Chapter One—The Calm Before The Storm

          No, Trent Tolliver was not happy when he learned that three of his brothers had been dispatched. Of course, it was a while after those deaths before he heard about them. Trent himself had spent a rather profitable few months in the Dakota territories. He had picked up a couple more men on his way there and they had taken nearly $4,000 from an inexcusably poorly guarded army payroll caravan. Then, in the gold fields of the Black Hills, Trent had managed to pick the pockets of a few prospectors to the tune of $2,000 more. It was a good haul. The two men who had joined him went their own way and Tolliver rewarded them with $1,000 each. The rest of the money he, and the three outlaws he had started with, took back to the hideout in the Absaroka/Gallatin range—wherever that hideout was.
          They arrived at the cabin on May 20 and found Terrell and most of the gang already there. And some of them had bad news. A little recap and catching up will help us here.
          When Top didn’t make it back to the camp the evening he was killed, Gus, Lem, and Snarky were understandably concerned. They decided that only one of them would return to River Bend to discover what had happened. Gus, who was pretty much Top’s segundo—second in command—was the one who went, but he waited till Saturday afternoon to do so, hoping that Top was simply delayed for unavoidable reasons. But Top, of course, didn’t return, so Gus rode into town to the River Bend Saloon, thinking he might find Hardy Nippo, or one of that group. Sure enough, Hardy was there, and he was well on his way to a rip-roaring drunk. But he was still sober enough to explain to Gus what had occurred.
          “You mean to tell me that Top was done in by a woman?” Gus said, incredulous. The idea of a man being killed by a woman was debilitating, humiliating, insulting, and insufferable.
          “Yeah. Pure dumb luck, Gus. Top had that marshal in his sights, but she saw him, hollered, the nigger ducked, Top missed, and she drilled him. Deader’n a doornail.” Hardy downed another drink. “Worse thing I ever seen. I ain’t showin’ my face in that part of town fer a long time, I tell ye fer sure.”
          Gus shook his head and sighed. “Killed by a woman. Boy, Trent’s not going to be happy with that. Top getting killed is bad enough…but by a woman.” He was talking mostly to himself as he murmured those words, but then he spoke to Hardy again. “What’s the woman’s name, do you know? Trent will want to know what name to put on her tombstone when he buries her.”
          “Name’s Kelly Atkins. Her and her old man own a small ranch ‘bout 5 miles outta town.”
          “Do you know where it is?”
          “Yeah. Ever’body knows who the Atkins are. Kelly’s the town sweetheart, but she’s hell-on-wheels with a gun. Least that’s what I hear. She’s the one who killed Nicholas Backstrom a few months back.”
          Gus didn’t know who Nicholas Backstrom was, so he simply replied, “Well, I’ll bet she’s not as tough as she thinks she is.” Then, thinking quickly, he said, “Listen. Don’t leave town, hear? I’m sure we’ll be back—Trent and me and some others—and we’ll want you to show us where this Atkins woman lives.”
          “We, uh, we can’t ride with you now?”
          “No. I can’t let you do that without Trent’s approval. Besides, you’ll be working for the Tollivers while we’re gone—keeping an eye on things here. We’ll need you here when we get back to kill that woman.” Then, just to sweeten the incentives some, he added, “I’m sure Trent will pay you something for your time and effort. Just stay out of trouble. We’ll be back in a few weeks, ok? Then maybe you can ride with us. That will be up to Trent.”
          That was acceptable to Hardy. He was content as long he could consider himself still part of the “gang” and think he was being useful. “Sounds good. You boys come on back and I’ll show you where Kelly Atkins lives. Ain’t hard to find and she and Fred are up there alone.” Before Gus left, he added, “Can you, uh, tide us over a little till you and Trent get back….?”
          As Gus rode back to the camp that night, he said to no one in particular since no one was there, “How am I going to break this news to Trent…?”
