Dead Before Sundown

Chapter 15

Meg already had a small fire going and the coffee brewing when Frank rolled out of his blankets the next morning. His muscles were painfully stiff as he climbed to his feet. He tried to tell himself that was because he’d slept on the cold, hard ground.

But that wasn’t completely true, and he knew it. Sleeping on the ground might have made it worse, all right, but at his age, his muscles would be stiff and slow to loosen even if he’d spent the night in a four-poster feather bed.

Meg poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a smile. He thanked her, sipped the hot, strong brew, and asked, “Where’s Salty?”

“Taking a look around outside the canyon.”

Frank frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We don’t want to draw attention to this place.”

“He said he’d be careful not to be noticed.”

Frank knew the old-timer meant well. And Salty was an experienced frontiersman who knew how to not be seen when he didn’t want to be.

But it still seemed like an unnecessary chance to Frank. He was about to go looking for his friend when he saw Salty slipping into the canyon through the brush barrier across its mouth.

“Nothin’ stirrin’ out there this mornin’,” Salty reported when he came up to the small, almost smokeless fire that Meg had built.

“You didn’t see anybody?” Frank asked.

“Nope, and nobody saw me, neither, if you were worryin’ about that,” Salty replied. “It’s plumb peaceful in these parts.”

Just then, as if Fate were enjoying having a horse laugh at the old-timer’s expense, the sound of shots suddenly racketed through the early morning air. They blasted out with incredible swiftness.

Frank and Salty stiffened. Meg came to her feet in alarm. The gunfire sounded as if it was no more than half a mile from their campsite.

“That’ll teach me to open my dadblasted mouth,” Salty said during a lull in the firing. They waited to see whether the fight was over or if it would resume again.

After a couple of minutes, another round of firing began. Again, the shots pounded out with breathtaking speed.

Salty looked at Frank and said, “Them ain’t regular guns goin’ off.”

Frank had already figured out what was going on. He shook his head and said, “Not guns. Gun. Just one. I’ve heard that sound before. The last time was at Yuma Prison.”

“It’s one of them devil guns,” Salty said.

“Devil guns,” Meg repeated. “What’s that?”

“A Gatling gun,” Frank said. “A rapid-firer. It has revolving barrels and can spit out about three hundred rounds a minute.”

The distant hammering sound of the shots stopped again.

“Somebody’s trying it out or demonstrating it for somebody else,” Frank continued.

Salty said, “I thought the soldier boys were the only ones who had them guns.”

Frank shook his head. “No, other people can get their hands on them, too. Like I said, the guards at Yuma had one mounted on a wagon.”

Salty and Meg didn’t ask how he came to know about the arms possessed by the guards at the infamous territorial prison down in Arizona, and Frank didn’t offer an explanation. He had put that trip to Ambush Valley behind him.

“What do you reckon is goin’ on?” Salty asked. “Why would somebody have a Gatlin’ gun up here in the middle o’ nowhere? Ain’t no Injun fights in these parts anymore, are there?”

“No, the Indian threat is over. Anyway, the Mounties are responsible for law and order in this part of Canada, and I’m not sure if they have any Gatling guns.” Frank rubbed his jaw as he frowned in thought. “Those smugglers I saw had some heavily loaded pack mules with them. Those crates could have had some broken-down Gatling guns in them.”

Salty pounded a knobby fist into a callused palm. “Dadgum it, I’ll bet a hat you’re right, Frank! Those varmints could’a stole them devil guns somewhere, and they’ve come up here to sell ‘em.”

That sounded like a reasonable explanation to Frank. Another idea occurred to him as well, but before he could say anything about it, Meg spoke up.

“Could this have anything to do with those men who grabbed us yesterday, Frank?” she asked. “Those … what did you call them? Métis?”

“I think that’s exactly what’s going on here,” he said. This morning’s developments had jogged his memory. “The Métis have always had trouble with the Canadian government. Their leader, a man named Louis Riel, led two rebellions in hopes of gaining a separate country for the Métis, or at least more power for them in the Canadian government. Neither war amounted to much, though. Canadian troops put down the first rebellion, and the North West Mounted Police took care of the second one. Riel was arrested, tried, and hanged. I remember reading about it in the newspapers.” He frowned. “But that was more than a dozen years ago. I haven’t heard anything more about the Métis since then.”

