The Irish Devil Read Online Free Page B

course.
    Hammering rose from the wheelwright’s and blacksmith’s shops. Both shops contained the special equipment needed for dealing with the sixteen-foot Murphy wagons, like the special forge and crane to handle the seven-foot iron wheels.
    Chickens clucked happily in their crates as they devoured their morning’s grain. Quiet reigned in a side yard behind rough mud-brick walls and a railed gate, where two men carefully unloaded barrels of gunpowder.
    The corrals were full of mules, twelve to twenty for every tandem hitch of two or three big Murphy wagons. A few had drifted to the rails to watch the teamsters’ bustling busyness, while the rest drowsed or enjoyed the morning’s first alfalfa.
    Soon enough, William was happily planning next week’s wagon train for the new fort. He checked the animals first, accompanied by his foreman.
    “Glad you arrived early,” Morgan Evans observed as they headed into the barn and its reassuring bustle of stock being groomed and prepared for the trail. “We’ll need you and all the firm’s best men to see Fort McMillan equipped. Even if we work Sundays.”
    “Mostly luck,” William disclaimed. “Smooth steamship voyage out of San Francisco, plus we didn’t sight a single Apache between here and Fort Yuma.”
    Morgan snorted. “Or Cochise didn’t want to take you on again. Good reputation to carry on that road.”
    William glanced at the notoriously calm younger man. An Apache ambush seldom caused more than a yawn from this aristocratic veteran of Forrest’s cavalry. So what was Morgan truly worried about?
    He paused to greet Saladin, his big gray stallion, who’d poked his head over his stall’s door. He needed to hear more of what had happened since his last trip to Rio Piedras seven months ago. “Quiet in town lately?”
    “Cave-in last month killed six men.” Morgan fed a carrot to his steady Indian pony as William crooned endearments to the fastest horse in the territory. “Tregarron resigned and took the last Cornish miners with him.”
    “Bloody damn. Lack of shoring?” The stallion’s ears flicked toward William. He nudged his human’s shoulder in an unmistakable demand.
    “How’d you guess?”
    “Lennox hasn’t been paying as much for inbound freight. Timber’s the heaviest cargo, now the stamp mill’s running.” William began to feed Saladin a handful of peppermints.
    “Cheap bastard.” Morgan’s three syllables were an indictment. “Most of the old miners are gone now. It’s too dangerous to mine their own claims and they won’t work for Lennox.”
    “Cochise that busy?”
    “Very. Killed Claiborne last week, not two miles out of town on the old road.” In silent accord, the two men moved to look at the horses outside.
    “Young fool must have been looking for the German’s buried gold,” William observed, searching for Tennessee, his most experienced lead mule.
    “Probably. But an Apache bullet’s a quicker death than drowning in a flash flood, as Mueller did.” Morgan slipped into the corral and carefully brought a big chestnut forward for inspection.
    William grunted agreement then turned to more important matters. “Tenn’s better than I’d hoped from your description but we can’t use him for the next train. It’ll be eight days, maybe nine, before he’s up to another run. We could hitch Blackie with Waffles instead.”
    “Or use another pair as leaders for the ammunition wagon,” Morgan offered in his soft Mississippi voice, bringing Tennessee to a halt before William.
    “Who’d you have in mind?” William asked, just as a horse and buggy turned into the yard from the street. The fancy buggy and high-stepping mare were as out of place in the depot as a dowager’s diamond necklace in a saloon. Lennox must have brought a new toy from back East.
    “I’ll hitch them so you can see them work together. Lennox will want to talk to you, now that you’re here,” Morgan murmured and faded away. He avoided contact with