Late for Gettysburg Read online

  Late for Gettysburg

  Eugene Wyeth doesn’t seem to realize that the Civil War is over, and even his family can’t persuade him to surrender. With a price on his head he assumes there is a bounty hunter around every corner.

  But when his old comrade-in-arms, Rattlesnake Jack, is shot, Wyeth must risk exposure and ride into town to seek help. With the powerful Kirby Taylor and his gang of gunslingers determined to stand in Wyeth’s way, there is trouble looming, and Wyeth must examine all he has stood for and put his very identity to the test.

  By the same author

  Riders on the Wind

  Dust and Bullets

  Late for Gettysburg

  Vance Tillman

  ROBERT HALE

  © Vance Tillman 2013

  First published in Great Britain 2013

  ISBN 978-0-7198-2299-5

  The Crowood Press

  The Stable Block

  Crowood Lane

  Ramsbury

  Marlborough

  Wiltshire SN8 2HR

  www.bhwesterns.com

  This e-book first published in 2017

  Robert Hale is an imprint of The Crowood Press

  The right of Vance Tillman to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him

  in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Chapter One

  Eugene Wyeth wasn’t his real name, but he had become so used to it that it seemed he had never been called anything else. Originally, he had chosen it to protect his family. It probably wouldn’t help much. He didn’t trust the Federals any more now that the war had ended than he had when it was being fought. Other people might forgive, even his own family, but not he. As far as he was concerned, the war continued.

  He rode at a steady pace in order to conserve his horse. The steeldust mare had been with him for a long time, through most of the war. They had a rapport. They understood each other. What was more, Wyeth reckoned that she hated Yankees as much as he did. Ahead of them the trail wound like a snake. The sun shone out of a high blue heaven but a cool breeze rippled the grass. He began to recognize some of the familiar landmarks. Scattered cottonwood and willow indicated the line of Winding Creek. In another score of miles he would be at the town of Winding where his brother ran the general store and his sister taught school. He was looking forward to sampling his ma’s cooking. Only his pa was missing; lost at Corinth early in the war. Yet the others seemed to have come to terms with the new regime. He had tried but he couldn’t do it.

  It was mid-afternoon when he clattered across the loose planks of the bridge at the end of town and entered the main street. The place seemed to have grown since he was last there. There were more shops and stores than he remembered and the buildings seemed somehow to have grown taller. As he approached the general store he slowed down. He had intended calling on his brother first but he changed his mind and rode on. The main street of false-fronted structures led to a small central square shaded by trees. A couple of old-timers sat on a bench; a dog sprawled lazily at their feet. One of the oldsters raised a hand in greeting. Wyeth continued till he came to a side street of substantial frame houses with gardens. He dismounted outside one of them and, tying the horse to the fence, opened the wicket gate and walked slowly up the path. Before he had reached the door it was flung open and a big-bosomed lady with white hair drawn back in a bun rushed out on to the veranda.

  ‘Sam!’ she exclaimed.

  He bounded up the steps and took her in his arms. After a few moments he held his mother away from him.

  ‘Remember not to call me Sam,’ he said. ‘Sam Holland doesn’t exist any more. Remember, he got killed in the war.’

  ‘Oh, fiddlesticks. What can it matter? There’s nobody around, just you and me.’

  ‘It don’t signify. Better get into the habit of calling me Eugene. It’s safer that way.’

  ‘And am I supposed to act as though you’re not my son? I’ll never be able to do that.’

  Wyeth didn’t reply and his mother, sensing that she might have started on the wrong tack, turned the conversation to something more matter of fact. ‘You’re a funny one. Where have you just come from this time?’

  ‘Up around a place called Cold Creek. I have to be back there, but I got some time.’ He smiled down at his mother’s upturned face and took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

  The room they entered was pleasant. There were flowers in vases and on the walls hung a sampler, which his sister had made as a girl.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ his mother said. ‘I reckon you could probably do with something to eat?’

  ‘You read my thoughts,’ Wyeth replied. ‘At nights I dream of your meat pie.’

  ‘Then you’re in luck. I got a Cousin Jack pasty just ready to take out of the oven. I was intendin’ it for later but there’s plenty to go round.’

  ‘What time are you expectin’ Shelby and Kate back?’

  ‘Kate shouldn’t be too long. Shelby tends to keep long hours at the store.’

  Wyeth thought for a moment. ‘Why don’t we all go along and see him later if he’s not back in good time?’

  His mother smiled. ‘Why, that would be real nice,’ she said. She was obviously pleased at the suggestion but Wyeth felt there was something else behind it. He thought he knew what it was.

  ‘Like I said, I could stay awhiles,’ he shouted as she retreated into the kitchen.

  ‘That would be real nice too,’ she called back. ‘While you’re eatin’, I’ll go and make up a bed.’

  Shelby Holland’s general store was the largest in town. It stocked all the main items anyone was likely to need and in addition, Shelby had branched out. With due regard to the businesses of his neighbours, as well as groceries he also stocked items of hardware and drugs such as laudanum for general aches and pains, oil of peppermint for stomach complaints, turpentine, beeswax and coal oil. At the moment in which his brother was tucking into his meal, he was summoned from the storeroom by the tinkling of the bell above the outer door. A man entered but didn’t immediately move to the counter. Instead, after standing inside the doorway for a few moments, glancing round as he did so, he began to circle the shop, looking at the items on display.

