The Unflinching Collection

Chapter 9

The ranch house was a solid-looking building on two levels, wooden fascia painted gleaming white, the roof made from neat, black slate. A covered porch, surrounded by a fence, with a gate and steps, had various chairs and tables arranged across, and adjacent to the main door, paintings and cleaning implements rested upon the wall.

Newhart pull on the reins and the wagon stopped. He whistled. “This must have cost a tidy sum,” he said, leaning forward on the buckboard to peer out from under the brim of his hat. He hawked and spat into the dirt. “Mason, I think we got something here.”

After a moment, Mason poked his head through the flap of the wagon. He was n***d, but without shame, he slipped up beside Newhart and grinned. “Oh my, that looks a fine place.”

“It seems new.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Why would anyone build such a thing all the way out here?”

“Maybe they found God.”

“Hardly likely.” Newhart rubbed his chin. “You think there"ll be working men around here?”

“I"d take a bet on it. So, we need to be real careful.”

“What you planning on doing, Mason?”

“Take it for our own, of course. We go up nice and easy, you and the girl together up front, making out as if you"re settlers or something. I"ll wait inside the wagon, and when they"re not watching, slip out "round the back of the building back and plug any bastards slinking around. Then we"ll hole up, maybe for a few days. They must have plenty of supplies, maybe a good woman to help with the cooking.”

“Jesus, all you ever think about is women. Ain"t you got enough with the girl back there?”

“She is a sweet young thing. She told me she"s nineteen. Nineteen. She"s as smooth as beaver-skin, Newhart, her body lean, so giving.”

NineteenNewhart rubbed his face. “I don"t need the details of how much she excites you, I hear you often enough. Every goddamned minute, night and day.”

“She loves it. Didn"t at first, but now…” He chuckled and looked down at his growing arousal. “I"m in heaven, Newhart. I can"t get enough.”

Newhart stared at his friend"s impressive erection, licked his lips. “God, Mason, you are something, I have to say.”

Mason chuckled again, patted Newhart"s shoulder and said, “Give me a minute or two, then I"ll send her up front.” Then he disappeared into the interior. Within seconds, the wagon rocked gently from side to side, moans filling the air.

Newhart sighed, flicked the horse with the reins and the wagon lurched forward, creaking and groaning across the pitted, hard-backed land.

Stockport Lancing sat by the window, peering out between the drapes, focusing on the approaching wagon. Beside him was his old army rifle, a single-shot flintlock. Ranger, his old dog, stretched and yawned, a low grumble coming from the back of his throat.

“You stay quiet now, boy,” said Lancing. Behind him, Joanna, his maid, played with a towel, wrapping and re-wrapping it around her fists.

“Should I nip out back and fetch the boys,” she asked.

“Maybe. Give it a second or two. Looks like a couple, and I can"t see no firearms. Maybe they are settlers, lost their way.”

“We haven"t had any visitors here for almost a year. It"s hard to miss the trail nowadays. They ain"t lost, Mr. Lancing, sir.”

He nodded, knowing the truth of her words. Since the gold rush, the trail was as good as signposted all the way along. No one came this way anymore, unless they were sick or dying. Or here to steal. “Fetch the boys,” he said. “And take Ranger outside, I don"t want him barking.”

She did so, leading the old dog by the collar towards the rear door.

Lancing frowned. “Now, I wonder what the hell you want?”

Newhart shifted his weight. The buckboard was harder than iron, causing his backside to become numb. He fought back the desire to jump down and give his buttocks a well-deserved massage.

Elisabeth, sitting beside him, noticed his discomfort and laughed. “You got lice in your pants?”

He sniggered. “I got them everywhere, little girl. No, it"s my a*s. I can"t hardly feel it.”

“Well, maybe when we get inside you could take a bath.” She sniffed the air. “You need one.”

“You have a tongue on you, little girl, I"ll say that much. Doesn"t Mason stink bad too?”

“No. Mason smells divine.”

“You like him, don"t you?”

“Some.” She gave a short laugh. “Does that make you jealous?”

He snapped his head around to face her and for a moment he wanted to tell her exactly what he thought of her, but then his eyes fell on her smooth, full lips and he melted. “Christ, yes.”

“Thought so.” She smiled. “Best not let Mason hear you saying such a thing. He"s like to slit your throat.”

