The Man from Pinkertons and the Gunrunners

Chapter 6

Truth to tell, Pete Johnson had now had more than enough of being stuck in this ghastly town and since he had all the leisure in the world here to turn matters over in his mind, he was beginning to be struck by an awful thought. He was quite used to being required to turn up in out-of-the-way locations in order to prepare the explosives for some company or other. No town would tolerate the mixing up of nitro-glycerine within its borders these days, not since great San Francisco disaster in 1866. Some fool had sent a consignment of nitro in bottles and packed them in an ordinary box, which was sent by Wells Fargo. Nobody quite knew what had happened, but on April 16^th, there had been the most terrible explosion at the Wells Fargo offices. Every window within a half-mile was shattered, the building itself destroyed and fourteen people killed. Beginning with San Francisco, many towns then brought in ordnances which prohibited the manufacture, storage or transportation of nitro-glycerine in areas were folk were living and working. As a consequence, Pete Johnson had been obliged to travel to the sites where the explosives were needed and then produce them on the spot. This was damned annoying, for it meant having to shake down in remote camps where tunnels were being blasted through a mountain for the passage of a railroad line. Johnson was a chemist, not a navvy and found it far from enticing to be compelled to live rough in this way for weeks at a time. It was for this reason that he had so eagerly accepted the proposition put to him by Colonel Stannard.

According to Colonel Stannard, regulation in Mexico relating to the transport of explosives were nowhere near as onerous as the ones currently in force across most of the United States. It seemed, at least from what Pete Johnson had been told by the colonel, that if he went to Mexico to work there on their new, trans-Atlantic railroad line, he would be able to live a normal life in Mexico City. Indeed, if Stannard were to be believed, Pete Johnson would be able to live a life of unrivalled luxury, with sufficient money that he would be able to satisfy his every whim. All he would need to do would be to set up his little manufactory in the city and arrange for the production of nitro and a large quantity of the Black Hercules, and then others would take it to where it was needed. His role would essentially be those of the manager of a commercial concern and he could simply play the role of a businessman. It was, to say the least of it, an enticing prospect. Now though, he was not so sure.

Perhaps it was being at leisure in this little town, with nothing to distract him or take his mind off his doubts, but the more he ran over things in his mind during the last day or two, the more it seemed to Johnson that there was something odd about the whole business. He had been so hypnotised by the suave officer that he had perhaps taken too much at face value. Had he first met Colonel Stannard in the company of the men who were seemingly his intimate friends and associates, it might have appeared to him incongruous that such people were acting as the agents for the Mexican government. Stannard was plausible on his own, but why was he surrounded with these villainous-looking types? Why was it necessary to come to this lawless little town before crossing the border? It was while he was musing in this fashion, strolling along Pilgrim’s Crossing’s main street, that he saw a rider approaching and recognised him as the young man with whom he had had such a pleasant conversation when first he had arrived in this town. The recognition was mutual, for the rider reined in his horse, dismounted and secured her to a hitching post. He said, ‘Why, it’s mister Johnson, isn’t it? I was hoping to bump into you.’

This chance meeting was welcome to Pete Johnson as well, for he felt himself greatly in need of an objective opinion on the questions which had been tormenting him that morning. He said, ‘It’s good to see you. Do you have time to spare for a little conversation?’

‘To speak plainly,’ said Kyle, ‘I had it in mind to seek you out for that very purpose. Perhaps we might walk a little way out of town though, where we’re not apt to be seen or overheard.’

The two men made their way to the end of main street and then continued along the sandy track which led out of town. Kyle observed casually, ‘’You’ll pardon my mentioning it sir, but you look a mite troubled. Your frown gives you away, you know.’

‘Well then, I am troubled. You are quite right. The fact is, I don’t rightly know what to do.’

Kyle shot a sidelong glance at his companion and said, ‘ Do I take it that you’re not certain now about going south with Stannard and the others?’

‘You take it right. I can’t see my way clear to making my mind up about the business. The longer I’m here, the more I’m thinking that something doesn’t listen right about the offer I’ve been made.’

Kyle took a deep breath and plunged straight in. He said, ‘Were I you, I wouldn’t travel a yard in the company of Stannard and his men. They’re a dangerous crew and I doubt you’ll profit by the association.’

