King of the Gun Trail: A Frontier G-Man Novel Read online

The misty dawn found Jack Clayton riding the streets of Kansas City. He had traveled most of the night, taking time out only for a short rest shortly before riding the rest of the way into town. There was a chill in the air and Jack was wearing a loose hanging fringed buckskin jacket over his usual trail riding garb of jeans, faded gray shirt and leather vest.

  He reined Regret to a halt and reached into his saddlebags, removing a sheaf of paper. He checked the map of Kansas City, glance once more at the corner street sign. Satisfied he knew where he was going, he stuffed the papers back into the leather pouches. However, he did retain two envelopes which his placed securely in his jacket. He would need them when he reached the levee and claimed the shipment of arms.

  He wound his way through the streets and soon caught a glimpse of the river. He urged the big black on. The river came into full view. A bustle of activity filled the scene. Boats docking, unloading their wares, loading new cargo and sailing off again. Not far from the docks, Jack could also see railroad tracks paralleling the river as it bent westward. Further down the line, he could see the train depot and sidings off to the right, where rail cars were loaded for shipping and others being left behind for unloading.

  Jack rode on toward the river. When he reached the levee, He could see a large river boat approaching the dock. He looked around for the shipping office and spotted it off to his left. Guiding Regret forward, he rode up to the front of the office, dismounted and tied the reins to an awning upright support post, and went inside.

  The burly, balding clerk turned from the wall where he had been checking the manifests. "Something I can do for you?" He eyed Clayton warily.

  "I’m with the Federal Government, " Jack stated flatly as he withdrew one of the envelopes out of his pocket ."Claiming a shipment."

  A thin nervous looking man was sitting at a roll top desk off to the left. He peered up through his thick lensed glasses suspiciously.

  The burly clerk examined the papers, strode over to the thin man’s desk and showed them to him. They conferred in whispers, both glancing toward Jack from time to time. Then they both seemed to be in agreement and nodded affirmatively to each other.

  The river boat soon docked and Jack met with the commander of the military escort detail. They verified each others credentials and the stevedores began unloading and the railroad teamsters started loading a string of three boxcars parked on a siding..

  As Jack checked the manifest, he shook his head with disdain. "What in the world, are they thinking?" He thought. This was no ordinary shipment of arms and ammunition. Five hundred Winchester repeating rifles, fifty thousand rounds of ammunition, two hundred kegs of black powder, and, he shuttered, a Gatling gun. But most imposing of all, three nine pounder turret cannons.

  A flurry of activity and sound broke Jack’s thoughts and he looked up from his manifest. Riding down the street toward him was a column of soldiers. They looked the worse for wear. Dust covered uniforms. Dirty faces and scraggly beards. Hardly the best of military discipline. Their bearing and riding posture did not claim justice for the US Cavalry.

  Jack lowered the manifest to his side and strode toward the dismounting detail. "Captain Mcleod?" He ventured as the big man stepped to the ground, turned to face him and glowered. There was menace in those steely gray eyes.

  "You Clayton?" He demanded."Got papers?"

  "Right here." Jack reached inside his coat and brought out the orders. He was a bit taken back by the sudden gruffness and offense of the Captain.

  "Can’t be too careful." Corbin growled. "Orders are not to trust anyone."

  "That’s right," Jack returned. "Suppose I see your orders."

  Corbin half grinned with a self satisfaction, turned, reached into his saddle bag and returned a sheaf of papers to Jack.

  Jack examined the papers, glancing toward the Captain and back to the papers. Then he pushed them back toward the Captain. "Looks in order." Jack said meekly, trying to hide the suspicion that he felt. Jack carefully looked over the detail, trying to show only a casual interest. "Looks like you had a rough trip." Their uniforms were dusty, dirty, and even somewhat ragged, with sewn stitched repairs here and there where bullet holes had been when taken off the slain soldiers..

  "Yeah," Corbin grunted. "Long way from Fort Lincoln. Sun, rain, brush, and rough terrain. "He eyed Jack closely, guessing what he was thinking."Tough on uniforms and equipment as well as men."

  "I suppose so." Jack agreed "You ready to relieve the St. Louis detail"

  "Sure, "Corbin growled.

  "We’re loading these three cars on the siding over there, " Jack indicated.

