Yankton

Chapter 24

Chapter 24 Welcome To Purgatory

Well here it is, the final week of October. We busted our ass's and we're broke, but Purgatory is finished and ready for business, the skies are threatening snow but the temperature is still bearable. Montana has her "girls all ready to go, Kitty jumped at the chance to work for her along with another one of Dora's "soiled Doves, Maggie O'Donnell. Maggie was much like Sockie, coming over when she was a "wee Lass," balking at the prospect of becoming a "washer woman" like her mother, running off and ending up working as a w***e. At first, I thought Colin and Maggie might hit it off, but although they remained civil to one another, they never really became friends. Eventually like Kitty and Ingrid, she became close admirers of my sister as well as Melonie. Mel, because they felt more comfortable talking about their problems with another female who was able to treat them. They admired my sister for the freedom she had. Melinda told me that they viewed her as some sort of storybook heroine but could never really get their arms around the fact that she was really from the future. Regardless, Melinda gave these women a sense of empowerment, even standing up to a drunken saddle tramp with nothing more than a small switchblade knife she carried.

We offered poker, and eventually Black Jack, or Twenty-one, but for now, Montana dealt cards, for the house game, as well as the small private ones. We also initiated a daily 50/50 drawing which seems rather simple by today's standards, but it was a rather novel thing back then, bringing in quite a few customers. Usually the first prize would be cash of various amounts, then second and third prizes might consist of a bottle of modern Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker Red, or even Bacardi rum. Other prizes such as guns, saddles, (things we took off victims of failed robberies,) stage tickets, leather boots, and even a couple pairs of modern blue jeans.

Although we bought our beer from the same company that supplied all the other saloons in the area, we carried a small supply of modern liquor and beer, usually reserved for our "regulars" who knew about it and asked for it by name. When I was trying to decide on what brands of booze to carry, I quickly discovered that much of what passed for whisky or rye was pure crap. It wasn't uncommon to come across liquor doctored with snake heads, tobacco juice, or anything the people turning this stuff out could come up with to make their liquor look more appealing. Eventually, we were able to store ice, and began to offer "mixed drinks," over ice. Again, this "service," was only known by our steady customers and their friends, but drinks such run and coke, whisky and coke, bloody marys, vodka and tonic, and one gentleman even became fond of "Martini's." We also had a small kitchen behind the bar in which I "cheated," using a two burner LP gas stove, (the twenty pound tank was well hidden) and a brick affair which Colin constructed whereby Sockie could cook with a couple Dutch ovens. We also had a small wood stove which was reserved for the large coffee pot we always kept going. Generally the Dutch ovens were used for baking bread, and biscuits, along with stews hungry travelers could get. There was no "free lunch" at Purgatory, but we never turned away anyone who was truly hungry.

I also established something everyone thought was novel. Near the front door , on the opposite side of the bar area sat a large round table reserved strictly for Purgatory employees and invited guests. In fact, I even painted a distinct yellow demarcation line from the back wall up to a support post, then over to the side of the front door with a large sign reading,

"EMPLOYEE'S ONLY…CROSS THIS LINE AND YOU MIGHT GET CROSSED OFF!"

Over time, this rule had to be constantly enforced, and people reminded of it. Once while Colin and I were up on our little "stage" singing and playing, Melonie happened to be sitting at the table talking with Maggie. A group of "hider's" came in, one spotted Mel and proceeded to casually step over the line and proceed to grab Melonie and make for the upstairs. Both Colin and I were off the stage and across that room in a second, I had my arm around the guy's head, and my K-Bar starting to penetrate the man's neck before he even knew what hit him. While Colin held a gun on his buddies, I proceeded to explain the sign he had missed.

"Listen here asshole, that lady is not who you think she is, her boyfriend is going to take an extreme dislike to you, and I god dam guarantee your stupidity will cost you your life as well as that of your friends here." While I patiently explained the "facts of life," to the man he started to thrash as blood began to leak out of his neck. I convinced him to settle down or my knife might slip and he would die from a slit throat. The whole saloon silently watched as this little drama played out, he finally saw reason and relaxed. Rather than stick around, he and his friends elected to leave.

Unfortunately, this story doesn't have a happy ending. A month later he was back and tried to do the same with Montana, this time I didn't screw around, a .45 auto round in the head made him see the error of his ways.

A few days after the saloon was open, we received a visit from a rough looking Irishman named Michael O'Rourke. It seems that Mr. O'Rourke operated a small concern that specialized in shipping dust and nuggets to either Cheyenne or Sidney, as well as Fort Laramie. Mark and I sat down with him as he made his offer.

"I approached sheriff Bullock about someone who I might entrust to guard my gold shipments, he passed on your names as well as where you could be found."

