C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
There were several pairs of hungry eyes watching the wagon load of essentials as it rolled out of Conception. Two youngsters were driving a mule and the freight was substantial for a single draft animal. The eye owners wondered how far those kids planned to haul that bounty; accidents and trouble along the trail were not uncommon these days…
…Two of the watchers sought their horses.
Once out of sight of the village, Diamond retrieved his father's mount from a grove where it had been tied. He had opted to bring the horse along to assist the mule if necessary, but had concealed the animal near town to avoid questions regarding the Union Army brand. The Brannigans owned two sets of harness, but had lost one half of their team. Pairing the saddle horse with the mule, Jerome, was out of the question; the warhorse was not broke for dray work and the mule had shown a dislike toward the new arrival. Preston figured to hitch his rope to the wagon and dally up to the saddle if the horse should be required to assist. Lily drove Jerome and wagon; Preston swung aboard the stud.
The country roads in this sparsely settled area ran along the borders of, for those with a good imagination, a rectangular pattern, tending toward north and south/east and west. Corners were not readily identifiable as ninety degrees though a compass needle may, eventually, indicate that such a turn had been made. The land had gently rolling hills with easy slopes that the mule handled without strain until, about a mile from the Brannigan farm, the convoy encountered a higher knoll that Preston felt would be too much for the tiring draft animal to tackle alone. The rider strung out his rope and hitched the big horse to the wagon. Lily urged Jerome forward and the group successfully attained the summit, then stopped for a breather. Preston removed his rope, coiled it up and strapped it on the saddle.
Bad company emerged from the brush parallel to the trail.
Preston recognized one of the ruffians as a man he had occasionally seen loitering in Conception; the other, sporting a marked white scar along his left cheek, was a stranger; the land was overcrowded with those. Respectable would not be an appropriate word for either as they sat their horses in jeering silence. Overconfidence overruled sound judgement for their guns remained holstered. Preston didn't appreciate the local man's sneer, but he hated the leer the stranger directed toward Lily.
The Conception reprobate spoke first. “Well, well, you two young'uns 'specten to set up yourselves a nest somewheres? Youse shore got a passel of stores there. Might be youse'd share?”
“Might be you'd share the lady, too,” said the stranger.
The raiders had edged closer as they spoke, now only the low bed wagon separated them from the boy on the cavalry horse. Lily's eyes were huge, fear clung to her like a veil. Preston recalled his vow following the encounter with the old horse thief: 'He did not wish to become a killer, but he would yield nothing without a fight.' Staples were not worth killing or dying for, but Lily….
The holdup men had not seen a short-gun about the youth's person and must have been confident the kid would not be able to pull the rifle from its scabbard before they could draw their side-arms. They had never seen a fast draw; such things were unheard of. Preston had neither heard of, nor practised, hauling a gun out in a hurry either, so the surprise was complete when a fully cocked Colt revolver appeared in his hand. “We aren't looking for trouble, but I have six pieces of it to pass around if you fellows are. So you may as well head back to Conception. If you leave now you won't have to travel in the dark.”
With the shoe on the other foot the thieves were inclined to study their intended victims more carefully. They had seriously underestimated this boy who calmly aimed that deadly gun without so much as a tremor in his hand or break in his voice. Sadly though, there is one in every crowd; even if the crowd consists of only two or three people.
Mr. Conception shouted an anguished, “Nooo!” as his partner went for his gun.
Fast draw wasn't common; neither was slow-motion; had a replay been available it may have looked something like this:
Preston's bullet caught the gunman just above the thigh, ripping through gun belt, flesh and grazing the pelvic bone, tearing him from the saddle as it went. As he fell, he triggered the three-quarters drawn gun, burying a half ounce of lead in the hub of the off wheel on the wagon; the stricken man's horse reared in fright; Jerome bolted; the man from Conception had trouble with his pony as the riderless mount plunged after the mule; the cavalry stud flicked one ear forward, the other back, and Preston brought the revolver to bear on the remaining assailant as he sawed reins to regain control.
About fifty yards farther along, Lily hauled up on the lines and Jerome stopped (because mules aren't stupid) just ahead of the steep descent on the down side of the knoll. The free horse, stirrups flapping, disappeared over the ridge. Half-Fast-Draw lay in the wagon track, moaning loudly in the sudden stillness.
The mounted assailant bawled, “Don't blast me out of the saddle, kid; I ain't reachen' for no gun.”
But the fellow on the ground was.
Preston shifted aim, intending to destroy the gun, but the hurried shot went high. It shaved skin and shattered bone of the index finger knuckle then burned a jagged streak along the back of the outlaw's hand. A scream ended in a whimper as the fellow rolled up in fetal position and lay trembling. Once more the smoking barrel turned toward the man from Conception. His hands had moved; they were high in the air. Empty.
“Reach down with your left hand and pull your gun out, real slow, then drop it on the trail.”
The man willingly complied; Preston noted the hand was shaking like the very last aspen leaf.