“Some folks have mighty long memories,” Salty pointed out. “Maybe some o’ the ones who followed that Riel fella want to try again to break away from Canada.”

Frank took up the thought. “In which case, they would need arms. Like some Gatling guns.”

The three of them stood there looking at each other for a long, silent moment. Finally Meg said, “I think you’re probably right, Frank. But if all that’s true, it doesn’t have anything to do with us. There’s nothing stopping us from heading for Calgary as fast as we can and trying to find Joe Palmer so we can get Salty’s money back.”

Frank nodded slowly. “You’re right,” he said.

But despite that, the situation nagged at him. He was convinced the theory they had come up with was correct: The smugglers had stolen some Gatling guns, probably from the U.S. Army, and brought them north into Canada to sell to rebellious Métis.

The question remained, what were the Métis going to do with them?

The answer couldn’t be anything good. The more Frank thought about, the more his gut told him that innocent people would die if those Gatlings fell into the wrong hands.

His instincts told him he ought to look into this, but did he have any right to drag Salty and Meg into what was potentially a very dangerous mess?

He pondered on this while they ate their breakfast and then tended to the horses. After the second burst of shooting, the Gatling guns were silent, which meant the deal had been concluded, Frank thought. In the end, he decided that he didn’t have any right to ask his companions to risk their lives.

Besides, he didn’t know for sure that what was going on in this stretch of mountains had anything to do with a budding rebellion by the Métis.

There were practical matters to consider, too, and Frank addressed those after breakfast.

“I think we ought to hole up here for the day like we planned,” he said. “That’ll give those folks, whoever they are and whatever they’re up to, time to move on out of these parts.”

“You’re not gonna go lookin’ for ‘em?” Salty asked.

Frank shook his head. “I reckon not. There’s no reason for us to get mixed up in their business.”

Salty frowned as he raked his fingers through his beard. “Well, I, uh, been thinkin’ about that, Frank. You know I used to do some range detectin’, and I helped out the law more’n once, and it sorta rubs me the wrong way to stand aside when there’s somethin’ shady goin’ on.”

“We don’t know that there is,” Frank pointed out.

“No, but there’s one thing you can be dang sure about…. Anybody who wants to get his hands on one o’ them devil guns is plannin’ on doin’ a whole heap of killin’.”

That was exactly the thought that had gone through Frank’s mind earlier.

Meg spoke up, saying, “I think Salty’s right, Frank. Now that I’ve thought about it, I’m not sure we ought to just ride away from here. What if those people are planning to use those guns to ambush a bunch of Mounties or even attack a town full of innocent people?”

“It’s not our job to stop them,” Frank said, playing devil’s advocate even though he leaned toward agreeing with both of his friends.

“Maybe not,” Salty said, “but when a fella sees somethin’ wrong happenin’, sometimes he’s got to step in.”

“Or she,” Meg added.

Frank didn’t argue any more. Instead he grinned and said, “I’m glad you two feel that way. I don’t reckon we can turn our backs on this, either. But we’ve got to be smart about what we do next. I think the two of you should stay here while I go take a look around. If I can find the bunch that has the guns now, we can follow them and try to find out what their plan is.”

“You better be careful, Frank,” Salty advised. “I don’t figure they’d take kindly to bein’ spied on. You saw how quick they was to grab me an’ Meg yesterday, and they’re gonna be even proddier now that you killed one of ‘em.”

“I plan on being careful,” Frank assured him. “Let’s get one of those horses saddled up.”

When he had the animal ready to ride, he took hold of the reins and led the horse toward the mouth of the canyon. Salty and Meg came along with him.

“The two of you lie low and stay alert,” Frank said. “I’ll be back later.”

“It’s a shame we can’t do nothin’ about them smugglers,” Salty said. “I reckon it’s better if we follow the guns, though.”

Frank nodded. “There’s nothing we can do about the guns being stolen. That’s already happened. But maybe we can stop them from being used to slaughter innocent folks.”

He pushed some of the brush far enough aside to lead the horse through the gap he created. When he was gone, Salty and Meg could pull the brush back into place and make sure the canyon mouth was concealed again.

Frank had just stepped out into the open when the morning erupted in noise. The terrible hammering of shots filled the air, and a veritable storm of lead pelted around him.