‘You seem very sure. Am I to apprehend that you know something about Colonel Stannard?’

‘I know he’s a killer and whatever tale he’s spun you is most likely a lie. You ask my advice, then I’ll give it. I would leave town at once and without letting him and the others know what you’re about.’

Pete Johnson stopped dead in his tracks and stared searchingly at Kyle, to see if he were in earnest. It seemed that he was. Johnson said slowly, ‘I gave up some work I had in hand to come down here, I was promised that it would be a responsible position. I’m greatly afeared as I’ve been sold a pup.’

‘I make no doubt of it. But there’s my advice. Make of it what you will.’

The two of them walked back to where main street began, Kyle wondering if he had been too free with his counsel and wondering what Stannard would have to say on the subject if he heard what he had said to the chemist. When they parted, he said to Pete Johnson, ‘It’s nothing to me which road you take, of course, but I would be sure to think twice before throwing in your lot with those men.’

By the time he got back to his room, Johnson was quite prepared to try and find a way to leave Pilgrim’s Crossing that very day if humanly possible. That was until he opened the door of the room and found one of Colonel Stannard’s boys sitting on the bed, evidently waiting for him. ‘Boss wonders if you’d favour him with a word.’ said this man.

It had been pure chance which caused Edward Stannard to glance out of the window and see the young fellow who had declined to join him in stealing the Gatling Guns, walking down the street with Johnson. Something about this innocuous scene enraged the colonel. Although he had no rational grounds for supposing it to be the case, he was convinced that the man with the chemist was working against his interests and trying to sabotage his scheme. It was a fact that he needed the man who could prepare the nitro, both he and those Gatlings were a vital part of what had made Stannard such an important man in connection with the rebellion in Mexico. He could ill afford to see him talked out of things by that damned scarecrow drifter. The colonel left his room and went in search of Jim Howard. Much as he disliked the idea, it might prove necessary for a killing to be arranged right in public view.

Howard escorted Pete Johnson to the colonel’s room and once Johnson was seated on the bed, facing Colonel Stannard in his chair, Howard stood with his back to the closed door, making it plain that the chemist would not be going from that room until he had been given leave. There was an ominous silence when once Pete Johnson sat down and after a few seconds, he began to feel uneasy. At length, the colonel said, ‘Anything on your mind, mister Johnson? We’re all friends here, so be sure to share your thoughts with us.’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking and I’m not sure any more that I will be coming to Mexico with you, sir. I’m more than half minded to return to my own part of the country.’

Neither Colonel Stannard nor Jim Howard responded to this and silence fell once more. This made the chemist nervous and he said, ‘I’ve been talking with a fellow who advised me that crossing the border is not the best thing I could do.’

In the usual way of things, Stannard abhorred threats of violence, but that did not mean that he would shrink from making them if he felt that the need had arisen. From all that he was able to see, that was the case now. He said, ‘Let us rightly understand each other mister Johnson. You agreed to join this expedition and if you fail to do so, then you will put me in a deuced awkward position with the Mexican government. My oath is at stake here. I promised to provide them with an expert in the field of explosives and you agreed to come with me. I can’t allow anything to interfere with that arrangement.’

This was not a side of Colonel Stannard’s character that the little man had previously seen. Gone was the old-world courtesy and charm. Johnson opened his mouth to speak, but Stannard raised his hand and said, ‘No, don’t interrupt me. I tell you now that you will come with us and do as you’re bid or your life is worth little. Do you understand what I am telling you?’

It was all that Pete Johnson could do to simply nod his head. Stannard continued, ‘Jim here will take you to one of my men and between now and our leaving this town for Mexico, you will be in the company of one of my associates at all times, is that plain to you? Forget all ideas of bolting. You’re coming with us.’ Stannard turned to Howard and said, ‘Hand him over to one of the boys and then come back here. There’s work to be done.’

Ten minutes later, Jim Howard returned to Stannard’s room. It was not the colonel’s habit when among his own men to mince words or chase around the woodpile. He said to Howard, ‘We’ll have to kill that interfering fellow. I can’t see another choice.’