"Well Mr. O'Rourke," I replied, "We're interested, but I would like for you to explain exactly what's involved, as well as what you expect from us." He explained that there was a big problem with miners being robbed of their treasure as they tried to get it to the assay office or bank. A number of men had been killed in this process, so he was stepping in to consolidate these deliveries under one heavily armed detail.

"I have the connections and I have the experience, during the war I served under General Thomas in the quartermaster department, I ended up being put in charge of transporting gold for the payroll, I cut me teeth on trouble in them days."

"So you were at Chattanooga and Missionary Ridge?" I commented. O'Rourke gave me a hard look,

"That I was son, that I was, lost many a good Irish lad there, but we beat 'em, by the saints we beat 'em." I asked him if I could sit down with him sometime and get his story. At first he couldn't understand why anyone would want to read about what he went through, and that people didn't want to think about the war anymore.

"This would be more for historians, and people in the future who want to know about the war, but especially those that fought it." O'Rourke's eyes narrowed as he studied Mark and I.

"Bullock said they was something different 'bout you boys, wouldn't tell me what it was, just that you two could get the job done."

We then discussed terms and pay with O'Rourke stating that he would pay according to the difficulty of the job, and where we would have to take it,

"Cheyenne's a lot farther away and more chances to get waylaid, Sidney's almost as far, but the travelin' is easier. Laramie is shorter, but that be a perilous road." Both Mark and I snickered,

"We've been down a few "perilous" roads in our time Mr. O'Rourke," I said, "Given this situation I think we can maintain the upper hand, although any encounters with us might end up looking like Custer's Last Stand," I replied. O'Rourke's eyes narrowed,

"Ahem…Yes, well I heard about Elkins, that's why I'm here."

"Well Mr. O'Rourke," I added,

"If you can handle the body counts we can certainly get your gold to where it needs to go, but know this, Mark and I share experiences you couldn't imagine, we like living, and we'll do whatever it takes to stay that way. Like I told you, we've got a few tricks up our sleeve, so when you're ready, give us a shout, we'll be there."

He studied us some more, then slowly replied,

"I want to get a good shipment out before the snow starts a-flyin, gotta get round to the camps and let 'em know, I'll be in touch." With that, we all shook hands as he walked out the door.

Montana and Melonie weren't terribly happy about our new employer but I carefully explained the need for gold to finish Purgatory, maintain it but most of all, pay her as well as Melonie.

"We agreed that everything you make here at the saloon is yours," I explained, "Any money Mark and I make will be split between maintaining Purgatory and you two." Montana expressed a weak smile,

"I know all that and I appreciate it, Melonie does too. Perhaps it's because we have become so fond of you and Mark we fret over the dangerous things you do, please…please be careful."

A day later, we got word that O'Rourke wanted to see us at his office in Lead. Both of us had already packed and were ready, after two very emotional goodbye's to our ladies we rode up to Lead. There we met O'Rourke's right-hand man Wendell Ford. I casually told him,

There's a boy with your last name living out in Michigan who's going to revolutionize transportation in this country, for all I know you two are related, but come the turn of the century you're going to start hearing from Mr. Henry Ford." Wendell gave me a curious look then said,

"And how do you know all this?" I just grinned and replied,

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but when you read his name in the paper just remember you heard it from me first."

The gold was locked in a metal strong box with a padlock,

"That's a pretty crappy lock," remarked Mark, "Looks pretty easy to pick."

"Well it's the best you can get," replied an incensed O'Rourke.

"If you like," I said, "I'll get you a very high security one, nothing will blast it off."

"That would be appreciated,' he replied. There were twenty "pokes" with metal tags on them each with a number O'Rourke said corresponded to a name and the mans claim number.

"Every man signed off on his poke as it went into this box," explained Ford, "I countersigned everything's ready to go.

We then loaded the strongbox onto the pack mule O'Rourke was providing for the trip.

"Don't you boys get ole Ruth here kilt she took a long time to train."

"Say," said Mark, "Wasn't Ruth the name of that guys mount on Gunsmoke?"

"That was Festus Haggen," I replied, yeah, he was always talking about Ruth, his riding mule." Both O'Rourke and Ford were baffled by our conversation with Ford asking,

"Who's this Haggen fellow your talking 'bout?" I shrugged,

"Deputy over in Dodge city."

"Ain't never heard of anyone riding no mule," he said.

"Now when you boys gets to Sidney," explained O'Rourke, "Find Jack Welsh, he's the shipping agent down there, I wired him about you two so he'll be expecting you. I'm allowing you four days to get there cause it looks like snow. You move right along, if Welsh wires me he aint seen you at the end of the fourth day, we'll come lookin fur ya."

"Make it four and a half days,' I replied, we're new at this, plus we've never been that way before. Don't worry, we'll get there as soon as we can sir."

"Well see that you do," he gruffly replied, "Bullock's vouched fur ya, and I trust his judgment, I'm jes a wee nervous with new men." As an afterthought, I said,

If we are late it will either be a snow storm slowing us down or everybody and his brother will be after that gold. In which case, we'll be pinned down, just follow the bodies."

