Jack stabled Tulip in her stall but left her saddled just in case he needed to skedaddle. As a bonus he gave her a feedbag of oats in addition to the hay in her feed trough. Then he picked up his shotgun and walked up to the verandah where both Gerard and Mr. Mac were smoking and waiting patiently.
Gerard asked, “Ya hungry?”
“Yep. I didn’t eat this morning.”
“Come on in. I’ll fix ya some pancakes and bacon while ya fill us in.”
“That sounds great.”
They traipsed inside. Jack and Mr. Mac sat down at the table. Gerard poured everyone a cup of coffee. Then he commenced to frying bacon and making pancakes.
Jack said, “I posted up before dawn just east of the demolition site. The posse showed up about two hours later. Dirty Bill was the scout.”
Mr. Mac burst out, “Aha! Daggummit! There’s your weaselly, stinkin’, cow patty-eatin’, lowdown snitch! We should ‘ave knowed it was him doin’ his dirt again. He never learnt the lesson you teached him.”
Gerard exclaimed, “What? I wish I had knowed he sneaked back home. I swear I would ‘ave broke all his ribs and cut out his tongue!”
Jack responded, “No need. He had a bit of misfortune this morning.”
Gerard said, “I didn’t hear no gunshots.”
“Nope. It was much worse. He was making water and a dern copperhead popped up and bit him on his manhood. He was howlin’ in agony, floppin’ all around. Wouldn’t surprise me none to learn they had to cut it off to save his life. He might ‘ave even kicked the bucket by now.”
Mr. Mac and Cousin Gerard were hooting with laughter. Gerard said, “Well I’ll be a cross-eyed coyote! That’ll learn him. What happened next?”
“I don’t know. I had to scoot. I was so close to Dirty Bill he almost whizzed on me. All of ‘em except for Mr. Whipple came runnin’ to help Dirty Bill and kill the snake. From what I saw before that, I think Major Bohannan was upset because the blown-up gangster machines were nowhere in sight.
“Oh, yeah. All six of the posse were there. Not sure what they decided to do about Dirty Bill but my guess is they’ll go ahead and search the property tryin’ to locate the still. I’ve checked everything three or four times and there’s nothin’ there to find. Also, with the possible exception of the major, they’re all city boys and now their scout is out of commission. They’ll probably show up here in a couple of hours. How do you want to handle it once they get here?”
“Jack, you stay in the barn ‘til they ride up. Try not to be seen if’n you can just like we done with the gangsters. You’re my ace in the hole again. Me and Mr. Mac will meet ‘em from the verandah. I’ll tell ‘em to get off my property.
“Understand, I ain’t submittin’ to no arrest. I druther be dead. If they say I am, and I see they mean to take me, that’ll be the trigger. I’ll light ‘em up, no more talk bein’ necessary. Otherwise, talk is cheap.
“You fellers feel free to join in if’n shots is fired but wait for me to shoot first. That’s real important. I druther they back off without no blood bein’ shed but it’s their call. That’s all I can think of. It ain’t no complicated matter. Soon as we get done eatin’ it’ll be time to set up.”
The meal was consumed with minimal further conversation. Everything that needed to be said had been said. Each man was consumed in his own thoughts.
Thirty minutes later Jack climbed up in the hayloft and cracked the board window so he could see the side and front of the cabin. He was undecided if he would shoot from this vantage point or come down. It would be maximum effective range from up there and the buckshot would have a wide spread, possibly hitting someone other than his intended target. On the other hand, it afforded concealment and cover that he would not have on the ground. He would wait and see.
Wait they did. More than three hours. The posse arrived quietly in single file from the front gate. Major Bohannan lead. Rough Rider Whipple was next. Beauregard Greathouse was third, followed by Arthur T. Jackson and finally Buster G. Black, who was riding drag. Clayton E. Simpson was not there.
They stopped about twenty feet from the cabin. Major Bohannan was centered directly in front of the steps. C.K. Whipple was to his right. Buster Black was on the right flank. Beauregard Greathouse was to Major Bohannan’s left. Arthur T. Jackson was on the left flank nearest to the barn. They sat patiently for two minutes waiting for Gerard to step outside onto the verandah.
Finally, Gerard stepped out, Winchester .30-30 held across his waist in both hands. They could see the hammer was half-cocked. He stood in front of Major Bohannan.
Mr. Mac walked out behind him. He was carrying his Winchester .44-40 in the same fashion. It was half-cocked, too. He stepped to Gerard’s left, stopping directly in front of Mr. Whipple, who was holding his Springfield .30-06 across his lap.
Mr. Mac stared at Mr. Whipple, whose Adam’s apple was bouncing up and down like a basketball being dribbled by a guard bringing the ball down court across the centerline into play. He was sweating profusely. His eyes were shifting left to right like he was watching a tennis match from the side. Mr. Mac had already sized up the wannabe Rough Rider at the restaurant. He knew Mr. Whipple would never fire a shot. In fact, he would do well to remain in the saddle once shots were exchanged. All Mr. Mac was doing by his stare, was to freeze Mr. Whipple into inaction once bullets began flying. Mission accomplished.
Next, Mr. Mac looked Buster Black in the eye. What he saw was a scared kid with a twelve-gauge pump shotgun. Even so, he saw the kid had grit. He would shoot and at this distance he couldn’t miss. It was a shame. Mr. Mac would shoot him first.
