The Call Chronicles:

Nefarious Plans

By Kathi Sprayberry

 

Hank Call stepped just far enough into the Silver Spur Saloon to avoid the batwings hitting him on their swing back. He locked gazes with Matt and Adrian, his eyes flicking to the guns they held on Flint-Eyed Tom. This was a defining moment, where Hank had to make the miscreant understand he was the only chance of escape, and for Hank to figure out where the Griswold Gang had gone to ground.

"Tupelo?" Flint-Eyed Tom gulped, making his Adam's Apple bob up and down several times. "I done heard that Hank Call put you six feet under down New Mexico way."

Thanks to Aunt Priss' ministrations, Hank no longer resembled the man he'd become after losing his fiancée, Jennifer, to what turned out to be smallpox. His freshly shampooed black hair lay on his shoulders in thick waves. A black Stetson with a band of silver conchos shaded his eyes. No longer clad in loosely fitting buckskins, Hank cut quite a figure in black twill pants and vest, black boots, and an open-necked white shirt. The red kerchief tied around his neck hid a rawhide strap holding a holster down his back with his favorite knife, Toothpick. His beard and mustache had hidden his square-jawed face for years but thanks to a few suggestions from Eliza, the now clean shaven look transformed Hank into another person.

"Call?" Hank barked out an uncaring laugh. "I left that trapper's body for the coyotes to take care of after the boy thought he could outdraw me."

Adrian and Matt lowered their weapons. They stared at Hank in slack-jawed surprise. Hank took advantage of their shock to whip Toothpick from the holster nestled between his shoulder blades. Matt and Adrian set their pistols on a table beside where they stood and raised their hands. Their eyes, however, gave away their understanding of Hank's plan.

"Put that pig sticker away, Tupelo," Adrian said. "We don't want trouble."

Hank maintained a steady grip on Toothpick. He knew his brothers would give him no trouble. But had to appear distrustful to gain Flint-Eyed's cooperation. The man in question glanced at Hank in relief. Flint-Eyed displayed all the craven cowardice as every other bully pinned down by a good man.

"Them Calls were about to drill me," Flint-Eyed claimed. "Thank goodness you showed up, Tupelo. They might have kilt me and then the sheriff would have let them off on cold-blooded murder."

Having been privy to the conversation before he entered the saloon, Hank near about burst out laughing. Instead, he glanced at Black Hawk's resident troublemaker and swallowed the bile rising from his belly at what he had to do. Hank's deepest desire was to whip the bully and go home with his family. He couldn't do that. A heavier duty beckoned, to become what he despised and locate the murderous Griswold Gang. Only then could Hank rejoin his brothers and open up a can of whoopass on those men.

"We need to teach those Calls a lesson," Flint-Eyed said with an evil grin. "You keep them busy and I'll go get my whip. We'll show that fancy-pants soldier boy how to howl."

No one ever said Flint-Eyed was long on brains. His plan would draw unwanted attention and perhaps force Sheriff Watkins to get involved.

"That nag out front yours, Flint-Eyed?" Hank asked.

"Yup. Sure is." Flint-Eyed nodded agreement with Hank's assessment of his horse. "Won't take me but a minute to grab my whip off the saddle horn."

"Then we're gone," Hank announced. "I'd better not find you boys coming after us. I'd take that real personal and wouldn't mind leaving the bodies of more Calls for the coyotes, if you get my drift."

Nearly imperceptible nods from Adrian and Matt brought some relief to Hank. He figured he wouldn't relax until he had the outlaw's hideout pinned down and was back with his family.

"Come on, Tupelo," Flint-Eyed urged. "We'd best move afore the rest of them interferin' Calls show up."

Once outside, Hank sheathed Toothpick.

"Where we going?" Flint-Eyed asked. "We sure can't hang out around here much longer. Them Calls will come after us."