          Well, he wasn’t the only one worried about that. There had been three men riding with Twain Tolliver when they hit the bank in Crosby. As related earlier, Allie Summer sent two of the outlaws—including Twain—to Boot Hill. The other two, “Duck” Soupe and Ricky Sata, debated on whether they should even return to the hideout.
          “Trent ain’t going to be happy when he hears that Twain’s dead,” Duck said.
          “Well, maybe he ain’t dead,” Sata replied. “Maybe he just got captured.”
          Duck shook his head. “No, Ricky, I was about 25 feet ahead of him when he got hit. I turned and looked. I’m positive he was dead. Troy, too.” Troy Spangler was the name of the other man.
          “Well, we need to find out for sure. If he’s just hurt and in the jail, we need to break him loose. Spangler, too, if he’s alive. Once we find out for sure, then we can decide whether to skedaddle or go report to Trent. Maybe if we find out who killed Twain, that’ll help with Trent.”
          The outlaws had been wearing masks when they had attempted to rob the bank, so they didn’t think anyone in town would recognize them. It was a calculated risk, but one they felt was justified. But just to be on the safe side, only Duck rode back into Crosby, and that at night. He went to one of the saloons near the edge of town.
          “Just passin’ through,” Duck said to a man named Lucky, who stood next to him at the bar. “Anything exciting happen around here lately? The place looks kinda dead.”
          “Well, this burg usually is pretty dead, but you shoulda been here yesterday. Some jokers tried to rob the bank. They killed three people, but two of ‘em got plugged theirselves. They didn’t get a dime. Hasn’t been that much action here in a coon’s age.”
          “Oh?” Duck replied, trying not to show too much interest. “Anybody famous involved, or just a bunch of tinhorns?”
          “No tinhorns in this robbery. Twain Tolliver headed it. You heard of the Tolliver gang?”
          Duck feigned thought. “I think so. Trent’s the head of it, ain’t he?”
          “That’s them. It was his brother who got killed. Him and another feller. The other two got away.”
          “Bad business,” Duck said, having found out one piece of information he had wanted to know—the death of Twain. Now, for the other thing he needed. “Who killed them? Local law?”
          Lucky snorted. “No, in fact, the marshal was one who got killed. He was a real loser anyway, and his deputy don’t hardly know where the jail is hisself. It was the darndest thing. Some Ranger was on the train when it stopped to refuel. That was just about the time of the robbery. She was eatin’ at German’s when it all broke loose, and she come out, grabbed a rifle that Rollie Graham was scratching his behind with, and smoked Tolliver and that other feller right outta their saddles.” He shook his head in admiration. “That was some shootin’. They musta been 200 yards away. I saw it all.”
          Duck was staring Lucky, thinking that the man must have had one too many. “Did you say a woman killed them?”
          Lucky chuckled. “Yeah, but that ain’t just any woman, mister. That was Allie Summer. You heard of her? Female rattlesnake if’n there ever was one. I wouldn’t mess with her for all the gold in Fort Knox.”
          Duck looked away and breathed out. “Yeah. I’ve heard of Allie Summer…”
          Duck and Ricky decided that they would take the news back to Trent Tolliver. “He’ll want to know that Twain was killed by a woman,” Duck said.
          “Yeah,” Ricky replied, “but Allie Summer.” He shook his head. “I think I’d be tempted to leave that one alone, if I was Trent.”
          “Yeah, but you aren’t Trent. It was his kin that was killed, and you know how close they all are—were. He ain’t going to cotton to any of his brothers getting killed, especially by a woman, and especially a ranger. In fact, I know for sure that she’s one of the main reasons he’s been skittish about operating in Montana—he’s afraid McConnell will sic Allie Summer on us. Trent’s got a good reason to get rid of her now and that might free us up to work a little closer to home.” He grunted. “Never knew Allie Summer was a woman, though. I’m sure not looking forward to being the one to tell Trent about Twain…”
          Trent’s knowledge of Tristy’s death was a little more fortuitous since no other outlaws were involved to report it. Rob Conners had, indeed, been in southeastern Idaho when he confronted and killed the youngest Tolliver brother. It was Terrell who had stumbled across the news of the youngest Tolliver’s demise. He and his men had been in Utah, encountered an angry nest of Latter Day Saints, and so they high-tailed it across the border into Idaho. That was just a couple of weeks after Tristy’s death and the “Conners-Tolliver Shootout,” as it was being called, was still the talk of the area.