“That would be the truth, but hell… You two moving around like two rabbits, it"s driving me crazy.”

“Well, you just keep a lid on it because Mason and me…” She sighed then looked out across the rolling land to the house. “That"s a nice place. Wonder how they manage to keep it so clean. Can"t be a working place.”

Newhart shrugged. He had to agree. The building was pristine, virtually glowing in the sunshine. The perfect paintwork, gleaming windows, and roof as shiny as if it were a polished mirror, all seemed to point to the building as newly-built. Two stories, with three windows in the roof and a chimney stack on either end. This was a large house, and the closer Newhart took the wagon, the more impressive it seemed. A set of steps led up to the front porch, an oil lamp swinging from the rafters by a hook. Two rocking chairs, a low table and cushions waited under the awning. A perfect place to while away the long evenings. “I think it"s some sort of retirement place,” said Newhart, easing the wagon to the left and setting it before a nearby hitching rail. “This ain"t no cattle ranch.”

“A hotel maybe?”

“All the way out here? Nah. Let"s go and take a look.” He jumped down, dusted off his coat, put his palms into the small of his back, and stretched himself.

“Help me down, Newhart.”

He grinned, bowed with exaggerated sarcasm, and held out his hand. She gripped it and jumped onto the hard ground. She looked around, then concentrated on the upper story. “I think there"s someone watching.”

“Well, let"s hope they"re friendly.”

“You think they have big beds? Soft mattresses, thick blankets?”

“Why, you fixing on sleeping the rest of the day?”

“No,” she said, smiling, “I"m thinking of curling up next to Mason under real cotton sheets is what I"m thinking.”

“Jeez girl, you"re as bad as he is! All you think about is—”

The main door creaked open and an elderly man stepped out onto the porch, holding a long musket in his hands. He studied them both for a moment. “I"ll be asking you who you are, friends, and what you"re doing on my property?”

“We left the trail a while back,” said Elisabeth quickly, before Newhart could get a word out. She stepped forward, spreading out her hands, “thinking we might find a short-cut. Instead, all we found was prairie. Until we saw this place.”

“It"s mighty fine,” breathed Newhart, stepping up next to Elisabeth, resting his hand on her slim shoulder. “Me and my sister, we"re heading out west. Lost Ma and Pa on the way…”

Elisabeth shrugged him off and took another step towards the old man, making it to the bottom step before he levelled the musket directly at her. “We just need some water, maybe a little food. A while to rest. Our horse, he"s mighty tired, as you can see.”

“Yes, I can see.” The old man"s eyes never left hers. A tiny frown appeared on his brow. “Are you all right? I mean, not just from being exposed to the weather and all, I mean, are you all right?”

all rightShe smiled, mounting the first step and her eyes closed, as she mouthed a silent "no". She stopped, two steps from the top. “Are you all alone out here?”

“No I ain"t.”

“Elisabeth,” breathed Newhart, his voice dangerous, edged with ice, low, “what the good f**k are you doing?”

Elisabeth, ignoring Newhart"s sense of panic and the atmosphere charging with tension, took another step, gaze set solid on the old man. “Get everyone you can out here with a g*n and,” she grinned, “shoot these bastards to Kingdom come!”

Newhart yelped as Elisabeth launched herself forward, tore the musket from the old man"s gnarled fingers, turned and fired.

Newhart flung himself to the ground, the musket ball whizzing mere inches over his head, and he rolled underneath the wagon, fumbling for his revolver in the folds of his coat.

“Get inside,” shrieked Elisabeth, pushing the old man through the open door with such force he toppled over backwards. She kicked the door shut with the sole of her boot and dropped to her knees as Newhart"s first bullet smashed through the woodwork and pinged through the room.

She didn"t have time to take in her surroundings, but she was aware of the size of the room, its coolness, the shutters closed to keep out the sun"s heat. The old man whimpered and three people appeared from a back room, a woman and two men. They were young, early twenties, and were all armed.

“Shoot them,” she snarled.

“Them?”

“There"s two. The bastard under the wagon and another, much worse. He"s already skirting "round back.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Don"t argue, just shoot them!”

Another bullet smashed through the woodwork, cutting off her speech and the two men moved, fanning out to the windows either side of the main door. The woman was mumbling, wringing her hands. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

And that was when Mason came through from the back and into the room, a g*n in each hand.