. Hate to leave you with that mess, but I gotta.”

Blue shook his head. “You’re full of all kinds of good news. We need to drag these Indians off someplace out of sight and smell.”

“I guess I’ll help,” Deed said.

“Well, those Comanches will come back to get them. Count on it.” Blue motioned toward the horizon with his good hand.

Silka agreed. “Hai. They will come. It is their way.”

“Sí,” Billy added.

Blue recommended they wait until the coach left, then haul the dead Indians beyond the stage yard and out of sight. The stage could be moved up closer to the station so the passengers wouldn’t have to walk among the dead to get on. The dead passengers and the shotgun guard would require separate graves. How and where the dead station manager would be laid to rest would be Atlee Forsyth’s decision. Deed reminded Tade that two suitcases on top would need reloading and the removal of some arrows. There were a few bullet holes too; but not much could be done about them.

The anxious driver said he would take care of the suitcases. After greasing the axles, Billy Lee helped Tade lead out the fresh team and harness them to the coach. Tade was obviously eager to get moving again. He headed to the station to get something to eat and tell the passengers that the coach was ready. The Mexican disappeared into the barn again.

After lifting the dead drummer from the stage and laying him on the ground, Deed, Silka, and Blue headed for the house, talking to each other.