As usual, Flint-Eyed was completely wrong in his assessment. Hank remembered how the man used to hang out on the streets, right in the narrow alleys between the businesses, and attack boys come to town with their parents. Flint-Eyed was mean through and through, going so far as to claim some supposed criminal act on the part of the boys to justify using his bullwhip on them. The attacks continued until Hank, Jason, and Matt snuck up on the troublemaker from behind and disarmed him, going so as to burn the bullwhip in the street to the cheers of the residents. A glance at the bully's horse affirmed his claim to owning a bullwhip. So far as Hank was concerned, this whip would go the way of its predecessor at the first opportunity.

"I'm a lookin' for Archie Griswold," Hank said. "You happen to know where he's at?"

"Can't say around here." Flint-Eyed's gaze shifted left and right. "But it ain't far."

"Let's ride," Hank responded.

Within seconds, Hank and Flint-Eyed Tom were on their horses and riding hard out of Black Hawk. The nag Hank had referred to in the saloon was an ill-kept, sway-backed Pinto that Flint-Eyed spurred more often than was necessary.

"Can't that animal move any faster?" Hank adopted Tucker Tupelo's sneer; the one he'd wiped off the stagecoach robbing gambler's face in the Sangre de Cristo's. "You ought to take better care of your horse, Flint-Eyed. Never know when you'll need him to ride hard and fast."

The stallion favored Hank with a full show of his yellowed teeth and a disgusted whinny. Hating how he had to act in this persona, Hank fought the desire to whip Flint-Eyed into a pulp for ignoring his horse's needs. Nothing chapped Hank as much as a man who abused animals, unless that man also hurt women and children. So far, Flint-Eyed had failed in any way to impress Hank.

"This one will do until it keels over." Flint-Eyed drove a wicked looking spur into the horse's flank. "Then I'll steal another from the Injuns. They sure don't need good horseflesh."

Hank's opinion of the troublemaker dropped even further, a difficult task considering he'd already rated Flint-Eyed as lower than sheep dip.

"So, you know Griswold?" Flint-Eyed after an uncomfortable silence grew between the uneasy allies.

"A few years," Hank allowed. "Archie and me came to an agreement back in Mississippi. He'd go his way with the gang he was putting together. I'd come help him if I heard he was in trouble." He glanced at Flint-Eyed's shocked expression. "News travels fast, Flint-Eyed. Heard about the Calls declaring war on Archie when I was checking out a gold shipment in Arizona Territory. Rode on up here behind Adrian and Brian."

"You don't say." Flint-Eyed scratched his leg and slapped the greasy fabric of his pants a couple of times. "Darned fleas. That man running the hotel doesn't know how to clean his rooms." Hank kept to himself the opinion that in all probability, Flint-Eyed's obvious allergy to soap and hot water had more to do with the fleas hopping from his beard and hair than the hotel's beds. "How far?" Hank asked, more than ready to ride back to the house where his family awaited word of the Griswold Gang's location. "Not long." Flint-Eyed Tom pointed at a gulley near a river. "About two, three miles along that gulley. We'll be there in less than an hour." An hour in this miscreant's company was more than Hank wanted to bear but he looked straight ahead and became more and more like Tucker Tupelo in his mind. What little Hank knew about the relationship between Tupelo and Griswold might get him past the paranoid English Lord turned bandit but that was doubtful. Well after Flint-Eyed's generous assessment of the hardcases location, Hank breathed a sigh of relief as they rode into the camp. Dozens of men milled around fires, tending their gear or loading weapons. Hank checked out the horses and discovered the animals saddled and ready to ride. "Looks like Archie's ready to ride out." Hank maintained a steady but surreptitious eye on the outlaws all around him. "What's going on?"

Before Flint-Eyed had a chance to answer, a monstrous man strode out of the bushes at the other end of the gulley where the outlaws had made their camp. Brown hair and blue eyes on the man gave Hank a clue as to his identity but it was the size that made Archie Griswold stand out amongst the men he led.

"Tupelo?" Archie Griswold bellowed. "Boy, last I heard, Hank Call dumped you six feet under. It's good to see you alive and kicking."