“Now get off your horse, on this side, and kick both those pistols toward me.”
Without averting his gaze, Preston called,“Lily, can you see that runaway horse?”
A tremulous voice said, “Yes, it's coming back up the hill.”
“Can you tie that mule to a tree, then lead the horse over here?”
From the corner of his eye Diamond watched as Lily clambered down from the wagon. Mr. Conception, now on the ground, had his hands in the air, palms outward. Preston repeated, “Shift those guns toward me with your toe, then step back.”
Lily's face was white and her whole body was shaking as she approached, leading the errant pony. Preston said, “Alright, Lily, stop before you get that horse between me and these hoodlums. I want you to pick up their guns and take them back to the wagon. Just drop the reins; since it came back, I doubt it will run off again. I'll join you in a minute.”
After the girl had started back up the trail, Preston addressed the uninjured holdup man. “Neither of you has a rifle so I'm guessing you aren't packing extra short-guns either… is that a fact?”
“No, no, kid, we got no more guns, an even if I did, I sure as hell ain't about to pull one on you.”
“See to your friend, I don't think he's too bad off. He should be able to ride back to town.”
The fetal fellow managed to stand with assistance. The lecherous leer had been replaced with a repentant scowl. Blood soaked his trousers on the wounded side and the hand looked a mess. Preston said to him, “I don't especially resent your thieving, these are hungry times, but I considered using that second bullet to cool your interest in ladies. I won't forget your face, mister. If ever I hear of you laying a hand on a woman, I'll hunt you down and empty my gun into you… and, it will be the last shot that kills you. Now get on your horses and leave us alone.”
The Conception man loaded his partner into the saddle then climbed aboard his own horse. He took up the reins of both mounts then turned in the saddle. “You be'n more than fair with us, kid. Most anybody else, in your boots, woulda' shot us both and took our horses.”
Still training the Colt on them, Preston stared impassively. The fellow sighed, touched heels to his horse and led the way down the hill toward town.
Preston Diamond had learned a valuable lesson: The fellow who has his gun out first has a definite advantage.
As Preston rode up to the wagon, Lily climbed down from the box and took a few hesitant steps to meet him. “I… I heard what you said… Thank you for not killing them… I could see in your eyes… Perhaps… if I hadn't been here… If I hadn't been here… they would be dead, wouldn't they, Preston?”
Diamond thought of his mother lying bloodied and murdered. No man should ever be excused for violence against a lady. He shrugged. “If they had touched you, they would be dead.”
As the little cavalcade approached the farm, Amy ran across the yard to meet them. “Davy is awake! He's been eating food and drinking water on his own!” The tomboy caught the back of the wagon and scrambled up. Her eyes grew big as she surveyed the load. “Holy cow! Lily, you must have bought out the general store!”
Lily glanced at Preston. “Mr. Diamond bought out the store and then he saved our supplies from robbers.”
Amy erupted with rapid-fire questions, allowing no time for answers. The older girl parked the wagon near the step, then asked her sister to tend to the mule. “I'll tell you all about it when we are finished with the work.”
Preston swung down from the saddle, looped the reins around a broken post and, as he loosened the girth, said, “I'll have a chat with your brother while he is awake and then help offload these supplies. You needn't start without me. If you could give my horse a short drink, Amy, I'd be obliged, but don't unsaddle him… I have to head home tonight.”
“We can handle the light stuff, Preston, you go on in and see Davy.”
Davy Brannigan still lay on the bunk, but he had managed to sit up with several worn pillows tucked behind to hold him upright. More colour had returned to his features and the eyes had an alertness that was not there earlier. Preston assumed Amy had given the patient a scrub: he needed a shave, but his face was clean. His expression was one of reserve as Preston came to the bedside.
“How's the shoulder?”
Brannigan attempted a shrug, winced and said, “Well, I doubt I'll be forking hay or digging potatoes for awhile… but… if you hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. I don't know why you saved me. I owe you my life.”
Preston's gaze caught and held the wounded man's eyes. “My father was a soldier long before this war broke out. He told me men of the opposing side are right and just in their own convictions, too. War doesn't prove a point, you know, and might does not always make right. Papá said, 'If we fail to help a fallen foe, we are less a man than he was.' My father, Colonel Cutler Diamond, would have done no less for you than I did.”
Lily came through the doorway with two sacks of dried beans. She placed them on the floor below a small set of cupboards, turned to go back out, but paused as she heard Davy say, “Amy told me you had lost your parents in this war. I'm sorry.”
“They didn't die in the war, they were murdered.”
Davy slumped into the pillows. “Amy didn't tell me that. Was it recently?
Preston looked at Lily. As before, horror masked her face and her hand covered her mouth. “Too recently… our home was attacked by three men; one a Union Army officer.” Preston's voice caught, “I… I don't care to talk about it. It's only been a few days.”
The room was silent.
