The Devils Gunslinger
Chet Cunningham
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Devil’s Gunslinger
By
Chet Cunningham
© Copyright 2014 Chet Cunningham (as revised)
Wolfpack Publishing
48 Rock Creek Road
Clinton, Montana 59825
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
ISBN: 9781629182476
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter One
Near Memphis, Tennessee, April 20, 1865.
The six riders raced out of the darkness into the firelight of the small camp with their six-guns blazing at the seven Yankee Blue Coats lounging around the fire. Sully’s first shot took out a sergeant who reached for his rifle. The second round from Sully’s Colt knocked down a blue belly as he came to his knees with his rifle up. The round took another Yank in the chest, knocked him over backwards and straight into hell. Only two of the other Yanks had time to grab rifles and try to return fire. The surprise and the darkness made it hard for them even to see the attackers.
All six of the gray coated raiders blasted the Yankee camp, riding through, whirling and coming back for third and fourth shots.
Three of the seven infantrymen died in the first slashing attack. Two struggled to find cover but were quickly shot down by the riders who whirled their mounts for a second slashing attack through the camp.
Sully Sampson held up his right hand with the six-gun in it and the five other riders pulled up just inside the firelight. One Yankee struggled to sit up, but his shot up right arm dropped him to the ground. Sully stepped down from his mount and knelt in front of the twice shot Yankee soldier.
“What’s your mission?” Sully barked.
The Yankee looked up with pain shredding his face.
“Messages. Just damn army papers and some orders to get into Memphis’s.”
“You almost made it,” Sully said. “No payroll, no secret orders?”
The man on the ground struggled to sit up and Sully saw the captain bars on his shoulder.
“Hell, Reb, nothing secret any more. You know the war is over, don’t you? No reason to attack us.”
Sully shook his head. “Captain, this war will never be over for me. Not after what your men did to my ranch and my family. Now show me the payroll money or you die slowly.”
“Hell ain’t worth dying for. Right here under my saddle.”
Sully reached in, jerked out a blue cloth sack, and pulled the string at the tip opening it.
“Yes, much better, Captain. You just saved your life.”
“Not sure about that.”
“Found the grub sacks,” Hirum Oaks called.
“Good, split them up into three sacks.” Sully looked back at the Yankee. “Your mounts any good?”
“Hell no. Used up the good ones. Your animal looks better than any of ours.”
Sully’s five men had all dismounted and were now picking up rifles and revolvers from the bodies or near them.
“Hey, Sully,” Curley Johnson called. “Found two Henry repeating rifles and a whole shit pot full of ammo.”
“Good, I’ll take one of them. And knock off that name calling. A hey you will work well.”
“Yeah, forgot.” Johnson was a bear of a man at six feet three and two hundred and forty pounds. He tossed one of the Henry rifles to Sully who caught it.
“Round up the rest of their weapons and all the ammo we can carry, then we are moving out north,” Sully shouted. He looked down at the Yankee captain. The man shook his head slowly.
“Damn war is over. No need….” He gagged, his head rolled back for a moment, then he straighten it. “Damn war is over,” he said one last time. He looked up at Sully. “Hey, I’m far from dead. Gonna plan on finding you again, Lieutenant. I am Captain Dam Tracey. Remember my name.”
“Yeah, Captain, you do look far from dead. A shot up shoulder is all. Name? I’ve forgotten it already. More important things to remember.”
Curley Johnson looked down at the captain. “You Yankees don’t die easy,” he said.
“Not when we have something to live for,” the blue shirted Captain said staring hard at Sully.
Each of the six rebels now had two rifles, two six-guns, and all the ammunition they could handle. They mounted up and rode along the scratch of a road heading away from the camp. They would be as far into the north as they could get in the darkness.
Sully rode at the head of the five men as he had done for three years in the Confederate Army. Now he had five men instead of thirty, but they were all tried, tested, and had been brutally treated by the Yankees. Two, as he had, had lost their small farms and ranches burned to the ground and all of their families murdered. Their animals and crops were all confiscated. They had nothing to live for near Memphis. The other three men had been burned out but their families saved. Sully had known all five men when they all enlisted in the Memphis Volunteer Cavalry. They had all got back to Memphis about the same time and found their lands looted. Sully rallied them, laid out a plan of vengeance and retribution for the north. The distraught men grasp the idea and they agreed to a raid into the north. They kept their Rebel gear and rode out heading north.
They all had a burning vengeance in their hearts to somehow balance out the loss of family, of lands, buildings, and animals that they once owned. The Northern Army had confiscated the meat animals and they burned the rest just to see the wanton destruction.