It was a clod blustery day when we started riding east rather than south to throw off anybody looking for an easy target. Mark and I wore Kevlar vests under our Carhartt jackets, I carried my M1A in a rifle scabbard on the front right of my saddle, Mark was packing his AR in the same manor. I also had a reversed scabbard rigged up on the left rear of my saddle carrying my M4 shotgun. It was an unusual set-up that both O'Rourke and Ford commented on, but neither Mark or I would let them take a closer look at our weaponry. As Mark and I rode, each of us commented on the terrain around us, no paved roads, no power lines or poles, no cell towers, not even any fences. This was the land before the settlers would come in and change it. The scene before our eyes was actually quite frightening if you let it, no landmarks whatsoever other than scattered buttes and mountain peaks. We were traveling by a rough map O'Rourke had given us, as well as a compass following an azimuth line.

Another thing that was making us nervous was the very real possibility of Indians attacking us, this was open range and land they still claimed. From time to time, we would find a piece of high ground and spend a little time scanning the distance for any sign of riders. We spotted a couple of wagons with accompanying riders, but nothing that looked threatening. The first day we got as far as the present day site of Hermosa, but pushed on for another hour until we found a small rock outcrop jutting from a small butte. It offered a good defensive position, but as a precaution we built no fire, just using our night vision devices.

I was standing the early morning watch when I thought I heard a horse snort way out in the distance, waking Mark, we scanned the ground in front of us. Our night vision devices only worked out to a few hundred yards, the riders were just on the fringes but we could just barely make them out. It was hard to tell, but I guessed roughly six or seven riders, Mark then asked.

"Gonna take 'em out?"

"No," I whispered, "We can't be sure, they could just be innocent cowboys or even hiders. As much as I'd like to, I simply can't take a chance." We waited for another hour, then rode back west for a few miles before turning south again. By now each of us was constantly scanning in every direction.

Before coming back in time, I had invested in a good pair of Steiner's Mark had a pair of Zeiss binoculars he had gotten overseas, the money we spent was now paying off. We had gradually worked our way back east following the future route of highway 79/385, Battle Mountain was off on our right when Mark who had been scanning suddenly pointed to the southeast.

"Something's moving at the ten o'clock position check it out." I dismounted to get a better fix, sure enough, I could just make out our riders who appeared to be paralleling us. Not wishing to take a chance, we scouted for any high ground. Unfortunately, all of the best ground was too far to our right, however we did spot what looked like a creek lined with cottonwood trees to the south west.

"We'll get across that creek," I said, "Dig in using the trees on the opposite bank for cover, if they come at us, we'll have to work fast otherwise they'll flank us." We started off at a trot trying to keep from kicking up too much dust. By the time we had crossed the creek a light snow had started to fall, we chose a spot where a large cottonwood had been uprooted and had fallen over leaving a gap underneath. Picketing the horses and pack mule in a nearby thicket Mark and I dug in and waited. Until things started to get "hot," he would be my spotter as I attached a tripod and suppressor to my rifle, Mark and I looked at each other, and grinned,

"Just like old times," he said.

About twenty minutes later, there was no question as to the intentions of these men, I spotted them seven hundred meters out with my ACOG scope, one of them was pointing towards the creek, it was the last thing he ever did.

"Let the games begin," I muttered under my breath, as Mark called my targets and the M1A did it's deadly work. The suppressor prevented the men from realizing where the shots were coming from, I worked quickly, dropping four, along with two horses. The remaining riders were now in a panic, they were close enough for us to hear their shouting. They were shooting blindly working their way towards the trees in front of them. Had I stopped to think about it this would have been pure murder, the only cover these men had was the trees in front of them, and I was determined not to let them get in there.

As they steadily got closer, I hit two more, Mark brought out his AR and opened up. If those poor bastards had wondered where the shooting was coming from they knew now. Accurate sustained rifle fire, was the order of the day, we were laying down a heavy volume of fire, in the end, nobody made it to the safety of the trees. We waited for close to half an hour collecting our brass while we waited, then mounted our horses and started back across the creek. It was a goddamned slaughter, every one of them was dead, sprawled out in the brown grass.

"Man, we really shot these guys to s**t," exclaimed Mark,

"Come on," I replied, let's gather their stuff up and get going." Going through their pockets we grabbed all the money they had, as well as their guns tossing everything in a duffel bag I had brought for just such a purpose. On one man I found a small bible as well as a small tin type of a woman.

"Was she his wife, girlfriend,?" I wondered. I was about to toss it but something made me stick it in my shirt pocket. Mark and I took pictures of the c*****e with our useless cell phones mounted up and tried to make up for lost time. The horses were just going to have to fend for themselves, however an hour later, I spotted what appeared to be a small band of Indians traveling north, maybe they would come across the horses and keep them.