The Defending Guns

By Steven Prevosto

In 1878 Anthony Augustus Peters was not only skilled in using a gun, he was a rising star in New York City as a very popular Shakespearean actor. However, he had a death wish. And he would die nobly by defending people against violent outlaws populating the booming towns out West where he was taking his theatre company to perform for them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951642150

Steven Prevosto

“The Defending Guns” is my first published novel. I’ve written short stories, a novella, and I am nearly finished my third novel, a science fiction fantasy. I started writing while I studied acting and performed in plays in New York City for ten years. I came back to Baltimore and finished college and earned my master’s in Education. I’ve taught English and presently am a Para Educator in English at a High School in Baltimore, Maryland. I am married with four step-children.

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The Defending Guns

by

Steven Prevosto

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WCP Logo 7

World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Steven Prevosto 2019

Smashwords Edition

Paperback ISBN: 9781951642143

eBook ISBN: 9781951642150

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, December 9, 2019

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

CHAPTER 1

Kansas City, Kansas, was a booming town in 1878. The rich, black soil flooded the outskirts of the city and beyond for miles. Many farmers, cattle ranchers, and those wanting to raise sheep had called the area home for the past several years. The Surveyor and Deeds office in town was adjacent to the sheriff’s office and did a thriving business. The country as a whole, though, had been battling out of a depression for most of the decade, and victory was in sight. In fact, the whole United States of America was in its infant stages of an industrial revolution that would shortly see less dependency on an agriculturally based economy, and see more rapid growth nurturing an innovative use of machinery that would propel the US to be an economic world leader by the middle of the next century.

At the same time, however, those men with the foresight to work hard and guide the country through untraveled paths of ingenuity, risk, and prosperity were also inspiring those who didn’t want to work hard to lead those like themselves to steal and murder to obtain their own fortunes. One such man’s plan and ambition for prodigious wealth had begun six weeks ago on selected farms surrounding Kansas City. Warren Telemachus Backus was a US Senator from Pennsylvania, who not only made his fortune from investing in the railroad, but wanted to prove to his friends that there were enormous riches to be made in raising beef in Kansas and surrounding states, transporting the cattle back east to sell, and then shipping them to Europe to sell for even more profit.

Douglas Pitt was hired by Warren to employ men of violent character to forcefully remove families from their farms and ranches, occupy them, and prepare them to be homes for over a hundred and twenty thousand head of cattle coming up from Texas. Since six weeks ago in May, Pitt’s gun wielding henchmen had wrested twenty-seven farms and ranches away from hard working, frightened families by killing some and bullying and wounding others while damaging their property.

Today, four hired criminals were nestled in trees on the fringe of a forest zigzagging across high hills in a huge arc, overlooking a valley with a pasture of green grass. These men were like mountain lions staring menacingly down at their prey of three ranch hands sitting on their horses. One was separated from the other two, about a hundred yards from the herd, and staring eastward. The other two were talking and looking over the twenty head of cattle before them while gazing vigilantly north and west at intervals.

The almanac is saying a cold winter, Henry, said Jacob. We should be plowing and planting our vegetables. Not guarding what is lawfully ours.

Henry, a thin, sinewy, and rugged young man was staring south thoughtfully over the cattle into the thick woods of tall, massive oak, elm, maple, and linden trees on low hills, where behind them on some sixty acres was his sturdy, two story cabin. He was seeing his wife sewing and mending his clothes while his little girl was playing with the doll that he had carved, and his little boy was playing with a rocking horse that he’d made.

Are you listening to me, Henry?

After a few moments, Henry’s eyes floated down to the tufts of rich green grass shooting up beneath him. Jacob, one time, a man had an idea for a new business. He talked to some important people with money in different states, and seeing how they would make money as well from this man’s idea, they told him whatever he needed to start this business, it would be done. Henry stared steadily into Jacob’s eyes.

What are you saying, Henry?

That’s what’s happening here. The sheriff says he’ll investigate what’s going on, but he can find no clues because the ranchers or farmers have already been driven off their place or murdered. He has no posse guarding these farms or ranches, or even patrolling their land. So, we can surmise that the law has been bought to protect the interest of the businessman taking over these farms and ranches. The mayor says he must rely on the sheriff to do his duty, however long it takes. But meanwhile, he said he would wire Washington to send us a Federal Marshall. That was three weeks ago, and he still hasn’t received a reply.

And right now we’re doing what the other farmers and ranchers are doing. We’re taking the law into our own hands, Jacob stressed. And it was necessary that you sent your wife and kids away to her sister. Now you don’t have to worry about them while we protect what’s ours.