Flint-Eyed and Hank dismounted and seconds later, Hank found himself in a bear hug that caused several ribs to creak and groan in protest. The smell coming off Griswold rivaled that of a wet, skunked dog. It appeared the outlaw leader had also developed an allergy to hot water and soap.

"What's going on?" Hank asked after prying himself free from the stinking man. "Looks like you're ready to ride out."

He had a pretty good idea what the gang was planning and that they'd ride out within the next day from the preparations going on all around him. Until Griswold admitted his plans, Hank had to hang around with these hardcases and act like one of them. Tangling with an angry porcupine sure sounded a lot more inviting.

"This?" Griswold flung a massive hand at the activity around them. "Bank has some money coming in on the stage for one of the ranches. Their payroll."

Griswold grinned and revealed a mouth full of yellowed teeth. The dapper English Lord fleeing a trial for beating a serving wench to death who Tupelo bragged about with his dying breath was gone. Standing before Hank was a man willing to take whatever wasn't his, by any means at his disposal.

"You mean to steal a payroll?" Hank asked.

He kept his tone interested and light although the thought burned through him. Hank knew each and every rancher along this section of the Rocky Mountains. To a man, they were decent and hardworking. Their cowboys were much the same. Depriving those folks of their pay was about as lowdown as Griswold could get.

"Stealin' sounds a bit harsh." Griswold barked out a laugh that startled several horses. "I like to think of myself as a Robin Hood." He grinned but all Hank could focus on was the man's bulbous nose that took up more than half his face. "We take from them what has it and give to them what doesn't have it. And them what doesn't have it would be me and my boys."

Although he found the reason repulsive, Hank said, "Sounds like a plan."

"Get you some grub and make sure you're ready to ride out when I say," Griswold said. "Me and Flint-Eyed Tom are gonna jaw for a while. I sure hope that boy has some good news for us. We're getting' restless."

Hank gathered the reins of his horse and located a cookfire where he could sit alone. The horse whinnied and nudged Hank's shoulder after he settled in a crouch near the fire. There were the necessary implements to eat in one of his saddlebags but the beans bubbling in the pot near the flames didn't provide any enticement for Hank to sample them, not after Aunt Priss' delicious meal this morning.

"Patience, Nightmare," Hank told his horse. "We'll get back on the trail soon. Then you can sleep in a stall while my brothers and I figure out how to stop these men."

Nightmare previously belonged to Tucker Tupelo. As the gambler had dispatched Hank's stallion from ambush, Hank had no problem availing himself of a beautiful, midnight black horse who no longer had an owner. The name came after Hank and Nightmare had several disagreements about riding rights. Nightmare had stopped dumping Hank into every lake or stream they passed. In return, Hank promised Nightmare that he wouldn't cold cock him anymore, if the animal remained on his best behavior.

The wait for someone to let him know when they'd ride out tested Hank's patience. There was no need to check his Colt 44. Any man who didn't have a holstered weapon ready to use deserved whatever came upon him. Nightmare pawed the ground and shook his head, snorting in eagerness.

"Steady." Hank murmured. "It's almost sunset, Nightmare. We'll be moving as soon as we can."

The sun dropped behind the mountains and brought a chill to the air. Hank rose from his crouch and pulled a black duster free of the straps behind his saddle. He shook out the long coat and pulled it on. To ensure Nightmare was ready to move when the time came, Hank opened one of the saddlebags and filled a hand with corn.

"It's not sweet hay nor do I have a stall for you." Hank opened his hand under Nightmare's mouth. "But it's food. The best I can do in this situation." He glanced around the area in front of him. "The only hay I see looks moldy and you don't want that."

Nightmare nuzzled the corn and ate from Hank's hand. The sound of footsteps approaching from behind cause a moment of tension for Hank. The horse hated folks sneaking up on him and was likely to lash out with his steel-clad hooves.

"Stand fast," Hank said in a low, steady voice, meaning the order for both the horse and whoever was approaching. "Let him finish eating."

Nightmare picked that moment to curl his tongue across Hank's palm, scooping up the last of the corn.