‘I’m of the same view. But it’ll have to be done before the army show up, asking a heap of questions here.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s more, it must be done this very day. He’s already got that chemist all stirred up, there’s no telling what else he’s planning for to do. Leave it until nightfall and who knows what he’ll have done in the meantime.’

‘There’s no law here, but I heard tell where they have a vigilance committee.’

‘I don’t look for trouble from that direction, just so long as there’s enough witnesses to say that he was killed in a fair fight.’

Jim Howard looked soberly at the colonel. He said, ‘You want that I should challenge him to some duello in public?’

‘You think you can get the drop on him?’

Howard considered this question for a space and then said slowly, ‘He’s a hard one to read. I was mighty surprised at how fast he bested Seth Brown, may he rest in peace.’ He sketched a cross in the air.

‘Seth was three parts drunk and not as fast as you either. You’re stone cold sober and I’d say you had the advantage over him.’

The prospect of provoking a gunfight in this way with a man of unknown ability and speed on the draw was not an attractive one to Howard, but like his boss, he could see that it wouldn’t do to have that fellow roaming around, poking his snout into their business and creating mischief. He said, ‘Well, it has to be done and I reckon I’m best able to carry off such a plan. I’ll have it on my own terms though.’

‘Handle it as you will.’

While two men were plotting his murder, Jethro Kyle had nothing more on his mind than finding breakfast. He was famished. It was a little early yet to expect either of the saloons to be furnishing him with vittles’, but a small eating house was open and through the window he could see two men enjoying what looked to be a hearty breakfast. He went in and found to his pleasure that the place was serving bacon and beans, with freshly baked rolls and coffee. He said to the proprietor, ‘Why, that’s just exactly what I could have hoped for!’ The man was pleased to find such an amiable and easily contended customer and bid Kyle to seat himself down.

The meal was precisely what he had needed and after wolfing it down, Kyle felt more like a human being and less like a half-starved beast. He finished the pot of coffee, paid the bill and then, feeling more well disposed towards the world than he had when he was starving hungry, he walked out onto the street. It was a sunny day, and the little town was looking pleasant enough in the pale, wintry sunshine. Spring was just around the corner and that was a pleasant thought too. All in all, Kyle was feeling pretty happy with the world. He didn’t at first notice the man sauntering along the street in his direction. It was not until this fellow was almost upon him that he stepped to one side to allow the other to pass. Rather than just walking by though, the man stopped dead and faced Kyle in what looked to him like a truculent and menacing way. When he actually looked at the man blocking his way, it came as no surprise at all to find that he recognised him as one of Stannard’s men. He wondered what the play was, but did not have long to wait before everything was made clear. The man standing six feet away said in a quiet voice, so that only the two of them were able to hear what he was saying, ‘I’m after your blood. You man enough to face me?’

‘I got no quarrel with you that I know of. Why don’t you go off and fight somebody else?’

‘You’d o’ done better to stick your snout in a hornets’ nest than poke it into our business, you hear what I tell you?’

Kyle knew that there was no evading such a challenge, but he could try and gain an edge. One way of doing this would be to taunt the challenger and provoke him to genuine anger. Right now, killing Kyle was just a piece of business and there was no real animosity towards him. He said, still speaking quietly, so that they would not be overheard, ‘You’re a cowardly braggart. I known men like you before. You shot down those soldiers this morning from ambush. No warning, no defiance given. Only a mean-spirited skunk would behave in such a fashion. Real men scorn such womanish tricks, you know. Happen you heard of the rattlesnake code? That’s how men conduct themselves.’

When Kyle mentioned the ambush at San Angelo Pass, he had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s eyes widen in astonishment and, just for moment, real fear. He and Stannard and the others obviously had no idea that the whole business had been watched by an unfriendly observer. This was a good beginning, because he had rattled the fellow. He continued, ‘Tell you what, I don’t think you have the courage to face me in a fair fight. Shooting men in the back from cover is more in your line, isn’t it?’

There could be no doubt that this shaft had gone home, for the man’s countenance reddened with mortification and then went pale with anger. Kyle had never seen such a thing before and despite the deadly nature of what he was doing, found the sight an entertaining one. He ended by saying, ‘I don’t normally bother with types like you, but if you want to try your luck, well then, here I am.’