He had five good men who harbored a deep hatred for all things Northern that must be burned out before they could get back to normal life and try to rebuild their lives.
Curley Johnson had been his top sergeant for almost three years. He was a good one and had lost his family and his farm to Yankee looters during the war.
Hirum Oaks, 28, who lost his ranch and cattle but his family is safe. Hirum was short, stout, a little slow thinking but determined to burn up as much country as he could. He was five four almost bald and clean shaven.
David Donnelly, 25, lost his farm and family. Top man with horses. His family was murdered late in the war and he was still suffering. His vengeance burned deep.
Johnny Joe Powers, 30, rancher who lost all of his animals but saved his buildings and family. He spent three days
in Memphis trying to raise money to rebuild his stock, failed, and told his wife he would be gone for a while. He was just over six feet tall, bean pole thin with red hair, an infectious grin and now determined to even the score with the damn Yankees.
William J. Carter, 26, wife raped, almost died, his farm buildings okay but all of his livestock was taken by Yankee officers to feed their men.
That was his army. A dedicated band of wronged men out for any kind of vengeance they could impose on the north. They all had pledged to fight and burn and kill as long as they could or until their own private hells were purged and they could get back to their farms and ranches and try to live normal lives.
All six men wire the Confederate uniforms they had been discharged in. Gray shirts and pants, and the gray great coat folded and tied behind their saddles. They all had on the soft cap in gray of the Cavalry.
They had pushed out of Memphis to the north, then west into Missouri since Missouri was a border state it had some loyal southerners there as well as hide bound Yankees. They had not laid out a list or group of targets. They had been on the trail for almost two weeks now, eating off the land and from sympathetic southerners, and taking lots of time to dodge Yankee army units that still roamed the roads stopping travelers and inspecting wagons.
Now, with the just liberated Yankee payroll they should be able to buy what they needed in friendly stores. If the store owner was not friendly, they would simply rob him of what they wanted, burn down his store, and move on.
That night they settled down about three a.m. in some woods near a stream, built a small fire, cooked some food, and counted the Yankee army payroll. Sully spread out the still strange looking Yankee bills and courted them. He grinned.
“Men, we have our own bank now, over eight hundred and fifty dollars. Not a king’s ransom, but it will keep us out of the Yankee banks for a while.”
Two of the men nodded. Sully grinned again. “Tomorrow we get our first taste of revenge. We hit North Plains, a small town in good old Missouri. Little place with a loud moth town marshal. We shut him up and then take over the town. You know what we talked about. We go into stores in twos, rob the place, then burn it down just like the damn Yankees did to our farms. A little pay back.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the men shouted.
“Okay. Get some sleep. We have food at seven o’clock in the morning then we ride.”
He watched the five men roll up in their blankets. It would be the first real test of what they all had dreamed of doing – paying back the Yankees for the pain and loss they all had suffered.
He had no idea how long they would work across the border state. He knew that soon the Northern Army would send a company after them. Maybe by then he would have some idea where the unit was that had killed his family and burned every building on hi Morning Glory Ranch. When he found out where the unit might be, then his real work would begin. He had to track down the men who killed his family and do some killing himself. Right then he felt like the devil’s own gunslinger.
Chapter Two
Sully was up the next morning an hour before dawn, started a fire, and boiled some coffee. He rousted the others at first light and had flapjacks ready for them with some syrup they had brought from Memphis.
There was no grumbling about the hour, the food, or the mission of the day. They all knew what they had to do and figured they could get the job done.
“We ride in ten minutes,” Sully said. They washed their tin plates, cups, and stowed them in their saddle bags. They were on the wagon track of a road north. It was the one that led to the little town they would hit and Sully assured them it was only ten miles to the town just across the border from Tennessee into Missouri.
“We get there about ten o’clock,” Sully said. “As we ride down the street I’ll point to two of you to take down a certain store. When all of us have our targets, we move all at once on my hand signal.”
It seemed to Sully that it was the ninth or tenth time they had been over what to do and now to get it done. Planning, planning. He had seen it work well in the past three years.
They rode hard for half an hour, then eased off and let the mounts walk. After another half hour Sully lifted the pace to a steady trot that would devour the road in quick time.
When they came into sight of the smoke trails in the sky ahead they stopped for a moment.
“This is just another mission we need to do,” Sully told them. “We take them down, do what needs to be done, then ride like hell out of town before they know what happened. If we see a lawman we shoot first and ride.”