"Take it easy, Nightmare." Hank patted the horse's nose and faced the man behind him. "Griswold," Hank said. "You gonna tell me when we leave?"

"I might." Griswold's face was a study of confusion. "Last time I saw you, that horse would bite, kick, or throw you any chance he got. How'd you fix that problem?"

"Left hook." Hank rubbed the knuckles of his left hand when they ached from the memory of punching the horse across the jaw. "We both decided on a truce."

"Always did say a man had to teach horses and women their place," Griswold said. "We ride out at sunrise. Half the men will go after the money at the stage office when the driver's unloading. The other half, including me and you, will bury the rest of the Call men but we're taking their spitfire sister. She's mine, and I mean to make her squall for a good long time." Griswold laughed, an evil, chilling sound. "I'm betting I'll have a whole lot of fun with her and if she resists, I'm a gonna do to her what I did to that bitch in England."

Everything within Hank wanted to beat Griswold into a bloody pulp. Eliza could be mulish and ill-tempered but the outlaw would never put his filthy mitts on Hank's baby sister. Before Hank had a chance to give in to the urge, Griswold lumbered off. Hank resumed his watchful position as the sun sank behind the mountains.

Darkness settled fast throughout the outlaw camp and with the deep blackness surrounding the miscreants, the sounds of men getting comfortable on the rocky ground. The others unrolled their blankets and huddled beneath them but not Hank. He focused on a blazing fire near the camp's entrance, where he'd have to ride past to get away from these hootowls. Griswold and Flint-Eyed had continued their conversation from earlier but now passed around a bottle of whiskey and laughed loud enough to elicit comments from the others trying to sleep.

"Go ahead. Pass out from that liquor," Hank muttered. "Give me the chance to warn Black Hawk, Griswold. I promise you'll have a very warm, lead-filled welcome."

Griswold rose and gave Hank a moment or two of discomfort when the outlaw looked in his direction. To keep from having to reveal his wakefulness, Hank tipped his hat further forward, but not enough to block his vision, and lounged against the large boulder beside the cookfire he'd taken over. After a harrumph, Griswold wandered through the camp and kicked some of the sleeping bundles. Outraged protests faded off fast as the men scrambled to their feet and rolled up their blankets.

"What's going on?" Hank rose to his feet when Griswold strode toward him.

"Need you and those men I just woke up to ride into Black Hawk." Griswold indicated the half dozen men mounting their protesting horses. "Flint-Eyed brought up a good point. We need eyes in the town."

"Might work," Hank conceded. "Them Calls sure didn't come after us like I figured they would after I liberated Flint-Eyed from them earlier. Mayhaps they're setting up an ambush."

"Just like I figured." Griswold belched and a blast of breath strong enough to knock out a mule enveloped Hank. "You keep an eye on the Call place and make sure them do-gooders ain't plannin' something, Tupelo. Make sure them skunks don't sneak off for some reason."

Griswold sure had a whole lot of nerve calling Hank's brothers skunks but Hank nodded agreement.

"Where will those men be?" Hank indicated the now mounted men.

"Them?" Griswold grinned. "They'll be taking care of the sheriff and his deputies. Then they'll hang out at the saloons and bring more folks over to our way of thinkin'. There are more than a few men in Black Hawk upset at how them Calls run things. We'll be able to take the town with no problem once that stage rolls in at sunrise."

A stage arriving at sunrise was news to Hank. Stage drivers hated being on the road at night, when outlaws ruled the darkness with a viciousness not much seen during the day. The audacious scheme might work, if there was no warning. Hank mounted Nightmare while his mind whirled with possibilities on how to deal with this latest twist that had brought him home. He had to warn the sheriff about the trouble headed his way.

"Git those men over here," Hank barked out, satisfied when Griswold stepped back. "I don't want to spend the whole night in the saddle."

He rode out at the rear of the group. The others made several attempts to speak with him but Hank kept them quiet with noncommittal grunts when they proposed plans to burn the town or take off with the women. The group was halfway to Black Hawk when an owl hooted and spooked the superstitious men. Hank eased Nightmare into the trees and leaned over the horse's neck.