‘You son of a whore,’ said the man, no longer trying to keep his voice down, ‘Come out into the middle of the road and I’ll show you who the coward is. I’ll make you eat dirt.’

One or two passers-by heard this and hurried into a nearby store. As Kyle and the man who evidently wished to kill him moved to the centre of main street, eyeing each other warily the while, they became the focus of attention of those in the street. This was not the first time that a gunfight had erupted, seemingly from nothing, on the streets of Pilgrim’s Crossing, but such affairs were more common at night than they were in broad daylight, in the middle of main street.

There was one advantage that Kyle could see to fighting in this way in the street, with the sun overhead and that was that there could be no accusation at a later date that either he or the man facing him had acted cunningly or attacked a man off his guard. Whatever the end of this business might be, it was as conspicuously a fair fight as any which he had seen.

The two of them took their stand with about thirty feet separating them. Neither took his eyes from his opponent and by all the rules which held in such contests, Kyle could have gone for his pistol immediately, without it being seen as an unprovoked attack. There could be no question among those watching that here were two men, witting and in cold blood, who were each of them determined to kill the other. Kyle though had reasons of his own for not wishing to fire the first shot.

When things happen in such situations, they generally happen very quickly; so fast in fact that if you were to look away for the merest fraction of a second, you would miss the climax. So it was in this case. Jim Howard was so furious at having an accusation of cowardice flung in his face, especially since it was justified, that he was almost trembling with vexation and rage. He was determined to shoot down the man who had mocked and derided him and when he drew the pistol which nestled on his thigh in a beautifully tooled holster, he had no doubt at all that he would be the winner of this contest. The only catch in his calculations was that the man standing before him had no intention of playing the role of a target and simply standing still, waiting to be drilled through the heart by a third of an ounce of lead. As soon as he saw Howard’s hand start moving, Kyle did the most unexpected thing in the world, which was that instead of going for his own gun, he pitched forward, flat on his face and then rolled over twice, like a log, before drawing his own piece and firing from his prone position.

There was nothing whatsoever in the conventions of such duellos forbidding the actions which Kyle undertook, although it is fair to say that it was an unusual sight. There was not even an unwritten rule that one must stand stock-still and allow the other man to take a shot at you in that pose.

The effects of Kyle’s unorthodox gambit were striking, for Jim Howard was almost trembling with fury at the jibes to which he had been subjected. That being so, he drew and fired in one smooth movement, sending his ball fly straight to where Kyle’s heart would have been, had he not dived to the ground. For a fraction of a second, Howard was nonplussed and then turned to fire at where his target now was, rolling in the dirt. That tiny interval of time though was long enough for Kyle to pluck his piece from where it was tucked into his belt and to fire twice in quick succession at the man who had challenged him. The first shot went wild, but the second caught Jim Howard in his forehead. He stood for moment, with a look of almost comical surprise upon his face, as though events had taken an unlooked for and somewhat unwelcome turn; which was of course no more than the blunt truth. So it was that he toppled to the ground and died almost at once.

Kyle had cocked his piece again, ready to fire a third time if need be, but seeing that this would not be necessary, he held the hammer with his thumb, squeezed the trigger and gently uncocked the weapon, allowing the hammer to descend safely. Then he got to his feet. Seeing that the shooting was over, bystanders with nothing better to do with themselves wandered across from the boardwalk to stare at the corpse which was sprawled face down in the middle of the street. There was to Kyle something a little distasteful about such morbid curiosity, but he did not think it wise to prejudice any of the witnesses against him by driving them away. It would be these people who had watched the whole affair who could testify that it was a fair fight and that there was no question of murder.

Unbeknown to Kyle, Colonel Stannard was staring down from his room above the saloon. He was horrified at the way matters had turned out and felt himself at least partly to blame for Howard’s death. It had, after all, been he who had urged him to kill the interfering stranger. More to the point though than the slight guilt which he felt, was the realisation that he had now lost another of his men and that with just five of them left now, it was going to be cutting things extremely fine to recover those Gatlings and convey them down to the border and across the river. For this reason, he looked with hatred upon the man who was now standing at his ease in the street below, chatting to the witnesses as though he had not a care in the world. It seemed to the colonel that this nondescript and unremarkable man was somehow destined to be his nemesis.