Massacre! by John J. McLaglen

Author:John J. McLaglen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gunfighters, john j mclaglen, herne the hunter, western pulp fiction, quantrills raiders, gunslingser, jayhawks, kansas massacre
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Eight

Strafford Springs was a small settlement right on the border between Kansas and Missouri, south of Kansas City, with Lawrence the next place of any size along the trail to the west It had never been what might be called prosperous, but the War had ended its chances of flourishing.

It lay close by a narrow stream, nearly dry in the end of summer heat, with a cluster of cabins straggling along a dusty street. There were clumps of trees all along the river, overhanging the back of the stable and the saloon.

It was among a large grove of mixed oaks, sycamore and hickory that Cole Younger reined in his horse and gave them their final instructions, glancing worriedly up at the lowering sky.

‘Looks like dirty weather, boys.’

‘It do,” replied the Dutchman, tersely.

When they’d set off from the Quantrill camp a few hours earlier, it had promised a beautiful day. The sly was as clear and blue as a robin’s egg, with only a scattering of high, fluffy clouds to mar its perfection. The sun had risen as calm and serene as a long bowshot, beating down at them with the sweltering heat of a baking oven, the reflected warmth from the dusty land roasting back at them.

But during the afternoon the sky had begun to change, with a dark line appearing along the northern horizon, like a child’s crayon stroke. Heavy and black, scrawled all the way along the tops of the rolling hills of grass. The wind had begun to rise again, and their horses were becoming skittish and difficult to handle.

Within an hour the blue had disappeared, smeared away into a dome of grey, splashed with cracks of silver where they could see occasional flashes of lightning, spooking their mounts even more.

The wind had eased down again, but it was obvious that they were in for rain, and plenty of it.

‘Make for the saloon, and go in quiet and easy. No whoopin’ and hollerin’, Dutchman. Like you and Red done last week when you all set fire to the old man in that cabin. Burned his hair and then gave him boilin’ water to put it out. I know you and Red thought it was damned funny, Dutchman, and so did a lot of the good old boys with us. But I didn’t cotton on to it at all. Could have killed him quick and easy. You and Red take too much pleasure in killin’ hard.’

‘Hell!’ Dutchman spat in the dirt, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘You and Dingus and all your kin always was too damned soft, Frank. The colonel didn’t say nothin’ about what we done.’

Frank stared him full in the eye until the older man looked down and away.

The saloon’s run by Paddy Jansen. Half-Irish, half-Swede and all bastard. Keeps his eyes open does Paddy. Knows what’s happening and where. Colonel figures he may be in the pay of Jim Lane and his Jayhawkers, but we’ve never proved anything about him. Be careful, all of you.

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