"We need to get to Black Hawk fast, old boy," Hank whispered. "But we also have to put a serious scare into those hootowls with us. Get moving."

Five minutes later, as Nightmare veered past a deep ravine, Hank let out a blood curdling scream.

"Lord Almighty!" Hank hollered and then let his voice fade off. "Damn horse! I'll haunt you to your grave."

He gave a pained screech when Nightmare joined in with the playacting and bucked a time or two. The outlaws wailed out their terror and raced back the way they'd come. Hank smiled in satisfaction.

"We might have a chance to take down Griswold's Gang now," Hank said. "Thanks, Nightmare. You played your part well."

The horse stretched his long legs and began eating up the miles between the camp and Black Hawk. Near midnight, Hank tied Nightmare to the porch railing of the house where his family now lived and crept into the kitchen. The sound of the hammers on five guns clicked into the firing position and Hank froze in place, his hands rising above his head.

"It's me," Hank said in a hoarse whisper. "We don't have much time to get ready."

"Took you long enough." Sheriff Watkins sounded relieved. "We thought they'd figured out the plan and done you in."

"Take a lot more than a few hootowls to do me in." Hank settled at the table and gratefully took a cup of steaming coffee from Adrian. "Aw, good," Hank said after a couple of sips. "Here's what I heard."

He explained Griswold's plan and when the sheriff winced, knew the night stage wasn't a tall tale invented by Griswold to make himself look important.

"Which rancher was dumb enough to have his payroll brought in at night?" Hank asked.

"Wilson of Winding S," Sheriff Watkins said. "I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted."

"We need a plan," Brian said. "You're sure about Griswold coming after Eliza?"

"He wants to do to her what it's rumored he did to some maid in England," Hank said and explained the tale Tupelo had bragged about moments before expiring after Hank plugged the gambler with his own knife. "There's a large bounty out on Griswold but no one's ever collected. Not that more than a few haven't tried but the man's slipperier than a greased pig."

"First thing we have to do is figure out what side Fistless is on," Matt said. "But we also have to make sure the deputies aren't in danger." He turned to Sheriff Watkins. "Where are your men?"

"One's at the jail keeping an eye on a couple of rowdy drunks." Sheriff Watkins said. "The other's spending the night at his family's ranch. Bo Billings."

"That's the Bar B," Jason said. "It's near the Triple C. I'll ride out and alert Bo." He stood. "We'll ride hard to the other ranches and have half their hands head for town. That'll give us some help when Griswold shows with his gang."

"Reckon I ought to slip on over to the jail and let the deputy there know what's going on," Matt said. "I'll come on back with a few greeners and enough ammo to hold off an army." He smiled at Adrian. "But an army of hootowls, not anything like what you're used to."

"Understood," Adrian said.

Jason and Matt slipped out the door before Hank could say a word. Hank considered how more mature Jason and Matt were from the last time he'd seen the twins. Both had taken on a man's job at thirteen, like the rest of their family, but as the youngest of the boys, often played hooky to have a bit of fun. Their serious expressions and how they grabbed responsibility without anyone asking gave Hank the idea Jason and Matt were men enough for this job.

"They're growing up," Adrian said as he pushed away from the table. "Guess I should wake Aunt Priss and Eliza. We'll have to figure out where to stash them until this is over."

"Bring your duster back with you," Hank said. "We also have to make sure no one knows where they are. Some of those outlaws might have turned back after I put the fear of God into them."

Adrian nodded his understanding and made his way up the narrow stairs between the parlor and the kitchen. Hank rose to strip off his duster and slung it over a chair back. He, Brian, and Sheriff Watkins poured more coffee and waited for the inevitable explosion.

"What do you mean I have to–" Eliza's angry shout cut off abruptly.

"Looks like she objected," Brian said. "Little Eliza has turned out to be right stubborn."