          As always, saloons were a magnet, just the sort of place populated by the Tollivers and their ilk when blessing a town with their presence. Terrell had three men with him and they rode into a place called Pringle near sundown. They had enough money to get a couple of hotel rooms, then had a meal, and decided the top the night off with a little entertainment.
          “I ain’t had me a woman in I don’t know how long,” Hank Frobisher said as the four men were walking down the sidewalk. “Them Mormon men down in Utah got ‘em all. Even the ugly ones.”
          “An ugly one is the only kind that would have you anyway,” Sid Walker responded with a laugh. “Hey, there’s a donkey over there, Hank,” he said, pointing, and laughed again.
          “Aw, shut up, Sid. I ain’t exactly seen you with anything prettier than a dead cow lately.”
          “You men stay out of trouble,” Terrell said. “We’re still not in Montana, so we might be able to do something here. We’ll need to find out how tough the law is in this town before we try anything, though. And don’t go bragging about being in the Tolliver gang because there’s a price on our head in this territory.”
          “We know that, Terrell. You remind us every town we stop in.”
          “Well, with the hamburger you guys have for brains, I never know if you remember or not.”
          Terrell never did learn anything about the law in Pringle. And he didn’t learn anything in the saloon, mainly because he didn’t go. As they neared the bar, he saw a recent copy of the local Pringle newspaper sitting slightly under an oil lamp on top of a water barrel. The paper was folded so all he could see was the name “Tolliver” in big letters. He grabbed the paper and looked at the headline. He jaw clinched.
          “Look at this, boys,” he said, his voice a low growl. The three men with him stopped. Sid and Pete Rucker, the other man, both sucked in their breaths when they saw what had been printed.
          “What does it say, Sid?” Hank asked. “You know I cain’t read.”
          Terrell was reading the story; the paper was almost two weeks old. Sid sighed. “It’s bad news, Hank. It’s says, ‘Tristy Tolliver Killed In Shootout’.”
          “Naw, cain’t be,” Hank said. “You’s a-pullin’ my leg.”
          “He’s not lying to you, Hank,” Terrell said as he continued to scan the story. “He was robbing a stage and Rob Conners happened by. Conners outdrew and killed him.” Terrell crunched up the paper between his hands and cursed. A man happened to walk by at that moment, looking at Tolliver and his men. Terrell stopped him.
          “Is this story about Rob Conners killing Tristy Tolliver true?”
          “Well, yeah. Happened a couple of weeks ago about 10 miles out of town. The stage brought Tolliver’s body in. He’s buried in the cemetery just out of town.”
          Terrell was livid but he tried not to show it. “Conners must have dry-gulched him. Nobody could outdraw Tristy.”
          “You don’t know Rob Conners then. But according to the driver, he didn’t really outdraw him. He tricked Tristy, distracted him for a moment, and then it was all over. Conners makes greased lightning look slow.” Then the man narrowed his eyes at Terrell. “What’s your interest, if I may be so bold to ask?”
          Terrell started to say, “Tristy was my brother,” but then he remembered that the Tollivers were wanted in Idaho and he had to keep a low profile. “I’ve just seen Tristy draw and can’t believe anybody could beat him. And I can’t see Conners tricking him, either.” He looked at the man. “Is that Jehu in town? I’d like to talk to him.”
          “Just so happens he is. Pride Caldwell is his name. Lives in a boarding house about two blocks that way.” He pointed. “Green two-story building, right side of the street. You can’t miss it.” The man was still scrutinizing Terrell and he looked suspicious. “You look familiar…”
          Terrell looked at him with a very ugly, dangerous expression on his face and said, “Well, buddy, you better forget what I look like because I don’t like anybody thinking I look familiar. It’s bad for their health. You get my drift?”
