Charlotte looked like she was going to be sick, and Joseph Marat felt that way himself. He had not expected the sort of wanton slaughter that he had witnessed.
And yet, he told himself, the change that he and his friends wanted so fervently could not come without violence. The oppressive representatives of the British Empire understood only one thing—deadly force.
But despite the firepower they possessed, things hadn’t worked out exactly like Owen Lundy and Joe Palmer thought they would. Those people in the canyon, Palmer’s enemies, had put up more of a fight than they expected.
So now, as they retreated, the only ones who had died were some of Lundy’s men. Three of the outlaws had failed to come back: the one who had ventured through the brush barrier, and the two men Lundy had sent up onto the rimrock to ambush the people inside the canyon.
Lundy was angry about it, too.
“You cost me three men with that wild scheme,” the white-haired man complained to Palmer as they rode along at the head of the little column. Joseph and Charlotte were right behind them, then the other outlaws strung out in a line, leading the pack mules that were loaded down with the disassembled Gatling guns.
The rapid-firer they had put together earlier was still on its wheeled carriage. It had been turned around and the rear brace had been lifted so it could be tied to one of the mules. The stolid animal pulled the gun behind it.
“They must have had some place to fort up in there,” Palmer responded bitterly. “Otherwise we would’ve gotten them. We poured enough lead into that canyon to wipe out anybody in it.”
“Yeah, well, that ain’t the way things worked out, is it?” Lundy snapped. “From now on, Joe, I’ll be doing all the thinking around here.”
Palmer bristled. “Damn it, going after Stevens and his friends was
For a second, Joseph thought Lundy was going to reach for his gun. He was ready to grab Charlotte and hustle her away from the line of fire if gunplay broke out between Lundy and Palmer.
Instead, after a moment Lundy grunted and said, “I guess that’s three less shares we’ll have to take out of the gold.”
Palmer gave him a curt nod. “That’s the best way to look at it, all right.”
Lundy didn’t rein in, but he turned halfway around in the saddle to look at Joseph. “Speakin’ of gold, where are those friends of yours? I’d like to get this over with.”
“They should be along soon,” Joseph said, hoping that nothing had happened to Anton and the other members of the group.
The plan had been that Anton and the others would keep the gold with them while Joseph and Charlotte met the men who were bringing the guns across the border and would examine the merchandise. When Joseph was satisfied that the guns were what they had been promised, he would signal Anton and they would rendezvous to make the payment and take delivery of the Gatlings.
A short time after riding away from the canyon, Joseph had given the signal: three quick shots, a pause, then two more shots. Anton should have been alert for it. He had to know that something was going on. The noise of the Gatling gun had been so loud it seemed to Joseph that it could have been heard as far away as Calgary.
Anton Mirabeau was a cautious man, though. That was why he had been entrusted with the safekeeping of the gold. He was probably watching them right now, Joseph thought, waiting to make sure that everything was all right before he showed up with the payoff.
Joseph hoped that was the case, because Lundy was getting impatient. He had seen with his own eyes how ruthless the American could be, and he was worried about what might happen to him and Charlotte if everything didn’t go as planned. Lundy might seek vengeance if he didn’t get his hands on that gold soon.
“Who do you reckon was in that canyon with the old man?” Lundy asked Palmer, putting aside the matter of the gold for the moment.
Palmer shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. The last time I saw Stevens before I ran into him in Powderkeg Bay was over in Skagway, and then he was hanging around with a fella named Morgan. I don’t know if the two of them are still pards or not.”
“Not Frank Morgan, I hope,” Lundy said.
“Well … yeah.”
That was enough to make Lundy haul back on his reins and bring his horse to a stop. He turned angrily toward Palmer and demanded, “Frank Morgan the gunfighter? The one they call the Drifter?”
Palmer looked distinctly uncomfortable as he nodded and said, “Yeah, that’s him.”
“You loco son of a bitch!” Lundy burst out. “Frank Morgan’s one of the most dangerous men west of the Mississippi. Don’t you think it might’ve been a good idea to tell us exactly who we were goin’ up against?”
“I don’t know for sure that Morgan is still traveling with the old man,” Palmer argued. “Morgan wasn’t with him in that saloon in Powderkeg Bay.”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t somewhere close by.”
Palmer shrugged and tried to sound unconcerned as he said, “Frank Morgan’ll die just as quick as any other man if he goes up against one of those Gatling guns.”
“Maybe, maybe not. If he was back there in that canyon with Stevens, he’s probably still alive.” Lundy swore. “I never bargained on having Frank Morgan on my trail.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Palmer said. “Pretty soon you’ll have the gold those half-breeds promised you, and you can get out of this part of the country.”
Joseph felt a surge of anger at the contemptuous way Palmer referred to him and his people, including his sister. But he suppressed the urge to say something. There was already enough tension in the air without adding to