I should feel that way, but I miss them terribly, said Henry. His roan shook its head while making a guttural sound as if something was making him feel uneasy. What’s wrong, boy? He patted his neck affectionately while looking up into the high hills, where the wind was playfully showing off its might bending, whirling, and roaring through the tops of the mammoth timbers. God, I love this country, Jacob! The wind rushing wildly through the trees and over the land is like the spirit of man driving him to feel fulfilled in his pursuits. I’m not giving up my land without a fight.

We’ll have to do some killin’ to keep it. That’s certain, said Jacob, rolling a cigarette.

Henry was very pensive as he turned away, staring at his cattle.

***

Spurring their horses forward in an easy stride out of the woods and navigating around huge boulders on their way down a sharp slope from the high hills, the three outlaws weren’t in doubt of how their job was going to end.

I always feel bad forcing these good, hard working people off their land or just killing them.

But you do it, Daniel. You do it ‘cause you ain’t gonna see the kind of money Pitt is paying you anywhere else.

That’s true, Art. So I’ll stop feeling sorry for ’em and just kill ’em, he said, laughing gruffly.

Let them draw first so Clyde can pick one of ’em off. You know how touchy he gets when we don’t let him in on any of the fun, sittin’ up there alone behind them trees.

***

The ranch hand, Nathan, who was separated from Henry and Jacob a short way beyond the herd, gave a screeching whistle that turned them around to see Nathan pointing behind them up the high hills.

Fear began gnawing within Henry’s chest as he asked, What do you think, Jacob?

Jacob turned and saw Nathan had his repeating rifle aimed at the three rough and intimidating looking men. Nathan has a bead on them, so let’s wait and see what they want. But keep your eyes on their hands and your hand on your gun.

Mine’s cocked and ready, said Henry assuredly.

Now, don’t get too nervous and blow a hole in your leg, Jacob said mockingly.

***

As the criminals drew closer, they raised their arms in the air a little above their shoulders, with one hand holding steady the reins to their horse.

That’s it, boys. Let them think we’re friendly, said Art as he stared seriously toward Henry and Jacob. Pressing their legs against the sides of the horses, they stopped about ten feet away from Henry and Jacob. Nathan spurred his horse several steps to his right for a better angle for a shot on the three strangers.

Howdy, boys. We just want to cross your land to head into town. We don’t want any trouble, said Art.

Neither do we, so keep on moving, said Jacob, holding the butt of his revolver.

A loud clap resonated through the hills, followed by a bellowing scream shattering the peaceful quiet. Jacob turned around as the three men were dropping their arms and grabbing their guns. Henry had his Colt drawn and fired into the chest of the outlaw closest to him, knocking him backward off his horse. As Jacob turned back around drawing his gun, Daniel shot him twice as another bursting clap over the hills thumped Jacob in the chest, splattering Henry with blood and hurling Jacob off his horse to the ground. Henry was firing three shots into Daniel as Art fanned his gun, emptying it into Henry, who sat motionless on his horse, dangling his arms by his sides and staring wide-eyed at his wife and children, tears of blood streaming down across his chest. He fell forward over the left side of his horse, while massive gray clouds drifted somberly and forebodingly across the ashen sky.

Shortly the heavy, dull thumping on the ground grew louder as a lone rider spurring his horse hard came up alongside Art, who was kneeling on the ground holding Daniel.

Daniel gasped for breath and said, Who…would’ve…thought…? Then he exhaled his last breath and died.

How the hell did a ranch hand get the best of Daniel, Art?

He wasn’t afraid of dying, Clyde. He killed Ike too.

Clyde shook his head in amazement. Like with cards, I guess. Sooner or later, the odds will go against you.

Let’s take all the bodies up in the hills outta sight and bury them like Pitt wants, Art said contemptuously. Damn! It’s just not gonna be as much fun without Daniel.

You’ll find somebody else. If not, you’ll enjoy the money. Clyde turned and gave some friendly pats to Henry and Jacob’s horses as they were nuzzling their dead owners. And look at the horses you can keep, he said with a grin.

CHAPTER 2

The railroad, wagon trains, and stagecoach were transporting thousands of dreams from the east seeking success, happiness, and peace of mind in the mesmerizing glory of unseen paradise in the open plains, valleys, undulating hills, and mountains meshed with towering trees out west. The fertile land, rivers, green pastures, and scenic wildness of nature in Missouri appealed to many who chose this state to plant and harvest such dynamic dreams.