          All of the sudden the man’s eyes held fear. “Yeah. Yeah, I understand. I never seen you before and I’m not seeing you right now.”
          Terrell smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and patted the man softly on the cheek. “Good man. God bless you. Now, get lost.”
          The man hastened on his way and Terrell stood there with his hands on his hips, stewing. His men knew not to bother him when he was in this kind of mood. “Conners had to have dry-gulched Tristy. It’s the only explanation.”
          “Why would Conners dry-gulch Tristy, Terrell?” Hank asked.
          The Tolliver brother gave him a disgusted look. “So he could take the credit for killing him, that’s why. I want to talk to that stagecoach driver. I’ll get the truth out of him.”
          But Pride Caldwell stuck to his story. “It’s just like I said in the paper, boys. Tristy was holding a gun on all of us when Conners rode up.”
          “Where did Conners come from?”
          “Don’t know. He just showed up on the road we’d been travelin’. Tristy told him to get off his horse, Conners played around with him a little, then when Tristy demanded his gun, Conners tossed his rifle in Tristy’s direction. That distracted him for a second, and Conners plugged him.” Pride shook his head. “Man, he’s fast. I never saw him move and I was watchin’ him the whole time. He coulda beat Tristy straight up.”
          “I doubt that,” Terrell replied with distaste. “I’ve never seen anybody who could beat Tristy.”
          “Have you ever seen Conners draw, mister?”
          “No.”
          “Well, don’t be on the wrong side of his revolver when he does, that’s all I can tell you.”
          Terrell was looking hard at the stage driver. “Are you sure you got the story right? Did Conners pay you to say that he didn’t dry gulch Tristy?”
          Caldwell puffed up, offended. “Don’t you be accusing me of somethin’ like that, mister. It happened just like I told you.” Then he got suspicious, and asked, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
          It wasn’t impossible that Terrell had robbed a stage before that Pride Caldwell had driven. But Terrell didn’t remember him. The problem was, he bore a resemblance to Tristy and his other brothers, and if people looked closely enough, especially under such a cross-examination as Tolliver had been given, somebody might indeed get dubious.
          “No, you don’t know me.” Then, trying to defuse a possible tight situation, he said, “I’ve seen Tristy draw before and I bet some money that nobody could ever beat him.” He gave Pride a wry grin. “Guess I’m going to have to pay up.”
          That seemed to satisfy Caldwell. Or at least, he wasn’t interested in taking it any further. “Yeah, I reckon you are.”
          “Do you know where Conners went, by any chance?”
          “Haven’t the foggiest.”
          When they left the boarding house, Terrell said, “Conners is dead meat. We’ll go tell Trent. We’ll be on Conners’ trail in no time. There’s not a place on this earth he can hide from us Tollivers.” Then, “Let’s ride, boys. I’ve got a bad feeling about this place and I want to get out of here before somebody recognizes me and tells the marshal.”
          “Right now, Terrell?” Hank asked.
          “Right now. Get our gear. I’ll meet you all at the livery.”
          “But I wanted—“ Hank started.
          Terrell stopped and looked at him. “I don’t care what you wanted, Hank. Do what I tell you.” And he stalked off towards the stables.
          “I hate it when he gets like that,” Hank mumbled.
          “Well, you’d be mad, too,” Pete said, “if you had lost a brother. And worse, were going to have to tell Trent about it…”
  
          So, back to paragraph one of this chapter—the return of Trent Tolliver to his mountain hideaway. Not knowing any of what had transpired, he was a little surprised when he walked into the cabin and saw a number of men, but only one brother. “Where’s Top? Twain? Tristy? How come they aren’t here?”
          All the men, and there were over a dozen, looked to Terrell, who had to do the speaking, of course. “They aren’t coming back, Trent. They’re all dead.”