Preston felt he had to say more, he had to get Davy Brannigan to tell his story. “That night, with his dying breath, my father killed one man; my mother wounded another.”
“Where were you? Did they try to kill you too, Preston?” Lily asked..
“They intended to wipe out the Diamond family. I shot the third one… dead. The wounded one, the officer got away.”
“Bastards!” Davy spat, “Shooting their own soldiers.” His eyes widened, “You said your father is Colonel Diamond?”
“Was,” Preston replied bitterly.
“From what I've heard, Colonel Diamond's men would follow him through Hell. It just doesn't make sense that a fellow officer should kill him.” Davy shook his head in disbelief. “And you're the son of Colonel Cutler Diamond? Your father is almost as famous as old 'Unconditional Surrender' Grant.”
“The two of them have been best of friends since the Mexican War. For as long as I can remember, I've called General Grant Uncle Lyss.”
Amy had returned from her errands and stood close to Lily. She said, “Davy, you said Mr. Diamond was a four-flusher when I told you he had written a note to General Grant.”
“Looking back, I guess that must have sounded pretty far fetched. I didn't consider it so at the time,” said Preston.
Davy stifled a yawn and slid down into his blankets.
Preston couldn't keep the urgency out of his voice. “Mr. Brannigan, I need to know the circumstances of your killing that officer and I'd like more information about the two other instances you mentioned in which Union people shot their own.”
“Well,” Davy began, “I was planning to be a hero. I sneaked up on the Union command when the fighting was hot. I think Colonel James Unzer was in charge. I wouldn't know the fellow, but I'd heard he was an old campaigner from years back. I thought our unit would have a fighting chance if that man was eliminated. I seen him, he was an older fellow, fifty or so. Just as I was settling in for a rather long shot, I saw another fellow, a bluecoat, sneaking up behind Unzer; he hunkered down and took aim right at his own colonel! I saw bars on his sleeves and figured he was a man of rank, too. He was taking his time, looking around kind of sneaky like, so I had a couple seconds to think it over. I considered letting him shoot the colonel, then I would kill him. But that old officer just didn't deserve to be shot in the back by one of his one people, and, to be honest, the other was closer, so I shot him instead.”
Lily said, “Then they shot you. And if Preston hadn't found you, you'd be dead; no hero about it.”
“Well, they didn't shoot me on the spot. I got back to my horse and then I took the ball. I rode for all old Jake could muster but he must have got hit, too. Last I remembered was Jake plowing through some trees… and then I woke up here.”
Lily explained, “Jake was one of our horses. He must have been trying to bring Davy home.”
Amy said, “Poor old Jake. We lost him and Jerry, too. Now Jerome is the only critter we have except for Lilac.”
The older girl seemed compelled to explain further, though Preston wasn't concerned for the loss of Brannigan's livestock, “Jerome and Jerry were our mule team; Jake was our riding horse; and Lilac, she's our milk cow.”
“Jerome, Jerry, Jake, Lilac and Lily…” Preston turned back to the invalid. “What can you tell me about the other incidents?”
“Spotters for the 'Sharp-shooters', that's the Confederate Army's long-range target men ?they have special built rifles that can shoot a man off his horse at eight hundred yards? these spotters use telescopes and they claim to have seen men of high rank shot by their own people. One was at Shiloh and the other one at Vicksburg, I think….” Brannigan's voice trailed off.
Preston knelt beside the bed, “Did you hear any names? What was their rank?”
Davy closed his eyes, “No, I can't recall mention of names, I think the one at Shiloh was a general.”
Lily stepped to the bedside. “Davy, you best get some more rest.”
The wounded man acquiesced, he lapsed into a hoarse whisper. “That's all I can remember now, Mr. Diamond… I hope… I hope it will help you….”
As Preston arose, Amy said, “I watered your horse, Mr. Diamond.”
“Thanks, Amy. Please, call me Preston.”
He turned to Lily and said, “You Brannigans appear to have received a good education here on the edge of the wilderness; you don't talk like most people in these parts.”
“Our mother was a teacher back in England. She insisted that we learn to read and write; I suppose proper speech and manners were grilled into us as well.”
Amy said, “Mother's wish was that we should not become 'barbarians'.”
Lily asked, “What about you, Preston? You apparently have an education, too?”
“My mother and father taught me…”
Preston changed the subject. “Let's shift that wagon load into your house before the deer mice pack it off.”
Everyone's 'load' lightened as the trio toted the supplies inside. Amy's whoops of glee as she peeked into every sack and carton were equal to a dozen kids on Christmas morning. Davy Brannigan managed to stay asleep throughout the commotion.
Lily followed Preston out to his horse when the job was completed. Tears glittered as she said, “Preston Diamond, we are so very grateful for all you have done.”
Diamond smiled and his brilliant blue eyes shone. “I'm happy to have been able to help. You are really nice folks. And I thank you for helping me wi….”
His words were cut off as Lily stepped close and kissed him full on the lips.3
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