"Appears that way," Hank said. "We can't risk Griswold getting his filthy mitts on her. The way he laughed about his plans for her would make a chill run right up your spine. That man has no conscience. But we need a place to hid Eliza and Aunt Priss until this is over." He glanced at the other men. "What about Milton's place?"

"Won't work," Sheriff Watkins said. "With the payroll in danger, we have to expect those outlaws to go after Milton. They might also want to clean out the bank."

"What about the church?" Brian asked. "Last I heard, Preacher Jameson didn't take much off anyone." He smiled and reached around to rub his backside. "The preacher wields a might strong hand."

Hank's memories of the fire and brimstone preacher were as acute. He remembered the time he and Brian had perched a water bucket over the privy. The preacher had strode into the church dripping water but never said a word about the incident until after the service. Preacher Jameson had then asked their pa for a moment of Hank and Brian's time. Both had wailed for a good two hours after the preacher finished with them.

"That'll work," Hank said.

Adrian came down the stairs behind Eliza and Aunt Priss. Eliza had a mulish look on her face and the way her hand stayed under a shawl thrown over her nightdress made Hank mighty suspicious.

"Did you check your weapons?" Hank asked Adrian. "Eliza might have liberated one."

"Let her keep it," Adrian said. "Griswold might get past us. He'll sure get a surprise when our little sis takes him on."

The image of Griswold hot-footing it out of town as Eliza shot at him brought a smile to Hank's face.

"That'll work." Hank stood and grabbed his duster. "Get over here, Eliza. We have to make sure no one knows it's you sneaking into the church."

"I won't go," Eliza said.

"Oh yes you will," Aunt Priss said while allowing Adrian to swaddle her in his duster. "Get that coat on, girl."

With surprising speed, Eliza moved over to where Hank stood and allowed him to wrap her in the oversized coat. The tail dragged a bit on the ground but Eliza reached around and grabbed the cloth in a manner befitting a socialite in a ball gown.

"We're gone." Adrian eased open the back door and looked around. "I'll be back as soon as I can get here."

Hank walked outside and watched until Adrian, Aunt Priss, and Eliza melted into the dark night. A sense of unease bothered Hank as he went back into the house and caught the tail end of a conversation between Brian and Sheriff Watkins.

"You told us how Fistless kept trying to leave," Brian said. "I don't trust that man. He might be on the wrong side."

"That thought crossed my mind a time or two," Sheriff Watkins said.

"We have to alert the men we can trust to the trouble headed this way," Hank said. "But I think we can take a minute or two to bring Fistless along. Just don't let him out of your sight."

He, Brian, and the sheriff slipped out into the night. Hank hoped they had enough time to prepare for an invasion from Griswold's gang. This plan had to work. Staying in Black Hawk much longer would drive Hank nuts. He felt the same yearning he had a few years back when his fiancée fell ill with smallpox, to get away from the area he still called home but had become too painful for him to bear living there any longer.

A man ran across the street in front of them. Brian, Sheriff Watkins, and Hank flattened against a wall when the man stopped and looked in their direction. The moonlight lit up Flint-Eyed's face.

"They're here already," Hank whispered. "Move it. We're almost out of time."

He hoped Eliza was safe but didn't take the time to glance at the church. The safety of all of Black Hawk's citizens was now at risk.

THE END

 

The fourth installment of The Call Chronicles: BLACK HAWK SHOWDOWN is available now.

Kathi Sprayberry has always had a fascination with the nineteenth century Wild West and the untold stories of survival and living on the frontier. She currently lives in Northwest Georgia with her husband and youngest son. When not writing, Kathi enjoys photography and reading. Her western stories, BROTHERS UNDER THE SKIN, DESERT ROSE -- BOUNTY HUNTER, and "JACKIE RYAN -- US MARSHAL" have appeared on the Frontier Tales website. Another story, "THE PREACHER'S DAUGHTER," will debut in November. Both "BROTHERS UNDER THE SKIN" and "DESERT ROSE -- BOUNTY HUNTER" won Best Loved in the months they appeared.