physician, were engaged in conversation. Miss Dawson, who was about seventeen, was with her mother, who had come to see her off.
McVey finished his coffee, then glanced up at the big clock that stood by the back wall. It was ten minutes before departure, time for him to give the passengers his normal pre-run briefing. “Folks, can I have your attention? Can I have your attention, please?”
All the conversation stopped as the passengers looked toward him.
“My name is Stan McVey. I’m your driver for this trip, so if you would, I’d like for you to gather ’round for a moment or two so’s I can talk to you about this here trip you’ll be takin’ today. It’s eight and a half hours from here to Suttle, if ever’thing goes like it’s s’posed to go. Gents, I’d prefer that you don’t drink no liquor durin’ the run, but there ain’t no law agin’ it, so there ain’t no way I can stop you. But, if you are goin’ to drink, then I ask that you share the bottle with them that might want it, on account of sometimes arguments get started over that.
“Since we got ladies present, I’m also goin’ to ask that you don’t smoke no cigars or pipes inside the coach without the ladies tellin’ you it’s all right. That’s ’cause the smell sometimes irritates the ladies. You can chew if you like, but when you spit, make sure you spit with the wind, and not agin’ it, ’cause iffen you spit agin’ it, why it will come right back into the coach. I don’t care if it gets on you, but it’s the others in the coach I’d be worryin’ about.
“I’m goin’ to ask you not to be cussin’ none either, ’cause oft time the women gets offended by that.
“Now, are any of you gents wearin’ guns?”
Only Calhoun indicated that he was.
“Then I’ll be askin’ you not to be shootin’ your gun out the window at rabbits, or deer or anythin’ like that, ’cause the gunshots tend to scare the horses and they might commence to runnin’. Oh, and if for some reason the horses do take off a’ runnin’, then for sure don’t be jumpin’ out of the coach. It might be a little frightenin’ to you, but trust me, you’re a heap safer off stayin’ inside.
“And finally, I want to say this, and you’d best listen to me, ’cause I am real serious about it. If any of you men does or says anything that upsets or offends any of the ladies, I’ll put you off the coach and you’ll be walkin’ back to the depot. And believe me, you ain’t goin’ to like that. Now, if there ain’t no one got ’ny questions to ask, we’ll be loadin’ up in”—McVey glanced at the clock—“about three minutes. That means you just barely got time to get there.”
Young Mary Dawson turned to her mother and they embraced. “You tell your grandmother we’ll be expectin’ her and grandpa around the Fourth of July,” Mary’s mother said.
“I will,” Mary promised.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I mean, this is a pretty long trip to be taking all by yourself.”
“Mama, I have friends who have gone back East for a whole year to go to school. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can. It’s just that I worry so.”
“Don’t worry. I have to go now. Bye.”
“I’m coming outside to see you off,” Mary’s mother said.
The men, whether responding to the words of the driver, or out of authentic gentlemanly concern, were most solicitous of the ladies as they boarded the coach. The shotgun guard kissed his wife good-bye, then climbed up on the box, sitting on the left side.
“You drive safely now, Stan,” Mrs. Conway said as McVey grabbed hold to climb up into his seat. “And you two look out for each other.”
“We’ll do that, Martha.” He turned to Conway. “I saw you pick up the bag from the bank. Is everything all set?”
“Yeah, we’re ready. It’s stowed under the seat,” Conway said. “Woulda been better though, if there hadn’t been anything about it in the paper.”
“You got that right,” McVey replied.
Removing his whip from its holder, McVey whirled it around once over his head, then snapped it over the head of his team, causing it to pop loudly.
Inside the coach, Mary jumped at the sound of the popping whip. “Oh! What was that?”
Calhoun chuckled. “Don’t worry ’bout that, miss. That was just the driver snapping his whip over the team.
“Heah, team!” McVey shouted, his exhortation clearly heard by all who were inside the coach.
It pulled away from the station, exiting Escalante at a rapid clip. There would be no way MeVey could hold this speed for any length of time, but he liked to depart and arrive in great fashion, and having the horses gallop as he drove out of town was a way of doing that.
Jericho Taggart was a regulator, a man who made a living by hunting wanted men. He specialized in hunting those who were wanted Dead or Alive, because the rewards were generally higher for such a person. Also the Dead or Alive provision gave him all the cover he needed to bring in his quarry dead. With live prisoners there was always the chance they could get away, and with it, the reward money. Also a live prisoner would, if he had the chance, kill the man who was attempting to bring him in.
There was no such problem with dead prisoners.
The men Taggart brought in weren’t just dead, they were very dead—because his weapon of choice was a Sharps .50 caliber buffalo rifle. He could stand half a mile off from his quarry, and with the energy generated by the large, heavy .50 caliber bullet, a hit almost anywhere would generate enough shock to kill, often before his victim even realized he was in trouble.
A week ago, Taggart learned there was a fifteen hundred dollar reward for a man named Elliot Simpson. He also learned that Simpson had an old mother who lived all alone about a mile outside the town of Bridgeport. When