Some twenty or more miles outside the city of St. Louis, Missouri, was a palatial plantation owned by Samuel Howard Duff. The magnificent entranceway to this bountiful estate was lined with magnolia trees that led to a wide, front staircase, enticing visitors to relax on a wrap-around porch. The Georgia pine floor sported wide planks that butted up to a granite balustrade that ran along the front of the porch. Sixteen fluted granite columns were spaced every fifteen feet following the semicircle around the porch, supporting the slate roof above it.

Shortly a slamming front door could be heard, followed by Dolores Patricia Hartman Duff’s heels pounding angrily across the floorboards, charging toward her brother, who was rocking comfortably while smoking a long, thin cigar and sipping brandy in the early afternoon shade. He was in his mid to late thirties, tall and sinewy, with rugged good looks that were slowly being gnawed away from alcohol abuse and neglect to his health. He had short, thick black hair, large sensitive eyes, and high cheekbones that aided in giving him a very expressive face.

Anthony! Anthony Augustus Peters! Why do you insist on ignoring my request not to smoke in your bedroom?! That room has a veranda where you can step out to enjoy your cigars whenever you want!

Fiercely yanked from a tender memory of his wife, Anthony apathetically let his attention embrace a songbird whose warble came from an elm tree directly in front of him.

Now, I have to engage Harriet, who already is busy with her morning and afternoon chores, to rid that room of its foul odor. She stared angrily at him, waiting for a reply. Well, are you listening to me?

I am, Dolores. He took a savory puff of his cigar and exhaled contentedly. I will step out onto the veranda and smoke, he said, staring out over the colorful flower garden to the right of the elm tree.

Then I can be assured that this conversation will not occur again?

Very sure, he said a little sarcastically.

Leaving, her wooden heels continued to hammer her authoritative temperament, but then she suddenly stopped and slowly walked back to Anthony with gentle and deliberate taps upon the floorboards.

When Dolores spoke, it was with a more tender and sympathetic tone. Anthony, it’s not even been two years since your wife, Mary, died, but I loved her as a sister. She invariably saw such unique ways to have fun with Edward and everybody around the house. Her conversation was so pleasant and thought provoking. I genuinely enjoyed her company, and always looked forward to being with her.

In a low, guttural voice, Anthony stammered, Joy, thou art dead. He stared into the distance at the swaying trees, listening to the faint rush of the wind through them as his eyes watered. Why has anger become your constant companion now, Dolores? I remember your smile was the first to embrace people who came to visit you.

A hurried pulse of steps stopped before the stone balustrade as Dolores stared disquietly toward the maze of an immaculate, colorful garden below. She brought her white hands up to her face and sobbed uncontrollably. Anthony rose and embraced her, laying his head upon her dark, auburn hair layered up prettily behind her, and clasped in place with an elegant gold and pearl pin.

What’s wrong, Dolores? Both of us can’t be crying.

She pulled a lace handkerchief from the sleeve of her brown dress of cotton and rayon, dried her tears, and blew her nose. Staring out over the manicured lawn, where a bronze fountain overflowed water from a bronze statue of Cupid, ready to take flight as water flowed from his mouth, Dolores choked back some sobs and slowly tried to compose herself.

It’s Samuel. He’s mortgaging the house, property, everything! He’s buying more land to grow hay, hiring men to plow land on the north side to grow wheat, and on the west side to grow corn and vegetables!

Samuel’s a smart man, Dolores. I haven’t seen a more efficiently run plantation.

Yes, because he’s hired a very respectable overseer in Mr. Culverson. And he has advised Samuel to wait before he purchases more land and hires more help because the country is still crawling out of a recession!

I’ve talked to businessmen who have expressed the same cautious advice, Dolores.

And Samuel is also running for senator!

What?!

Some of our wealthy neighbors and business owners in town are trying to convince Samuel to run. So naturally, their wives want to call for afternoon tea or lunch, and Samuel was advised to hold dinner parties to invite more men of influential status in the state, and I’m at my wits’ end in how to manage it all! She wilted, and her chest heaved, unleashing heavy crying. Anthony put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her head. He took out his handkerchief and put it in her hands.

Take this, Dolores. It hasn’t been used.

Thank you, she said sobbing. I don’t know how to tell Samuel that I can’t do it all.

Tell him…. Tell him that you will only serve lunch on certain days, and dinner on certain nights.

I suppose I can do that. Yes, I’ll tell him. He turned to leave. Oh, Anthony! Do you talk or call out in your sleep?

Of course not. Why?

When Edward can’t sleep, Samuel advised him to walk up and down the hallway. A few nights ago, he did, and the next morning he told me that he heard you angrily yelling at somebody.

"Dolores, who would I be yelling at that late at night? I was rehearsing my lines