  Shelby had time to observe him more closely. He was not one of his usual customers and Shelby did not recognize him. He was slightly taller than average and wore the usual range gear. There was nothing distinctive about him except that he walked with a slight limp. He carried two guns. That was unusual. Most folks, if they carried a gun at all, usually packed only one. And since Marshal Snider had taken office, guns had been banned in public places.

  ‘Can I be of help?’ Holland asked.

  The man turned and approached him. His flat eyes slid over and behind the counter before focusing on Holland.

  ‘Tobacco,’ he said. As Holland reached along the shelf, he could feel the stranger’s eyes on his back. ‘Do you know of a decent hotel?’ the man said.

  ‘Sure. In fact there are a couple, the Alhambra and the Spur. But if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ more cosy, I would recommend the Willow House.’

  ‘How do I get there?’ the man said.

  ‘The Willow House? Just carry on right along Main Street till you come to the town square. It’s over in the right hand corner.’

  The man nodded, paid for his tobacco and walked back through the door into the street. Holland paused for a moment before moving quickly to the window. The stranger was walking slowly in the direction he had indicated. For some reason, he suddenly felt uneasy. He had recommended the Willow House because it was run by Magenta Kirkwood. She had been a friend of his mother’s for a long time. His intentions had been good, but now
he wished he hadn’t suggested it.

  When he had finished his meal, Wyeth sat on the veranda with his mother.

  ‘You don’t mind if I smoke?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not. Your father always used to smoke a pipe. A meerschaum it was. I don’t know where he got it from.’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ Wyeth replied. He took out his pack of Bull Durham and rolled a cigarette. ‘That was some meal,’ he said, ‘it’s really good to be home.’

  His mother did not answer for a while. Wyeth took a long drag, waiting for what was coming next.

  ‘You could come back for good,’ she said at last. ‘You don’t have to be a wanderer.’

  ‘You know that’s not true,’ he replied.

  ‘Why can’t it be true? It’s true for other people.’

  ‘You know why. I’m a wanted man with a price on my head.’

  ‘You could give yourself up. Surely they’d be lenient with you if you handed yourself in. You tell me you haven’t ever killed anybody. There are people who would speak up for you.’

  ‘I can’t. It’s too late. Besides, I wouldn’t want to.’

  She gave him a look of exasperation. ‘Why couldn’t you be like everyone else? There’s Jim Reynolds and Bob Adams. They were with you during the war. Look at them now. They’re well set up on their own farms. What makes you so different?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Ma.’

  ‘The war is over. What’s past is past.’

  ‘Is that how you feel about Pa!’ he snapped. He saw the look of distress on his mother’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He got to his feet and, bending down, took his mother into his arms. ‘Come on, let’s not go over all this again. Let’s just enjoy bein’ together.’

  He held her tightly for a few moments until he heard footsteps and his sister appeared on the road in front of the house. She stopped for a moment, uncertain of who it was on the veranda, and then, realizing it was her brother, she ran up the path.

  ‘Hello, Sis,’ he said.

  ‘Sam! I didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘I figured it was about time I paid a visit,’ he replied.

  ‘How long are you here for?’

  ‘That depends. I’m not in any great hurry.’

  His mother had got to her feet and dried her eyes. Wyeth turned to her. ‘Say,’ he said, ‘why don’t we do like we said earlier and all go see Shelby?’

  ‘I expect Kate must be tired,’ his mother replied. ‘It’s not easy coping with those kids all day.’

  Kate laughed. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Goodness, anyone would think I’d spent the day down a mine or something. I’d say that was an excellent idea. Come on. Let’s go right now.’

  Kirby Taylor was a big name in the town of Cold Creek. He stood by the window of his office looking down on the street. The town was busy. Cold Creek was on the up and business was booming. What was good for Cold Creek was good for Kirby Taylor, since he owned a good part of it, his most recent acquisition being the stagecoach line. He couldn’t help a little smirk of satisfaction lifting the corners of his mouth. There was a knock on the door and it opened to admit his secretary.

  ‘Someone to see you,’ she said. ‘He says he’s expected.’

  The grin on Taylor’s face widened. ‘Thank you, Miss Hoskins. You can show him in.’

  After a few moments a small man with a bald head entered. Taylor showed him to a chair and then took his place at a roll-top desk opposite. Taylor looked the man up and down but waited for him to speak. The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘Mr Taylor,’ he said, ‘I did like you told me.’

  Taylor sat back and stretched out his arms. ‘Your name’s Hobbs, isn’t it,’ he said inconsequentially. The man nodded. Taylor looked him up and down. ‘Well, go on. What have you got to report?’

  ‘Mr Taylor,’ the man said, ‘I did just like you told me to. I’ve been spreading the word about the payroll.’

  ‘You’re sure you made it quite clear?’

  ‘Yes. I reckon most folks in town must know about it now.’