          Trent stared at him for a few seconds. “What did you say? What do you mean ‘they’re all dead’? All of them?” Trent veritably roared out the final words.
          And everybody in the room, Terrell included, winced. Trent Tolliver was an intimidating man. In his late 30s, he wasn’t especially tall, but his dark hair and dark eyes could be fanatically piercing. Nobody could hold his gaze for long. On top of that, he wore a perpetual scowl on his face, he never laughed—except at the misfortunes of others—and his temper was explosive. It would rumble awhile, like an earthquake before a volcanic eruption, then explode into a torrent of language—and sometimes deeds—which cowed the strongest of men. Even Tristy hadn’t messed with him when something set Trent off.
          And all the signs were there now. He looked at Terrell, and Gus Ferrara would swear later that he saw smoke coming out of Trent’s ears. The remaining brother briefly summarized what he had been told about Top and Twain by the other men, and what he himself had learned in Pringle about Tristy. When he finished, he awaited, with some trepidation, his brother’s explosion.
          But it didn’t come. The expression on Trent’s face was more akin to disbelief than anything else. No Tolliver died, much less three of them. None of the brothers had so much as gotten a scratch in all the years they had been operating, and now…three dead. Dead, not in jail. It was taking Trent a few moments to digest this. “And you say Top and Twain were killed by women?”
          “Well, Twain was killed by Allie Summer. You know who Allie Summer is, the Ranger…”
          “I know Allie Summer. I didn’t know she was a woman, though. But I don’t care if she’s the mother of God…” He turned away and rubbed his hand over his whisker-stubbled jaw, still in shock. “And Conners…he’s been thinking he’s hot stuff for a long time.” He turned back to Gus. “But who is this Atkins woman? Just some whore off the street?”
          Gus sorta shrugged. “The fellow in River Bend who told me about it said she was almighty fierce with a gun. Killed some guy named Backside, or something like that, a few months ago.”
          “Nicholas Backstrom,” Trent said. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him and heard he was dead. I didn’t know he was a killed by a woman, too. You say the Atkins woman got him?”
          “That’s what I was told, boss.”
          “Is she a Ranger, too?”
          “No, she’s just some…local. Her and her old man own a small ranch just out of River Bend.”
          Trent nodded but his face and tone were sarcastic. “Just some local farm girl who goes around killing people like Nicholas Backstrom and Top Tolliver.” He snorted, turned away again, and shook his head.
          Everybody was looking strangely at Trent. The awaited eruption hadn’t happened yet. Indeed, after his initial anger, the oldest Tolliver brother seemed to be very calm. Too calm. And that was more frightening than his temper tantrums.
          “How much did you boys bring in?” he asked, changing the subject unexpectedly.
          Terrell flinched at the question. “None of us have anything, Trent. Me and my boys got run out of Utah by the Mormons and when we learned about Tristy, we came on back home to tell you. Same thing with the others.” Another expected explosion…
          But Trent was very calm. Too calm. “You boys did right. Show respect for the dead.” He looked around and Gus saw, not anger, but…insanity?...in Trent Tolliver’s eyes. “You know what we’ve got to do, don’t you,” Trent said.
          Terrell nodded. “Rob Conners, Allie Summer, and Kelly Atkins have to die.”
          “Yes,” Trent said. “Rob Conners, Allie Summer, and Kelly Atkins have to die. No, they must die. No, they WILL die. And then we’re going to burn down those towns where it all happened and kill anybody that gets in our way.” The scowl on Trent’s face was intense. “You boys with me?”
          Who was going to say “no”?
          Trent nodded. “Let me think on it for awhile. How we’re going to do it. I want Conners, Summer, and that Atkins woman to know who’s killing them, and why. And I want them to suffer.” And now Gus Ferrara was sure he saw insanity in Trent Tolliver’s eyes. And he shivered involuntarily. This was a Trent Tolliver he had never seen before and one far more terrifying.
           “Yeah,” Trent said. “I want them to suffer real bad…..”