Cousin Gerard faced Major Bohannan. So this is what a Medal of Honor winner looks like up close and personal. He was clearly a man who led from the front. He commanded respect. Gerard could see that his Colt .45 was holstered. Nevertheless, he was convinced that the major had a draw like lightning and that he was convinced he could shoot Gerard before Gerard shot him. Brave man.
Gerard gave Beauregard Greathouse a cursory, but respectful glance. Gerard could see both of his Peacemakers which were also holstered. Gerard knew an old-time lawman when he saw one. Gerard knew now without a doubt that he would die, riddled with bullet holes from both Major Bohannan and Mr. Greathouse in the first two seconds of a gunfight. He hoped that Cousin Jack had sized up Mr. Greathouse and that he would eliminate him before he eliminated Gerard, himself. Doubtful.
Finally, he checked out the dandy to his far right. This must be the weasel who shot the kid. He looked cocky. Gerard couldn’t see this pimp’s gun but he remembered that he carried a pocket pistol in a shoulder holster. Gerard paid him no further thought because for certain, this weasel was a dead man already.
While the antagonists were sizing each other up, Jack quietly descended the ladder and stood in the shadows three feet into the barn. He cocked both barrels. He knew it would be up to him to erase the Wyatt Earp doppelgänger before he erased Gerard. His heart was thumping like a marching band. Nevertheless, he knew what he would do if shots were fired.
The wind was deadly still. The sun was beginning to drop in the west over Buster’s shoulder. It was not a factor.
“Mr. Twyman, my name is Major Jubal Bohannan.” Looking over at Mr. Mac, he said, “I’m sorry Sir, but I do not know your name although I do remember seeing you in the restaurant Friday eve.”
“My name is Elias MacEwen. I am Mr. Twyman’s nearest neighbor.”
“Of course. Very well. Gentlemen, you know why we’re here. We work for the governor’s office. We have been commissioned to bring the persons unknown to justice who are responsible for killing nine alleged bootleggers on the Ashland Highway a week ago this past Thursday. In so doing, we are tasked with arresting local moonshiners. Mr. Twyman, we have reliable information that you operate an illegal still and that very likely you were one of the men involved in the killing of the out-of-state bootleggers. What say you, Sir?”
“Major Bohannan, I am honored to meet Kentucky’s only living Medal of Honor winner. If you and your men come in peace, I will fix you all a cup of coffee and break bread with you.
“I know who ever’one of you all are. I know your reputations. I know you aren’t here to arrest me because Sheriff Harned ain’t in your presence. I also know your informant is Wilbur Conard, known far and wide as Dirty Bill, and otherwise known to be an unsavory character of poor reputation - a bald-faced liar. I know he was bitten by a serpent earlier this day. I know you already searched my land and that you couldn’t find what ain’t there. I am prepared to meet unlawful force with force. If today is my day to die, so be it. Understand that I won’t be the onliest casualty here today. I think we understand each other. The next play is yourn.”
Jack crept closer to the riders for a definite kill shot on Beauregard Greathouse during Gerard’s soliloquy. So far, he had been undetected. When he was within twenty feet, Arthur T. Jackson took his eyes off Mr. Mac, glancing towards the barn. He leapt with a start, crying out, “Ambush!” At the same time, he pulled his revolver and snapped off a hasty, unaimed round at Jack. Jack returned fire and blew him out of the saddle. He was squeezing the trigger to shoot Mr. Greathouse.
Major Bohannan yelled, “Stop! Cease fire, everyone!” His command reverberated throughout the yard. Shockingly, all participants froze in place.
Mr. Whipple’s horse apparently didn’t understand English. He bucked Mr. Whipple onto the hard-packed earth and galloped off towards the gate.
At least one of Jack’s pellets penetrated Mr. Greathouse in his side. He was bleeding. He was also aiming two cocked Peacemakers at Jack.
Buster and Mr. Mac were aiming at each other.
Gerard had shouldered his rifle and was aiming at Major Bohannan, who was sitting in the saddle like he was at a church picnic.
Major Bohannan spoke again, softly. He said, “Please, everyone. Lower your weapons. This is not what I want. Please!”
It seemed like an eternity. First, Gerard lowered his. Then everyone else followed suit.
Major Bohannan said, “Gentlemen, I had misgivings about this mission from the very start. Nevertheless, I followed my orders and everything that’s transpired since rests squarely upon my shoulders. I accept the responsibility.
“Mr. Twyman, we will collect our dead and Mr. Whipple, who appears to have broken his arm. Then we’re leaving. You, Sir (pointing at Jack), what is your name?”
“My name is John Archibald Rabbit. Folks call me Jack. Gerard is my cousin. I fought with the 1st Infantry Division during the Great War. I live here now.”
“Jack, thank you for your service. I can see you are a brave and honorable man. I will tell Judge Durham that you killed Mr. Jackson in self-defense. Maybe we will meet again one day under better circumstances.
“Mr. Twyman, I extend our apologies for coming here today. Same to you, Mr. MacEwen. Before we go, Mr. Twyman, would you mind if we tend to Mr. Greathouse’s injuries? Beau, I hope you weren’t hit very badly.”
“No, Sir. I think I was hit from a spent ball that passed through Mr. Jackson.”
Gerard said, “Major, why don’t you all dismount and take a breather? Mr. Mac, would you fix the coffee? Jack, why don’t you get us some bandages? Fellas, make yourselves to home.”