  ‘You mentioned dates and times for the stagecoach?’

  ‘Yes.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t mean to question your instructions, but isn’t it rather unwise to give out that sort of information?’

  Taylor suddenly jerked forward. The smile was gone from his face. ‘You don’t question anything I tell you to do,’ he snapped. ‘You understand? You carry out your orders.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Taylor. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Just hear what I say and don’t ask questions. If you know what’s good for you, that is.’

  The man shrank away. Taylor reached out a hand and took a cigar from a box on the table but didn’t offer one to the other man.

  ‘You’ve done OK,’ he said after cutting and lighting it. ‘I believe I can recommend you, should a position ever arise for a senior clerk.’

  The man remained sitting for a moment as though he expected something more. As Taylor sat back and blew a ring of smoke into the air he seemed to get the message that the interview was over. He got to his feet.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Taylor,’ he said. ‘If there’s anything else—’

  ‘Rest assured, you’re the first person I would contact.’

  Cringingly, Hobbs moved towards the door. ‘Goodbye, Mr Taylor.’

  Taylor didn’t respond as the man opened the door silently and slithered through. When he heard the outer door close Taylor rose and went back to the window. After a few moments the man appeared and he watched him as he moved along the boardwalk, disappearing eventually into the stage depot. Taylor turned and, putting on his frock coat, left the room.

  ‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’ he said to his secretary. After his brief meeting, he was feeling expansive. The word about the payroll had been spread. With any luck it would reach its proper target. He knew there were Confederate outlaws in the area, among them former members of Jeb Stuart’s cavalry. The fact that they carried on fighting a dead campaign did not excuse them for previous treachery. The Black Skull would deal with them.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t be needing me for anything?’ Miss Hoskins was saying.

  ‘I always need you,’ Taylor beamed, ‘but the rest of this afternoon is yours to enjoy.’

  She got to her feet. Not for the first time Taylor admired the thrust of her breasts beneath the tight blouse. She stood for a moment as if undecided. Taylor smiled, took her arm and together they walked down the stairs and into the street.

  The man who had been in Shelby Holland’s store locked the door of his room in the Willow House boarding establishment and then threw himself down on the bed. For a long time he lay unmoving, looking up at the ceiling. Then he sat up and, reaching into an inside pocket, produced a flask of whiskey together with a crumpled sheet of paper. He put the flask to his lips and took a good long pull. He spluttered slightly before taking another. He laid the flask aside and unfolded the sheet of paper. There was a picture on it and some writing. He glanced briefly at the picture and then read what was written beneath it.

  Eugene Wyeth. Age twenty-six. Medium height and build. Distinctive marks: none. Refused amnesty and wanted by US Military. Previously served as guerrilla with James Ewell Brown ‘Jeb’ Stuart, Cavalry Corps, Army of Northern Virginia. Wanted subsequently for robbery and murder. Two thousand dollar reward. Dead or alive.

  When he had finished reading it through several times, he folded it up and put it back in his pocket. He strolled to the window and looked down on the square. Darkness was falling and lights were appearing. He couldn’t be sure, but he was pretty certain that the man he had trailed to Winding was the man on the Wanted poster. It had been a stroke of luck that he had run into him at a trading store on the Wilderness River. He wasn’t certain that Wyeth was in town, but there was no other town within a considerable distance. It wasn’t a problem. If he was right, all
he had to do was hang about long enough for Wyeth to show. He wasn’t concerned about the reward, although it might be worth taking up. It would certainly be the easiest two thousand dollars he was ever likely to earn. But he had other business. Either way, he didn’t intend on messing about. The poster gave him a choice but there was no choice as far as he was concerned. Wyeth was going to die.

  After the initial discussion with his mother, the subject of Wyeth’s situation was avoided by all members of the family. The following morning, after Shelby had left early to go to the store, Wyeth accompanied his sister to the school. It was a small white building on the opposite side of town with space for only two classrooms. Kate took a senior class in one of them while an elderly woman took the junior class in the other.

  ‘The arrangement isn’t a fixed one,’ she said. ‘There is quite a lot of movement. For example, if a student does well in the junior class in a certain subject, he might be moved up to the senior class in that same subject.’

  ‘And vice versa?’ Wyeth commented.

  ‘Yes. It can make for complications, but it seems to work.’

  After he left his sister, Wyeth returned to the livery stables and saddled up. He took a different trail out of town to that on which he had ridden in. It was good to be with his folks, but already he was feeling something of a strain and he wanted to clear his mind. He had spent too long on the run, moving from place to place and sleeping under the stars, not to feel cramped when he had a roof over his head or stayed very long in one place. He was aware he was taking something of a risk in returning to Winding. That didn’t worry him. He would be concerned if his family were to be put at any risk, but that didn’t seem likely. It was true what his mother had said. Sure, he had robbed banks and stagecoaches, but nobody except himself had ever got hurt. That Wanted poster they had distributed was telling a damn lie when it put him down for murder. And for all his escapades, he had hardly a dime himself to show for it. On the other hand, there were plenty of hungry families, destitute farmers and wounded greybacks that had a lot to thank him for. Yes, and others, too.