  Corbin looked the area over, taking in the St. Louis guards and the cargo being piled on the landing. "All right, " he said. "Let’s get to it." Then to his men, "Get to work, men. Start loading the horses in the first boxcar then takeover the loading of the shipment so these other guys can get out of here."

  Jack eyed them all carefully as they set to work. Corbin or MacLeod as Jack knew him reported to the St. Louis commander and the transfer of responsibility proceeded.

  Jack’s face turned grim as he noticed a big soldier loading his horse onto the boxcar with the rest of the horses. Not only did he seem to be busting out of his tight army britches and blouse, but he wore non regulation boots. They were scruffed and run down at the heels and definitely the boots of the range; not a soldier. Huge as the man’s feet were, these boots did seem to fit him. It was as if the boots were his own, and his uniform wasn’t. Even more strange, his horse was large enough to fit him too, and the brand on his horse’s rump was not US as the other horses, but a Crown 7. A very unusual brand.

  "What’re you lookin’ at Mister?" A sharp voice broke off Jack’s thoughts.

  He turned to face Shep Palmer who was wearing a corporal’s uniform. Jack stared grimly into the sneering face and without fluster retorted."What are you looking at, Sir?" Though I don’t wear a uniform, I am Captain Clayton, Corporal and you will address me as, Sir. I understand you had no way of knowing but you men seem to be lacking in discipline. As long as you work with me, I will expect adherence to strict military protocol. Do you understand, Corporal?"

  Palmer smiled threateningly, "Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir." There was a mocking in the menacing glint of his slitted eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Corbin coming his way. Then his tone changed and his face lightened. "Didn’t mean anything, Sir, but I wanted to show you something, I think you should know about."

  "All right, Corporal. What is it?"

  "This way,Sir. It’s on the other side of this car." Palmer started to lead the way around the car. Warily, Jack followed. Suspicion rising, his pulse beginning to race.

  The East bound train on the next set of tracks behind the car on the siding was already starting to chug into motion. It’s long line of cars beginning to crawl forward. The whistle blared and the roar of the engine was beginning to rise as Palmer stopped to turn on Jack. "Well, what is it?" Jack demanded.

  "This." The voice behind him growled. Jack felt the steel barrel of an army pistol pressed into the middle of his spine. "Don’t move. Don’t say a word. Don’t even breathe." Corbin warned.

  Jack stiffened, half turned his neck to see Corbin out of the corner of his eye as he spoke over his right shoulder. "Go ahead. Shoot. The shot will be heard and someone will be all over you."

  "Maybe not. There’s a lot of noise here."

  Jack shrugged acquiescence.

  "No point in taking chances, though." Corbin chuckled.

  The steel pressure released from Jack’s spine long enough for Corbin to raise the weapon high above Jack’s head and whipped it down to crack his skull. A flash of light, then darkness as Jack crumpled into the dirt, half unconscious, saved from a split head by the cushioning of his chin strapped Stetson.

  "What happened, Palmer?" Corbin demanded.

  "I think he was getting wise to us." Shep stated.

  "Probably." Corbin agreed. "I was afraid of that.
I knew Clayton would be too smart" Then added. "It’s just as well we get rid of him."

  "How?" You got a knife?" He was right, "We can’t risk a shot. And what about the body?"

  The east bound’s whistle screeched again. Corbin glanced to his left and smiled at the slowly moving cars. "We’re going to send mister Government Man, G-Man on a trip east. We’ll throw him into a box car as it goes by and by the time he can get back here, we’ll be long gone. Here, help me get him over to the rail."

  They each grabbed Clayton under an arm and dragged him near the train. Palmer let go, raced a few steps back, chose a passing car and slid the side door open as he followed the car back to Corbin and Clayton. With a heave in unison two men slung Jack aboard.

  Jack landed with a thud onto the straw covered floor. His ribs hurt as he rolled further into the car. Through his half conscious haze he could smell the stench of cattle and felt milling hooves around him. Then all went dark as the car door slid shut. Jack tried to rise, then slumped into the filthy straw as he passed into unconscious darkness, as the dying shrill of the train whistle blowing, and the drum of the accelerating engine faded.

  *****

  Chapter Seven

  Rails of Death