They came into the small town ten minutes later. It was all of three city blocks long with about twenty stores and shops. Sully looked over the stores, picked out the ones they would hit and then rode down the main street. Two men were pointed at the North Plains General Store. They eased off and tied up in front of the place. Two more raiders were assigned to a café doing a good business. The men dismounted in front and tied their mounts to the hitching rail. Then waited.
Sully pointed to Hirum and then at the small North Plains Bank which from the looks had just opened. He and Hirum tied up in front of it.
They went to the board walk and Sully looked back down the street. He could see the other two teams. He waved one hand high in the air, saw the two teams wave back and he and Hirum went to the bank door.
“Just like we talked about,” Sully said then he opened the bank door and both men rushed inside both with six-guns out and cocked.
“Hold up,” Sully barked. There were two tellers behind a sturdy counter. One held up his hands, the other one fumbled for a weapon. He had it half way up when Sully shot him once in the chest slamming him backwards and out of sight.
A man ran from an office at one side. He carried a shotgun and swung it toward the strangers. Sully shot him once in the shoulder knocking the weapon out of his hands.
Hiram ran to the teller with his hands up.
“All the money you have,” Hirum brayed at the frightened man just the way he had practiced it. The teller wiped sweat from his forehead, fumbled around with a pull out drawer, and fished out three stacks of bills and a handful of silver dollars.
“In a sack,” Hirum barked. The teller complied.
The bank president saw the shotgun slam from his hands and grabbed his shoulder to slow the flow of blood. He shook his head and leaned against the wall.
“You men know the war is over? Two weeks ago. You don’t have to do this.”
“We do,” Sully said. “Open the safe.”
“Oh, we don’t have a safe.”
Sully shot the man in the other shoulder. He pivoted along the wall, then stumbled and fell down.
“Where is the safe?” Sully demanded.
The man fought back tears and tried to hold both shoulder wounds. He couldn’t. He struggled to his feet and motioned with one hand.
“Back room.” He led the way and Sully followed.
When the vault door swung open, Sully saw more cash than he had ever seen in his life.
“Put it all in that canvas bag and do it quick.”
The banker sighed through his tears, gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulders, and stuffed the bills into a canvas bag. When he finished he pulled a string on the top and tossed the bag at Sully. He picked it up, noticed a lamp on a small table, and grabbed it. He threw it at the wall and watched the kerosene from the broken glass base splatter. He lit two stinker matches, tossed them onto the wet wood, and saw it flash into flames. He took the bag and hurried to the front of the bank.
Another revolver shot greeted him, but it was Hirum with the smoking gun. He came from behind the counter with a cloth bag and together they ran out the front door. They walked calmly to their horses, mounted up, and moved back the way they had come. Curley and Phil had just come out of the general store. They stepped into their saddles and Sully saw his other two men race out of the café. Both turned and shoot back into the building, then moun
ted and rode south.
Now all six of them were riding hard back the way they had come. They went out of sight of the village, cut off the road into a grove of trees, turned their mounts north, and rode around town a half mile away. They rode fast for almost an hour, then with the town far behind them, Sully held up his hand calling for a stop.
“Anybody hurt?” Sully asked.
“Nobody got off a shot at our store,” Curley said. “We set the place on fire with a keg of kerosene. Should burn for hours.”
“Had some trouble with the woman running the café, but we persuaded her,” Johnny Joe Powers said. “We got the cash box. She swore it was all she had. Didn’t see any quick way to set the place on fire. Shot one guy inside who tried to draw on us.”
“Good work, men. We ride again, get more miles between us and any lawman in that little town.”
As they rode on north cross country they talked about the hit.
“We established that there is a Rebel raiding party in the area,” Sully said. “Might be time we get rid of our uniforms.”
Three of them had civilian clothes they had picked up in Memphis.
“We other three will get regular clothes at the next little town we come to. One at a time go into the general store. Tear off any unit patches and throw them away along with these Rebel caps. We’ll need cowboy hats to blend it.”
They kept riding stopping only to water the horses. An hour after dark Sully called a halt.
“We camp here, cook some of that good trail food we brought, and figure out where to go next. My guess is we head west along the dividing line between the north and the south. Should produce some interesting results.”
They had bacon, boiled potatoes and gravy, with two cans of garden peas Sully had brought from Memphis.
“If we ain’t robbing the town we eat in two different establishments. We got enough money to last a while.”
“How much,” Bill Canter asked.
“Don’t know,” Sully said. “Soon as we finish chow here we’ll count it.”
